For Now, We Wait

Let us then with confidence draw near

to the throne of grace,

that we may receive mercy and find grace

to help in time of need.

-Hebrews 4:16

I rushed away to my childhood home on Saturday, games and ventures and projects temporarily suspended. My Grandfather, the one I've written about often, has been in and out of ICU. Late Monday, the doctor signed an order that said, ominously, to "Allow Natural Death". I looked over the hospital bed to my Grandmother and Mom. They were crying.

I've been here for several days now, cooking meals. Washing clothes. Running errands. Making phone calls. Trying to help. The other evening, while walking my parents' place and snapping pictures, I realized I'm seeing it firsthand: that people who tie up their faith in Jesus... in His person and His sacrifice for us... don't mourn like others. Death is... different for us. Sure, it hurts. Yes, it presents the usual survivor symptoms: shock, grief, etc. But in the midst of the avalanche of emotion is a current of blessed hope. An assurance that reminds us that to be gone from this place is to be present in a far, far better one. So, sometimes with confidence - other times with simply all the faith we have - we draw near to get our fill of help in time of need.


The doctors can't say when Quarterback Jack will slip away. Could be hours, could be days. Sitting in the hospital, I imagine an angel beside his bed, waiting on a nod from the throne of grace.


For now, we wait, too....

Keeping...

The bakery has been dead since summer began. Or, you know, since school let out. I've been worried. Now I'm just exhausted. Yesterday I closed early and walked home and folded my legs under me on the couch and reached for the nearest book and read.

Have you ever tried to settle in with Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson? It's rhythmic and quiet and reading it is akin to trying to run with a bloated, near-bursting water balloon - you simply have to slow down and give it your full attention. Any less and it wobbles and slips out of your grasp and you lose it all.

Most of all, I love how one of the characters, at the beginning of the book, is spelled out: She had always known a thousand ways to circle them all around with what must have seemed like grace. She knew a thousand songs. Her bread was tender and her jelly was tart, and on rainy days she made cookies and applesauce. In the summer she kept roses in a vase on the piano, huge, pungent roses, and when the blooms ripened and the petals fell, she put them in a tall jar, with cloves and thyme and sticks of cinnamon. Her children slept on starched sheets under layers of quilts, and in the morning her curtains filled with light the way sails fill with wind.

I adore it. I want to go there. I want to know her. But most of all, I think I'd want to be described something like this. Yesterday I put a vase of roses on the piano, and left several more to dry with cloves and cinnamon and thyme. Just to see what it felt like.


Still playing at my Garden Grocery Game. I think I'm winning. The past two days I've had baked potatoes for lunch. Dinners have been stir fried veggies with rice... the next day vegetable soup. Tonight is an herb pasta with the first two tomatoes picked from this year's garden. Nothing too inspiring there. Next week I'll do some Spinach Gnocchi and Onion Tarts and Creamed Squash. Or something. Next time I do this, I'm planting a row of cheeseburger and chicken fajita and cheese plants. That's right. If I had any hopes of becoming a strict vegetarian out of this craziness, I think it backfired.

(A row of pork tenderloin would be nice, too.)...

Wishing you a warm and lazy summer weekend from Freeman House, the home of warm and lazy summer weekends. -Brin

Garden Grocery Game, Day 2

This morning's garden fare: gangly green beans, lush lettuces, nutty broccoli and potatoes that will taste of butter. All organic. This is incredible. Most incredible. Instead of fearing for my health on this 84 cent-a-day diet, I'm excited. Come to Freeman House, I want to yell to people sitting in the drive-thru. The eating's great!

Today I'm thinking of some sort of Potato and Tarragon Cake. I saw this yesterday in Fran Ward's Food For Friends, one of my favorite cookbooks. (And seriously, they have it on Amazon right now for about a dollar. Go grab you one.) Trouble is, there's no recipe for this dish. Do you have one? No? Guess I'll have to make one up. Yep, I'm thinking a Potato and Tarragon Cake with a side of steamed broccoli. Or maybe a side of salad with raw, crunchy green beans. Maybe I'll wash it all down with sun tea with a sprig of mint. Yeah. That sounds perfect.

It looks as though this may be typical of the gardening offerings for this week, at least until the squash, zucchini, cucumbers, okra and tomatoes ripen up. Then I'll have so much I'll be sending food to your house, canned into jars and glowing back at you like colors from a stained glass window.

Wouldn't it be cool... yeah, I'm thinking it would be fun... if I journal my meals here and offer recipes to go along with the meals I dream up. Wouldn't it? That way if you have your own little garden plot or get to the farmer's market or grocery, you'll have even more ideas of what to do with all that beautiful produce. I'll try to get right on that.

Okay. Yesterday, June 2 - oatmeal with fresh plums and honey (I traded peppers for plums with my friend Shelley); and garden pizza (homemade crust, pizza sauce, spinach, garlic, onions and broccoli from the garden, and fresh mozzarella). It was superb:

I think I'm going to call this my little Garden Grocery Game, or 'How to Eat on 84 Cents a Day'. If you have a garden. And if, like me, you're broke, hungry and a smidge crazy....

Growing... and More Growing

This year's onions are in. Harvested. I pulled them up, dusted them off and looped them together with fistfuls of twine. Now they hang from the enormous pot rack in the kitchen, bunches of them. Garlic and shallots will soon follow. It's a good time to be a gardener.


Over the break, I found a box tucked underneath a bed in the back of Freeman House. In it were mementos from elementary school days, and at the bottom, a tattered copy of Little House on the Prairie. The cover was hanging from the book, exposing my name written in my childish hand. Underneath it, in crooked numbers, was a phone number: 796-9389. Our first number after we moved to Texas. I would have been nine. I flipped through the book, seeing familiar but forgotten pictures of Pa, Ma, Mary, Laura and baby Carrie. An hour later I looked up, realized the time, and put the book aside. I had laundry to hang and rows of beans to weed, for heaven's sake. I was a grown woman now, with a house and land of my own to tend to. Laura would be ashamed of me, hiding in the back of the house, reading like a nine year old again.

......................

In true Little House on the Prairie style, I've dreamed up a new mission for myself: to survive the entire month of June on brown rice, oats, corn meal and bread flours, and what I can dig out of the garden. Or what I can trade for what I dig out of the garden. Truly. I gave myself $25 to buy staples for the month. I bought brown rice, organic oats, corn meal, flours, and cheese. Extras like butter, yeast, honey, condiments, salt and spices, etc., I already had, so those didn't count toward my $25 grocery budget. Twenty-five dollars. Works out to about 84 cents a day. Can a girl live for 30 days on that? We're about to find out.

Here's the rundown so far:

June 1 - no breakfast (I rarely eat breakfast); roasted sweet potato fries with garlic for lunch; baby Yukon potatoes, green beans, and onions from the garden, along with a chunk of homemade bread for dinner. So far, so good.

Yes, there's a lot of growing going on over here. Growing outside and growing inside. Always pushing myself to do more, learn more, see more, live more. (Or in this case, a bit less.)

I wonder what Laura would think of it all...

Happiness and Hydrangeas... Hope and Honey

The art of being happy lies in the power

of extracting happiness from common things.

-Henry Ward Beecher

So. Hi. I'm here, with my hands in my back pockets, rocking from my heels up to my toes, blushing. Hi. It's me again.

It's been many weeks, hasn't it? Maybe someday I'll find some courage and use it to tell you all what's been happening in and around me these past few months. Someday. It won't happen today, I assure you. All I can say is, I think I'm back to blogging and I have missed you all dearly. It's good to see you again. You were okay while we were apart, weren't you? Fill me in. Tell me everything.


Everything bloomed while I was away from blogging. These hydrangeas - planted by Ms. Freeman herself some 40 years ago - are at their best today. Truly. The blooms are as large as dinner plates, and the thick-with-dew morning breeze sways them into the peeling, grayed walls of this house. The window pictured here is my bedroom window, along with the hydrangea that sits underneath.

Years ago, back during the second World War, my room was used as a kitchen. A worn table used to sit on the other side of this window. I imagine brides and then children and then old, tired men looking out from the wavy-paned glass onto the frothy blue-and-violet petals below, just as I do now. I wonder if they thought about the same things I do: life... love... dreams... happiness. I wonder if they came to the same conclusion about it all that Beecher and I have: that the art of being happy... of being hopeful... comes from extracting every bit of hope and happiness you can from the common things. It's all much like the bee who extracts good things from blossoms and then carries them home, knowing one day it will all collect and run together and become something substantive and sweet.


Happiness and hydrangeas... hope and honey - they have much in common, if you ask me.

So. So you know, things may begin looking differently around here in the coming months. I want to add some features and introduce you to some new things I love. (Like Picnik, the new [free!] photo editing software I'm using to play with pictures now.) I want to tidy the place up a bit. I still haven't made a decision on ads, but I do know that the bakery isn't turning a profit yet, and this girl's got to do something to survive. Living on hope is running its course.

In the meantime, we'll plan for a calm and comforting summer, and continue to press our noses to our windows and look out, extracting every bit of hope and happiness we can from the common things.

So then. It's hello again. I'm settling back in again. It's good to be back. -Brin

Stripes and Summer

Sneaking in to tell you that I spent some time over the Memorial Day weekend dreaming up some breezy summer totes for us all. (Because we know, of course, that totes are all the rage this summer.) Thought I'd tell you that the first are up in the Etsy Shop, and I promise more as the summer wears, happily, on.

Stop by and shop - without getting up - by clicking here.

And. I think I'm reconsidering blogging. I'm considering a return to blogging. With stipulations. Stipulations that involve earning money. (Sigh). I just don't know. I just can't decide....

May 2009 Freeman House Newsletter (Updated!)

The world's favorite season is the spring.
All things seem possible in May.
-Edwin Way Teale

It is May at Freeman House. April's cool winds have retired, leaving drizzly showers to take their place. Daffodils have given way to roses and hydrangeas, and the garden is awake and at work. In the evenings, I cut fistfulls of blooming, reaching things and bring them indoors.

They make me deeply, quietly satisfied.

With all my time and efforts and attention devoted to the bakery, I'm getting little done at Freeman House. I have hung some pictures... and an Italian mirror I found three years ago (for $10!) in the library. This room. Gosh. I adore it. It's my favorite place to be.

As longtime readers of this blog know, the home didn't start that way: being my favorite place to be, that is. This is the library, half-renovated:

And here's that same corner and window now:

The chair is one of my best places to read. The light is perfect. The room is calm. I light candles and kick my feet up and bury my heart and head in a book.

Some books I've read this spring? Surprisingly many. (When have I had the time? Now I'm puzzled.) Some have been disappointing. Others have been a life line. In no particular order (and without prejudicing you with my little opinions or moral objections to characters/character behavior), they are:

Beachcombing for a Shipwrecked God

The Drowning People

The Year of Pleasures

The Story of Forgetting

Made From Scratch

There's still much to be done in this room. The mantle needs to be finished; I've sanded off the old lead paint and have begun to stain it. (Yuck.) The 120 year old pine floors still need to be restored. As does the chimney and fire place. And the moldings. And ... gosh. Thinking about all that remains to be accomplished has me reaching for my panic attack meds. But I do, already, adore this space. It's collected and cluttered but calm, like me.

Elsewhere in the house, work continues. Especially in the kitchen. Always in the kitchen. Right now, Lemon Balm, Mint and Thyme spread out on racks and dry. Soon there'll be organic teas and herbal bath salts.

Although much is the same, much has changed around here. The bakery keeps me busier than ever. Slowly, a rhythm has presented itself, but I've found that baking for yourself- baking for friends, even - is far different than baking for the public. I crave solitude the way others crave socialization; being "out" every day, keeping up a public face, is torture for me. I dislike the interruptions... I'm easily annoyed by the necessary chatter and introductions and small talk. (Or, in a few words, serving customers. Yikes.) I need to hire someone to be me, so I can be me....

Spring has brought rain, and the drizzle has played outside the windows lately, coming down in droves. Outside, Millie's watched as I've fished clothespins from puddles; apparently the clothespin bag has filled with water numerous times, sending the pins swimming in the mud below. I've gathered them and brought them inside to wash, carefully turning and drying them along with my favorite wooden kitchen utensils. (This spoon a hand-carved beauty with a crooked "1884" scratched into its back.)

The clothespin and spoons are pieces in a Freeman House game I'm playing now: sort of a how-low-can-your-electric-bill-go? game. By carefully averaging my usual summer electric bills in years past, I've devised a dollar amount that I should expect to pay each month for the electric. Anything I can save off that I'm turning into fun money. Or maybe into a wood-burning oven for my kitchen. We'll see. All I know is that clothespins negate a dryer and spoons a mixer, so I'm the sure winner in my summer electricity game.

So what have my spoons been busy mixing up? Lately it's this: Lemon Balm Shortbread. I haven't served it yet at henrybella's, but likely will soon. Here's the recipe in case you want to try it, too:

LEMON BALM SHORTBREAD

2 sticks butter, softened
1 cup sugar
3 ¼ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1 splash vanilla
1 cup fresh Lemon Balm leaves, chopped

Preheat oven to 325° F.

In a large bowl with a wooden spoon, stir together butter and sugar until they make a grainy paste. Stir in flour and baking powder, working it together for 30 seconds or so. Crack in eggs and pour in vanilla. Combine well, using your hands to knead dough, if necessary. (This usually isn’t necessary for me, but I’m an enthusiastic stir-er.) Sprinkle in most of the lemon balm (or whatever you’re using: lemon or lime zest, chunks of fruit, etc.) and mix until it’s well incorporated throughout the dough.

Turn onto a floured board or counter and roll until it’s as thin as your pinkie finger. Lightly press remaining lemon balm into top of dough. Transfer to baking sheet and bake at 325°F for 15 minutes or until it begins to turn golden brown at the edges.

Remove from oven, cool, and cut into shapes using your favorite cookie cutters. Dust with powdered sugar too, if desired. Serve at room temperature.

At the sweet shop, I generally use this recipe to roll out two very thin sheets of shortbread, then bake them with a layer of homemade strawberry jam between the sheets. After they bake and cool, they're cut into heart shapes and dusted with powdered sugar. The Strawberry Shortbread Hearts are a big seller and a favorite of many customers.

So. Adjusting. Baking. Hosting. Writing. Making new friends. Attending graduations. Trying to keep up. That's life here in May.

Of course, we can't forget about Millie. She plays next door all day, then sits at the kitchen door in the evenings as I make dinner, often catching a nap here and there.

She's as loyal and amusing as ever. The best friend a girl could hope for.

Such a sweet, agreeable pup.

Speaking of sweet, agreeable things, I've been quietly working on these - I call them Hanky Stacks. A Hanky Stack consists of three hand-or-machine stitched cotton hankies. The fabrics and thread are cheerful poking out of bags and pockets and purses, and I've found them to be my eco-friendly and charming answer for a variety of life situations, including: spills, bawling at movies, wiping eyes and noses, sopping sweat after workouts, relieving the heat, removing funky stains (and fingernail polish!)... even cleaning the dog's paws. My gosh, are they great!

If you're interested in a set, they're $9.99 each, and that includes postage to mail them from Freeman House to your door. Check them out by clicking here....

So... that's some of the latest here. Hope your spring has been lovely. Happy May, and Memorial Day!, from Millie and me.

Warmly, Brin

Follow on Facebook...

...because henrybella's is going gang-busters over there! Jump in on the fun and the sweets by clicking here. See you soon! -Brin

Roads and Scenery

So the road's wide open before us all. There's so much to get to... so much waiting ahead to surprise us, delight us, teach us. I can't wait.

Six hundred and sixty-seven posts. That's what today makes. Four years of sharing my life. I started this blog as a means of keeping up with friends back in Dallas. I'd just moved here - just bought Freeman House - and wanted a common show-and-tell space to share pictures and stories of my new life. My friends read, then would call me to discuss my decision to move to the country. What was I thinking? Was I really giving up reporting? What about my career? My boyfriend? I had no answers, but each day I had a story. And somehow those stories became my answers.

Blogging suited me. I learned to write, professionally, in a newsroom, banging out dozens of facts and sources in paragraphs that would fit a 17 second window and leave eyes and ears informed, inspired or intrigued. Or whatever. Getting on the computer and spitting something out for a faceless, nameless audience is all I knew. Blogging was second-nature to me. It's always been something I didn't have to think about.

But that changed. The first time someone I didn't know left a comment on this blog, I was perplexed. Who was this person reading my story... reading my life? How did they find my blog? Why were they so interested? I was scared - for reasons you guys could have no way of knowing about. I stopped blogging, then eased back into it again. But one day, when three people I didn't know commented, I quit. This was too scary, and suddenly my always nameless, always faceless audience had both names and faces. It was too real. I went back to paper journals.

Still, the computer keyboard called to me. I missed it... the release of seeing words line up and my urge to write dissipate into orderly sentences. I type over 100 words a minute, so blogging was much faster than smearing ink across a page. So I started again, deciding to ignore the "nosies", as my friends called the strangers who left comments.

That was years ago. Now this blog is read by people I've never met in places I've never been. But the tone of my blog never changed. It's always been about my life - my grief, my searching, my joys and my dreams. It was never right for ads or profit. Life isn't all about money. It was about reaching out, sharing myself and what little I have, and connecting with friends.

If we sat here all day, the two of us, I still couldn't tell you what your participation and support of this blog... of my life... means. You've cried with me. Laughed with me. Cooked with me. Crafted with me. Read with me. Listened with me. Petted with me. Traveled with me. Lived with me. Somehow we've become friends, haven't we, and faced our days together. It's meant everything to me. Thank you.

The relief associated with ending this blog is enormous. I say this without apology. I want to be anonymous. I'm tired of my life being "monitored" by people I'd rather not keep tabs on me. But this isn't to say I'm disappearing altogether. In the coming weeks, henrybella's web site (now pointed here) will be restored, and a little blog there will keep up with the comings and goings of the happy business. (First up? Renown Christian author and one of My Messy, Thrilling Life's favorite writers -Leigh McLeroy - will be at henrybella's Thursday, April 16th, at 6 PM for a reading/talk. Tickets are $5 in advance and at the door. Details soon on the website.) Also, the Freeman House newsletter, which many of you signed up to receive, will begin in May. I've also kicked around the idea of writing a book, and would enjoy finally getting that cookbook out as well. So, you see, this isn't a goodbye. We're simply changing scenery between acts.

So I'm still here. Just not here. So you know, commenting on this little blog will be disabled at the end of the day, so feel free to say anything that's on your mind until then. Afterward, the blog will still be visible, but any interaction associated with this site will be discontinued.

This has been one amazing journey already, hasn't it? I look prayerfully and wondrously at the road in front of us, and hope we cross ways again. Take care until then, will you?

All my thanks and love. Warmly, Brin

A Compromise

So much to say, right? Ideas and words float through my mind - sail by like balloons - but I've given up trying to chase them down and hold on to them. Tomorrow is April 7 and I'm terrible at goodbyes.

I will say this: the blog will not be taken down. It's one compromise I'm happy to oblige after a torrent of emails from folks saying they never got to read it all, or their printer ran out of paper before they could get the last few recipes. My apologies to those who copied and printed and pasted like mad women; I only decided to leave it up yesterday.

Note though, please, that all commenting will be permanently disabled. So if you've been meaning to speak your mind, now may be the time....

Sending warm hopes and thoughts and prayers your way, along with all the thanks my heart can hold. -Brin

Business Meeting

So I run into my egg supplier over the weekend. Hey Mr. Noah! I call. He turns, then hurries over.

Hey, my bakery's going to reopen within the week, I say. Sure would like to be able to get a few dozen from you each morning. Everyone knows Mr. Noah has the best eggs around - he collects twice a day from the free-range chickens he keeps on the land behind his house.

Well, Ms. Brin, he replies, shifting his weight between his cowboy-booted feet, I've lost a lot of my flock. We set traps, but so far nothing. Think it may be a wild cat that's gettin' em.

Noah treats his chickens like family. This must be hard for him, and I tell him so.

Yeah, only have four good laying hens right now, he says, but you can buy what we don't use. Until I can get that incubator I've been wanting, anyway. Then you can have all you want.

I thank him, and tell him I hope he can get that incubator soon. I'll help you as soon as I can, I promise him. He grins.

Oh. Did I mention? Mr. Noah is 10 years old. He lives with his father (his mom long since out of the picture) and sells eggs to buy BB guns and have money go to children's church camp in the summer.

Forget buying eggs from Sam's Club. Around here, we know the name of the people who supply many of our staples... I even know the names of some of the cows, chickens and goats who provide me with milk, eggs and cheese. Mr. Noah's one of several folks henrybella's supports by buying local and patronizing hometown people and products. So, to my customers, thanks. Thanks for helping support honest, hard-working people in our small community. -Brin

Contentment

Contentment makes poor men rich.

-Benjamin Franklin

The buttercrunch lettuce in the garden went to seed, so early this morning I tugged it up, snipped off some of the flowering shoots, and vased them. The creamy/plum blossoms greened up my bedroom, which gets the softest, buttery light in the morning.


Last summer in Colorado, Millie and I would take our morning walk up the river. Each time I'd quickly pluck a stone from the bitter-cold rushing water and slip it in my pocket. Once in the cabin, I piled them in a glass bowl - a daily reminder that each day is precious. Today I have those river-smoothed stones scattered across my bedroom mantle - still a daily reminder that each day is precious.

Ultimately, when the fireplace is added back to this room, I want all my stones cemented around the opening. Until then, I'm content with rearranging them on the mantle shelf.

Content. Hmm. You know, I have never been as broke as I am today. But I've never been as content, either. Turns out that being satisfied with what God gives really does make a poor girl rich....

Cookies, Kittens and This Present Darkness

Chocolate Mint Cookies - with organic mint from the garden.

This is officially the happening place, henrybella's is. Although I've been closed all week for construction, folks continue to pop in and out, wanting cookies or coffee or a muffin. I've greeted them, the mess that I am, covered in paint and sheetrock dust and chalk and dirt. Yesterday a lady who reads this blog from her home in Kentucky stopped in and I sheepishly greeted her with no makeup and wild hair. What do you do? I'm working here....

People aren't the only ones showing up. Already this week we've found a home for a puppy who looked to be part Alaskan Husky or something. An older man took him, named him Pinto, and stopped in this morning to say Pinto's doing marvelously. Then this morning a kitten showed up, wet and scared. Lori Ellyn (the potter) and I cleaned her up and took her to the pottery studio. Riley, as the kitten was named, already has a new home, too, and will be going home with her new mother tonight. (I was sort of hoping she'd hang around the place so I could post my sign that says: UNATTENDED CHILDREN WILL BE GIVEN A FREE KITTEN AND AN ESPRESSO.)

Ha.

God has done incredible things here this week. I stayed up late last night, painting the bakery's concrete kitchen floor and telling Him thank you and... praying. Call me crazy or melodramatic, but I'm starting to think this place is caught in a spiritual tug of war... something like that... and I feel it. I feel as though I've walked into This Present Darkness. Last night as I walked up to the building around 7 PM, I cried out when I saw that someone had written "KILL" in foot-tall letters on the windows. Just on my windows. All the other windows on the square sat dark and untouched. Unnerving, especially considering the place was broken into last weekend. I called my Mom, then the police. I'm not scared but I am wary. There's a lot to this place, it seems....

Speaking of a lot, there's still a lot to do here. I'm trying to be open next week, but am still short money for some things I need. So we'll see. I'll be sure to let you know when I reopen, in case any local-ish folks are planning to stop in.... -Brin

As It Turns Out...

Success is full of promise till one gets it, and then

it seems like a nest from which the bird has flown.

-Henry Ward Beecher

I had a very particular look in mind for henrybella's. Very particular. But as the time came to open my Sweet Shop (in a quick two weeks, to be sure), I found I was too poor to decorate the place. Which was frustrating for me. I'd dreamed of my bakery looking a certain way and it simply wasn't going to happen.


But what has happened - the look of the place - is alright with me. Not my first pick... or maybe even my seventeenth... but charming nonetheless. And the bird's nest seems to be the theme. Sticks and nests and even egg shells were free. They were things I could, and literally did, pull out of my yard and kitchen. Fitting for spring, too, I reasoned. And so that's the look of henrybella's: sky blue and bird nesty.


Did I mention...? No. I think I've failed to mention. As it turns out, henrybella's shares a building with a pottery shop. The artist's name is Lori Ellyn, and she cuts dishes and pottery from clay, then paints, glazes, and fires her creations in huge kilns in the back of the building. Anyhow, Lori Ellyn came up to the front of the building one morning and, as she poured herself a cup of coffee, announced that she was designing custom dishes for henrybella's.

I gulped. I use white plates in the bakery... clean, white, sturdy plates, and like them. Besides, my style is completely opposite from Lori Ellyn's, and I was happy with what I already had. But then she brought these up front:

These are the dishes she designed for the Sweet Shop. They're each completely handmade and painted. No two are exactly alike. I have platters to serve and deliver sweets. I have plates to portion out pie. I have tea saucers and butter pat dishes and chargers. And I love them. Each and every one.


Trouble is, everyone wants to buy them off the tables. Which turns out to be no trouble at all, especially since it's helping Lori Ellyn, who's depended on her pottery income since her husband died of cancer three years ago. And it's giving me a little money to put back in the business, which is priceless right now...

So. Not coming to henrybella's Sweet Shop anytime soon? No problem. We'll ship a plate and a cookie to you if you'd like. Visit the Etsy Shop here for more information....

Birthday Suit and Battles

...or dress, rather. I have several yards of a dove gray fabric, purchased a year ago, that I'm hoping to shape into a dress similar to this, the Epilogue Blouson Dress from Anthropologie. (No way I can afford the $158 dollar price tag... even for this special occasion!) I even have the perfect shoes to pull this off. I'm thinking it's the perfect dress to turn 30 in...

The bakery's been closed for a week now. Last Tuesday as I was happily serving coffee and selling muffins, the Health Department walked in. Someone had called them, then drove over 20 miles to file a formal complaint against henrybella's. The inspector who came through apologized over and over again, then said our 1901 building simply wasn't up to code as it pertained to sinks. Yeah. The inspector sighed as she delivered the verdict: I had to give away the rest of the food, shut it down and lock the doors. It broke my heart.

But what someone meant for meanness, God meant for good. The building's owner was here when it all happened and was deeply outraged. She immediately called a contractor and told them to get their men here to make necessary changes. In a week, a commercial kitchen's been added at NO COST to me. Commercial equipment, including a stainless steel monster sink, a stove, bakery tables and shelves have all been donated. As in, given. (Some were birthday presents, but still!) I'm short a water heater and a big refrigerator, but at this point, I have no doubt they're on their way.

I'd like to say that last Tuesday, when my business was shut down, I was the model of faith and perserverence. Ha. I locked the door and sat in a chair and cried for a good five minutes. I called someone, bawling, barely coherent, and sobbed, Why is everything so hard? Why can't anything just WORK OUT? Why is everything a battle? Why does everything hurt? Why couldn't I at least have made enough money to catch up on my bills before they shut me down? What in the world... in the world?... am I supposed to do now?

Yes, I was upset. And then I was directed to this blog... this particular post... and felt all that anger and frustration dissolve into nothing. I have only to do three things and three things only, realized. I could do those. And it was another miracle to watch God part my Red Sea and hurry me across another deluge to solid ground again.

Man. Am I ever looking forward to putting on that dress and kissing these 20s goodbye! There have been battles, there have been wars, there have been defeats and there have been glorious victories. But I've learned the most important lesson a girl can learn: I have a Heavenly Father who holds my life in His mighty hand and keeps me with a fierce, eternal love. I might as well trust Him, then put on my dress and dance....

A Rose, A Party, and A Surprise

Expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise.

-Alice Walker

And there it was, blushing atop the trellis: the first rose of spring. I'd been keeping my eye on it for days... watching as pink filled a bulging green bud... watching to see how long the color could stand to be hemmed in before it burst its seams and wore its beauty for the peering sky. Then this morning I checked and there it was. How anyone can see an unfolded rose and not set her heart into the hands of the petal's Creator is beyond me.

There was much talk last night about my thirtieth birthday party. (Yikes. It's next week.) I always thought my 30s would greet me in the Cognac Lounge at Cool River in Las Colinas, or somewhere, with a handful of friends and news reporting buddies, crusty bosses and maybe a who's who type person or two, all bored to tears yet buying me Amaretto Sours and shoving wadded bills into my hands with a curt, I didn't get you a card, but happy birthday, kid. And then I'd take a cab straight to DFW airport and board a plane bound for the English countryside. Strangely enough, that's how I always wanted the beginning of my thirties decade to look.

But that was before I learned to live, frugally, on surprise. Instead, my 30th birthday is set here in this tiny town, and instead of a handful of wacky reporters, many of whom couldn't tell you my real name, much less spell it (hint: it's not Brin), I'll be surrounded by the faces I can't imagine my life without - people I couldn't love more if I tried. There'll be balloons. There'll be champagne. There'll be cupcakes. There'll be music, there'll be laughter, and there'll be hugs. (There will also be a little wagging brown dog named Millie.) And, best of all, there will be happiness. There will be the joy that comes with living the life you've dreamed of... being the person you were meant to be... and being surrounded by the people you adore who love you right back. There'll be nothing better.

Surprise, surprise.

If...

...if I sat down and wrote a thousand pages and pasted them between two covers and called it a book, it still wouldn't be enough to catch you up on what's happened here in the past four days.

Are some people born into messy, thrilling lives, specially hardwired and trained to cope with such drama? Or do we wander down a road less traveled and find ourselves here, destined to walk this road and live this life on account of choices?

I'm not sure. All I can say, with certainty, is I could not do this another day without a Savior who, every moment - without fail - gives me the grace to bear up under enormous things.

This is the same God who, while inclining His ear unto me, hours ago freed my friend Eddie from the Sudan People's Liberation Army. Eddie was captured and detained over the weekend while crossing from Kenya into Sudan to assist with mission humanitarian work. Apparently soldiers with the SPLA haven't been paid and are hungry and running out of water. They saw Eddie and another Christian as a bargaining chip, and captured and held them. While in custody these last few days, short on food, water, and hope, Eddie was able to tell many soldiers about Jesus. Almost 25 men called upon Him and asked Jesus to be their Savior, too. And this morning Eddie was released and driven across the border....

These past few days have been impossible. Life is hard. Life is so, so, so hard. But God is good. God is so, so, so good.

Day of Rest

It's no secret to Christians that Sunday is intended as a day of rest. Some of the faithful observe this "time out" day because the Bible tells us God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh, and then turned around and told His people to Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.

That said, my parents were always strict about the day of rest bit. We didn't go out to eat on Sunday. We didn't have sleepovers or go anywhere... just to church and back home. Mom would make a huge Sunday lunch and we'd eat and then pass out on the couch or the floor and watch football - or baseball - whatever was on, with my Dad. We'd talk Dallas Cowboys and Texas Rangers and yell for Troy Aikman or Nolan Ryan until my Mom would rouse and hush us all, reminding us it was time to rest. Evening saw me and my four brothers and sister piling back into the car for a 7 p.m. church service, after which we headed back home and ate burritos. Every Sunday night we had burritos. I still remember Dad frying the refried beans in a little skillet on the stove while Mom made iced tea and one of us kids would grate cheese or slice tomatoes or pour salsa. One those those childhood memories I'll keep forever.

Although I still eat burritos on Sunday nights, I've gotten away from the day of rest bit as an adult. Too many things to do, you know, and experience. I mean, I'm pressed enough for time as it is, so lying back and resting on a Sunday seems unproductive (at best) and downright lazy (at worst). But in ignoring (disobeying) a clear command, I'm shooting myself in the foot. God knows we need a day of rest. For body and spirit. I think He told us to remember our Sabbath days because He knew how busy, stressed, burned out and exhausted we'd get the rest of the week.

Opening henrybella's has made me reconsider my Sundays. Aside from church, will they be a day of rest, or a day just like all the others?

I was still kicking the idea around two weeks ago when I (finally) went to get my haircut. This time I tried a new hairstylist, Jeanette, and appreciated her encouragement as we discussed the sweet shop and my plans for business. When she asked about which days and hours I'd be open, I hesitated. Well, I teach Sunday School and go to church on Sunday, but it sure would be profitable if I could figure out a way to be open later on Sundays.

Jeanette's scissors paused in the air and she leaned in over my shoulder. Look at it this way, she said, softly. You can either think about money, or you can think about Who your money comes from.

Turns out Jeanette is a preacher's wife, something I didn't know when I scheduled an appointment with her. And those words have stayed with me all week... that I can either think about money, or I can think about Who my money comes from.

My hours, then, are Tuesday through Saturday. Sunday I'm resting, and Monday I'll shop and clean and pre-mix doughs, etc. That will be my week for the forseeable future.

So today's my first day to "rest". I think I'm going to fold some laundry and read a little. And maybe do some cleaning in the guest room (pictured here with pillow cases I just got from my grandmother) since I'll have a visitor here all week. Also think I'll start making THIS little pretty from Alicia's book. (I'm still trying to come up with safe, non-toxic, natural games and toys for children who come to henrybella's and need something to do while their mothers visit.)

Things are so peaceful here today. Think I could really get used to this whole day of rest bit again....

(Update: I didn't fold laundry. Instead, I spent a shameful hour online stalking Rob Pattinson and listening to his I Was Broken 15 times. Yeah, I realize I'm not 15 years old, but I have such a huge crush on this guy that I can't help it. *blush*)

A Bitty Break

So I've decided that my favorite thing about owning a sweet shop is being able to sneak in the back door on Saturday morning, cut yourself a chunk of Peanut Butter Pie, and flip through a magazine with the place to yourself. Heaven.

I'm still lousy about reading my emails. I've hardly opened my Freeman House email account in two weeks. I do know, however, that I'm still getting notes from people strongly urging me not to quit blogging on April 7th. And I hear you. I really do. It's just that I'm doing everything at henrybella's right now - all the shopping, all the baking, and all the shop keeping/selling/cleaning, etc. It's too much for one person, really, but I can't afford to hire help. Today, my day "off", I'm doing 5 loads of laundry, mowing the yard, cleaning my house, seeing after Millie, and shopping for ingredients. Then there's a party tonight. Tomorrow it's teaching Sunday School and then baking to fill a big order first thing Monday morning. Sadly, there's not much time here anymore for blogging....

Hope y'all understand.

Sweet to the Soul

The desire accomplished is sweet to the soul...
-Proverbs 13:19

After two days, henrybella's is... here. It really happened. I looked up this morning while pouring coffee and realized: this is my dream. This is my place. These are my customers and I am a boss and all this is here because of a desire accomplished. It was so sweet to my soul.

Can't say for sure yet what my favorite part of owning my own bake shop is. (Sleep would not be one of them. I'm getting about 3.5 hours a night. Yipes.) I do know this: after two days our bestsellers are clearly the Strawberry Sugar Cupcakes, Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies, and Candy Bar Cheesecake (to wit):

My gosh is it good. Southern Banana Pecan Muffins and Farmhouse White Bread are close behind. Yum.

I was afraid the place would be too girly, you know, but men keep coming in. Heck, give the boys a sweet treat and a mug of coffee and they crowd the tables, talking, reading, sipping, watching the day go by....

We're all having a ball, meeting new friends, and making our little town a sweeter place, all as we look toward tomorrow...

Yeah, it's all so sweet to the soul.

Bakery opened. Line out door. Newspaper sent reporter to check out the commotion. Sold out in three hours. Too tired to move. What a day! Ready to do it all over again tomorrow. More later...

Nervous

A chocoholic customer eating cake

Boy am I nervous. So, so nervous. I haven't been this nervy since I interviewed Martha Stewart that one time when I worked for CBS and said totally idiotic things. The sweet shop opens tomorrow and my stomache is in knots. Will I have enough food? Will I have way too much? Is the selection okay? Will the coffee be too weak? Am I starting too small? Do I need an employee already? These questions, and a million others, bounce around my head like pink rubber paddle balls.

Fortunately I have a hot bath, a bowl of Baked Potato Soup and a little brown dog to keep me company this evening. I'm looking forward to it all... especially Millie. Sure have missed that pup lately.

Tomorrow it is on. Tomorrow is the day. I'll save a Strawberry Sugar cupcake for you....