Simply Dreaming... Or Is It Dreaming Simply?

Our life is frittered away by detail...

simplify, simplify.

-Henry David Thoreau

Can you believe this 'wall tent' Bed & Breakfast that MaryJane has dreamed up? I was looking at these pictures from her site today, and with each and every click I would squeal louder and louder. I suppose for some of you, accommodations like this would be torture. For me, I'm thinking heaven.

Just beautiful.

I was talking to my Dad today... telling him I was thinking of buying a little land and moving Freeman House to the middle of a meadow or something. Maybe it's being out here in all this open air, but it makes me yearn for ... space. For somewhere to plant acres of flowers and ramble about and splash through a brook and soak up sunshine... real, middle-of-nowhere sunshine.

My Dad was quick to point out that moving a house like Freeman House would cost a fortune. "Well, I'm not about to part with the old thing," I said defiantly. He shrugged.

Hmmm, I thought. Maybe I could just build a little tent like MaryJane's with an outdoor kitchen and such....

Don't put it past me. There's something powerfully attractive to the idea of waking up amongst this:

Bet I couldn't take my piano, though. Ah well. It's just dreams. Just an overwhelming desire to simplify and beautify and savor my life... not just fritter it away into a thousand inconsequential details....

More on Mattering

I just loved the comments from yesterday's post. If you haven't read them, you're missing the best part of this blog. As they came in, I felt like a kid at a candy shop... like I was in a room full of sweet, sweet things. Thank you for them all.

Thinking more about the mattering thing today, and how easy it is to get totally absorbed in ourselves and our lives. It's like water spiraling down the bathtub drain - the days just have this way of sucking me into their minutes and minutia. Before I know it, hours... days... months... are gone and there's nothing to show for them. I don't know about you, but I believe we were all created by a loving God who has a specific purpose in mind for each of us. For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord... reads Jeremiah 29:11. I hate the idea of not fulfilling His plan... not being all He meant for me to be... because I'm so taken with myself, my hobbies, and my things. Guess it's really weighing heavy on my heart this year.


Maybe that's why I love to read stories of people who find a way - in their daily lives - to matter. People like Bernie Berlin (that's her, with the kitten). She founded and runs A Place to Bark, a "no kill foster and adoption rescue dedicated to the welfare of animals". I love her and her place. Like so many of you said in your comments, it's not about changing the world, it's about changing lives - one life, even. And Bernie saves sweet animal lives. She can't do it alone, though. She needs old towels, blankets, food, treats... anything. For her mailing address, or other ways you can help Bernie matter, visit her help center here.

There are as many ways to spread hope as there are people to spread it. Whether you have more time, money, or love, there are a zillion ways a day to matter. That's so encouraging, I think. Sometimes a hug is all it takes. Sometimes a phone call. Sometimes a few boxes of Mac 'n' Cheese to a food bank. Other times it's a homemade meal or a ride or a shoulder to bawl on. Sometimes it's as simple as telling someone they're appreciated... not for what they do, but for who they are.

Which brings me back to y'all and all the comments. I wanted to say again, before I got off on Bernie and soldiers and shoulders, that I truly appreciate you all. You're such an encouragement and for that and a thousand other reasons, you matter to me. -Brin

Resolution: To Matter

I'm from Texas and I make my living in the oil and gas business. Needless to say, I work for and with people who have a lot of money. I was reminded of this today. Angela got a diamond-studded Rolex for Christmas. Randy flew his private plane to Houston for New Year's. "What did you do Christmas?" asked Diana, my co-worker, at lunch today.

I told her, ending with: "... and we drove around Christmas night looking at lights."

"Oh!" she breathed. "We did too! We got one of those Hummer limousines with a fireplace and water walls and went to that display in Grand Prairie." And that was after they spent $600 on lunch, apparently, at the Gaylord Texan.

"Six hundred dollars!" I gasped, immediately thinking two things: What in the world did you eat that they could charge $600 for? And: Crap. Six hundred bucks would feed me for a year!

All week I've been listening to what my multi-millionaire buddies are going to buy this year. Where they're going to vacation. What yacht or ATV or car or TV they're going to get. And it's cool, I guess. Gosh knows I have my eye on appliances for my kitchen and a trip to England. But after a while... after all the stuff is unloaded and all the new becomes old... isn't it bound to feel... well, a little empty?

"I am not interested in money. I just want to be wonderful," Marilyn Monroe said. I thought of that quote when I was making my new year's resolutions for this year. Do you make resolutions? I do. Sometimes I keep them and sometimes I don't. Last year I did, so I'm hoping to make it a two-in-a-row type of deal in 2008. Yep, I sat down Tuesday with a pencil and thought and thought. I'd write something down, then I'd erase it. I'd write something else down, then I'd mark it out. I'd scribble other words, then I'd crumple up the paper and start again. What is it you want to achieve? I kept asking myself. Who is it you want to be? And finally I wrote one down. Just one. The paper read:

New Year's Resolutions:

1. To matter.

It suprised me, I think. It wasn't a resolution I'd been planning. What an enormous thing to resolve yourself to. It almost made me cry. I mean, what in this world could be more significant than to matter?

So here's Matter Project #1: handmade pillow cases and toiletry items for a women's shelter in Texas and a children's church camp in Mexico. It's not much, but it's what I can handle on the road. I'm collecting small items... hotel sizes are great... in shampoo, soap, toothbrushes, toothpaste, hairbrushes, etc., and packaging them in pretty pillowcases and shipping them out April 1st. In plenty of time for summer mayhem. My first bit of fabric (it takes a yard for a pillowcase) is from Purlsoho. And I'm already hitting up my traveling co-workers for supplies from their hotel rooms.

Crazy? Yeah. Guess I am. But I'd probably do something stupid with a Rolex anyway... like drop it in the toilet. And private little planes make me nervous... JFK Jr. and all. And my favorite place to eat will always be Chili's. Six hundred dollars can buy a lot of Chicken Tacos. So I suppose I'll be here, sewing pillowcases and tying tiny shampoo bottles with ribbon and trying... in some small way... to matter.

New Year's Ramble...

I hope you love birds too. It is economical.

It saves going to heaven.

- Emily Dickinson

Although Emily Dickinson's my favorite poet, and I've spent hour upon mellifluous hour reading her verses, I've never understood this poem. I like it, but never quite understood it. What did she mean when she said loving birds is economical? And why would a love of birds ever save going to heaven? It all sounds a bit reckless and irreverent. Ah well. I appreciate Emily's terse, morose mind... and I do like birds. So there. Guess we've covered that.

I only thought of Emily and the bird poem today because it seems this same little creature has perched around since New Year's Eve. First he was in the melting snow outside the front door. Then I spotted him with several buddies in the backyard tree. Now he's on the hose hanger just outside my bedroom balcony. Curious fellow. I'm wondering if all the dancing and laughing and praying in the midnight snow turned me into some sort of Mary Lennox. Or perhaps just gave me a touch of the flu. Which would explain why I've spent an entire blog post rambling on about literature and birds.

Anyway, hope your January first was lovely. I'm looking forward to this new year we have together. I hope you love it too. It will be economical. It will not, however we may try, save going to heaven. Just thought you should know.

Another Year to Live...

Another fresh new year is here...

another year to live!

To banish worry, doubt, and fear;

to love and laugh and give!

-William Arthur Ward

Getting ready to celebrate New Year's tonight. I have a tradition: every year at the stroke of midnight I stare up at the twinkling sky and hold my breath and pray a minute of earnest prayers. This year I'll be standing in the snow, peering up toward heaven. I even have hats and silvery star wands, so there's no way can God miss me....

Wishing you the coziest and peaceful of new years, and hoping midnight ushers in a year of more happiness and hope than you can hold.

Winter Afternoon

Climb, then, into this paradise...

this pretty world of peace.

-Rose Macaulay

It's an afternoon of woolly warmth and Vanilla Spice Tea. I'm almost finished with my knitted/crocheted scarflette, which came together all delicate and lofty-like with this yarn from JoAnn. Even from the store shelf it seemed to promise a vanilla winter afternoon. And it has. It does. Pretty world of peace.

I got The Prairie Girl's Guide to Life for Christmas. It's charming, down to its recipe for homemade furniture polish. Definitely going to try that. The book stays in my knitting basket for now, so when I need a change in scenery I can flip it open and read about chopping wood. (Which, believe it or not, I need to know. I'm almost wrote another Girl's Guide To.... this fall, recounting my harrowing and hilarious attempt at chopping wood. Sheesh. If I can manage to chop off the edge of my finger with a knife, I'm terrified to think of what I could have lopped off with a sure-enough axe. But hey. At least now I know how to chop wood.)

But for now I think I'll stick with tea and knitting. Seems more in keeping with a winter paradise of peace, anyhow.

*Bonus: Who knew Jennifer Worick checked out this blog? Read her comment regarding her book by clicking below. (And thanks again, Jennifer, for teaching me to chop wood!)

A Confetti Welcome

In three words I can sum up

everything I've learned about life:

it goes on.

-Robert Frost

Confetti meets snow. Party meets reality. I've carefully shut up my dear Freeman House, once more, and made my way north to the frozen tundra. It's back to work.

It was a wonderful Christmas. I hope yours was, too. The bustle stopped bustling long enough for me to take a nap one day (gasp!) and watch the rain another (sigh) and take in Christmas lights the next (smile). Perfect. Gifts were given and gotten, and I look forward to the gift card shopping spree coming soon to a mall near me. Oh, and to Cherie, Sue, Heather, LuLu, Karin and Alicia ... your Christmas packages were lined up at the door waiting for me. They made me cry. Precious y'all. Thanks so very much.

So a new year. That is the beauty of life, isn't it... that it goes on? I'm looking forward to this year more than I can say. What is it about 365 clean, tiny, numbered squares that give me such hope? I can just feel - the way you sense a storm coming or know the phone's about to ring - that this one will be peculiar and wonderful. I bought bags and bags of brightly colored confetti and plan to do it up right Monday night. Hats and horns and everything. Of course, I couldn't resist running out to entice the new year to hurry. I threw up handfuls of color and stood in the snow as the wispy, papery bits of rainbow rained down around me....

Welcome to our world, 2008. I'm so happy you're here.

An Open Letter to 2007... Or, The Edge of My Map

The reinvention of daily life means

marching off the edge of our maps.

-Bob Black

2007, you and I need to talk.

As years go, you were undoubtedly my worst. I hated you. I truly did. You hunted me and taunted me. You spooked me and scared me. And although I managed your messes and thrived on your thrills... somehow... you nearly beat me. I'm so glad to see you go.

Not that we didn't have our moments. Through a divorce, a lay-off, a break in, a goodbye, a death, a tax bill, a leaky roof, and a bitter disappointment, I was able to see God's grace through it all. What you meant for evil, He meant for good. While you came at me, His hand held me. Held me safe. So you will go, but I will stay... stronger for it all. You, 2007, lost.

And your predecessor - the bright, shining 2008 - promises to out-do you. Once you're laid to rest, he'll move in with all his promise and newness. Lord willing, he'll bring about a book. He'll see the completion of the library. He'll deliver new flowers and friends... new projects and pets. And we'll be happy together, 2008 and I will. We'll share our laughs and quiet moments and mention you with a shrug and a roll of the eyes.

Yes, 2007, I'm through with you. Good riddance. I leave you now to revive and reinvent a precious life you tried to destroy. I leave you to march to the edge of my map and off onto a new one. And as I see new sights and chart new waters, I won't miss you at all.

Glad we had this talk....

Adelante.

Sending Wishes...

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

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

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

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

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

Sending wishes of comfort and joy to you this Christmas.

Warmly,
Brin

Cranberry Christmas Cookie

For somehow, not only at Christmas,

but all the long year through,

the joy you give to others is the joy

that comes back to you.

-John Greenleaf Whittier

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

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

CRANBERRY CHRISTMAS COOKIES

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

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

In a separate bowl, mix together:

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

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

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

The Pear Tree

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dreaming of Jam Baskets...

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

... plus these...

... and this...

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

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

Tumbleweed Alley

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

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

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

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

Monday Moment: O Little Town of Bethlehem

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

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

Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;

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

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

While mortals sleep, the angels keep

their watch of wondering love.

O morning stars together, proclaim the holy birth,

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

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

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

Phillips Brooks, 1867

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

Aliens in the Snow

A happy life is simply the sum

of many small, happy moments.

-Penny Krugman

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

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

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

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

"It looks like an alien."

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

Rejoicing...

In the depth of winter I finally learned

that there within me lay an invincible summer.

-Albert Camus

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

Comfort and joy this December weekend,
Brin