What's cookin' at your house?

I've got some country-style ribs cooking up in the slow cooker.  They are simply seasoned - splashed with a little Worcestershire sauce, and sprinkled liberally with black pepper and Soul Food Seasoning.

I first picked this up at Winn Dixie on a whim, and it has since become a family favorite.  It's mostly salt,  red and black pepper, garlic and paprika.  We all love it on pretty much all meats, with vegetables, salads, and with one-dish meals - soups, beans-and-rice, stews, you name it. 

This seasoning makes almost every food taste better.  When I pull it off the shelf, I know I'm going to make whatever I am cooking work better, make it more palatable for my family.   

Let your speech always be with grace, as though seasoned with salt, so that you will know how you should respond to each person.    

                  Colossians 4:6

The manner in which I use words should be just like that, too.  My communications are often hurried, whiny, harsh, or flavorless.  As I sprinkle the Soul Food Seasoning on tonight, I am thinking I need to remember to sprinkle my language with Soul Food Seasoning, too.

Happy Sunday

First of 17

OK, maybe I did not really get 17 projects done this summer, but I did accomplish a few crafty, sewy, cook-y, painty things. Actually, by the time I toss in some sewing for friends, I may have more than 17 projects.  Here are a couple of the 17-ers:

A Red Front Door!

This was our Independence Day weekend project. I have hesitated to paint the door a color (it was white) because of the glass insert with internal white blinds.  I thought it might look funny.  But we went for it, and I am glad.  I can hardly wait for Christmas and the hanging of a bright Christmasy green and red wreath!

By the way, this door with the miniblind inserts was here when we bought the house.  At first, I did not care for it - not my decorating style.  But this type door is very easy to live with.  I can let light in, just as much as I want, and the blinds stay clean.

...and a patriotic wreath!

I got the idea from Landee See Landee Do.  I didn't like mine as well as hers, and when I looked back, I realized she had some solid color ribbon and paper, too, and it broke up the business of the patterns.  But I did not want to take anything apart, and now the little fireworks wreath is growing on me.

more to come...

A Few Sounds Heard 'Round Our Household Recently

* Plock *

The sound of a full bottle of olive oil shattering on the kitchen floor

* Whooeet! Whooeet! * 

The sound of me whistling to call the kittycat. 

* Whooeet! Whooeet! * 

The sound of a mockingbird...um...calling the kittycat?  Lucky for the mockingbird, the kitty has learned to ignore us both.  A mockingbird in our yard once learned to mock our phone ringing.  Very entertaining.

* Thoomp!  Thoomp! Thoomp! *

The sound of a little gymnast practicing round-offs

* Thoomp! Thoomp! Thoomp! *

The sound of a little gymnast practicing back walk-overs - they are quieter than round-offs

This picture has no relation to the post above it, but I am just so happy to have rediscovered my camera, tucked into my crochet bag during Gymnastics camp, and wanted to show off what's left of my first 2 batches of bluberry jam.

Ouch! Ouch! Blueberry!

Sorry...no pretty picture...

Growing up on the farm, we always made jam, jelly, and preserves during the summer.  Blackberries, plums, figs, pears, peaches, and even  watermelon rinds processed their way through the kitchen into jars and jars of homemade treats.  I never remember working with blueberries, though.  In fact, I'm not sure if I ever tasted a fresh blueberry until I was grown.  (I think Mama planted a couple of blueberry bushes once, but if I remember correctly, they came to a sad end before yielding fruit).  Now I find blueberries readily available, and love eating them on cereal, with yogurt, on salads, and in cobblers.

Today for the very first time I made blueberry jam using this recipe for blueberry jam from A Few Shortcuts.  This recipe made 3 half-pints and almost 1 other pint, and it was REALLY, REALLY easy.  (When I used this recipe, just to remind myself, I checked out general canning procedures at "Canning-the Musical" on Southern Plate.)  Now we just have to see if one of the jars refuse to seal.  That's the one we claim for home.  The others can be gifts. 

Yummmmmm. I'm sipping some iced tea to sooth my tongue, 'cause it was SO-ooo good that I burnt my tongue but good tasting it.

Here would be just the place to insert a picture of the little stash of jam, but my camera is AWOL.  I know it 's at the bottom of one of my bags and bins of craft supplies and flotsam left over from gymnastics camp crafts, part 2, which I have not blogged about at the Sm'Arties blog because, well, no pictures.  When I last saw camera, we were at the gym, the camera had escaped its little pouch, and was spotted with Mod Podge and a little paint. 

Sew Helpful

Amended to add:  Cynthia's invisible zipper tutorial looks great - I think I will try this method next time.  Thanks to Jennifer from Sewplicity for recommending it!

Sew4Home has a great post:  You Asked For It  -  a long list of detailed sewing basics.  I'll look at their invisible zipper tutorial later this evening before I attempt my second-ever invisible zipper installation.  I have never thought of using an invisible zipper on a pillow, but what a cool idea.

And look at this post about sewing an invisible zipper with a facing from Colette Patterns!  How cool is that?  I plan to line my skirt, and may try to make this technique work to attach the lining, skirt, and zipper all in one scary step.

Here is the skirt I am working on:

Are you stalking these children?

I think I will step into controversy:

Twice in one week I had a child (2 different children) inform me that someone was stalking them. 

"Stalking us," that was the exact phrase.

Incident #1
In the first case, at Gymnastics Camp, on that beautiful day when we went outside and spray-tie-dyed T-shirts, a girl, a 9-year-old, I think, sidled up to me and spoke low, out of the corner of her mouth, "There's a stalker over there." 

Me: "What?"
She: "There's a stalker over there.  That lady is stalking us."
Me: "Where?"
She: "Over there, in the window.  That lady is looking at us. She's stalking us."

OK, seriously, who taught this little girl that no adult is allowed to LOOK OUT HIS/HER OWN OFFICE WINDOW at a bunch a rowdy children who have appeared on the lawn unexpectedly without being accused of stalking? 

This is what we were up to - in case the stalker wanted to know

I explained to her that this lady probably was sitting at her own desk in her own office, and heard us having fun, and since this area did not usually have a rowdy bunch of children having fun, she looked out HER OWN WINDOW to see what was going on.  Then she saw us with the T-shirts and spray cans and was curious to see what we were doing.  That's not stalking, looking out your own office window.  I tried to limit the sarcasm in my reply, but probably failed.

Can you imagine if I had stomped up to the window and hollered, "KEEP YOUR EYES ON YOUR DESK! STOP STALKING THESE YOUNG'UNS!?"

Incident #2
Later that same week, my daughter was hanging out with a couple of friends, and one of the friends reported to me that a lady was "totally stalking us." 

Me: "What? Who was stalking you?"
She: "A lady.  She was stalking us."
Me: "What do you mean, stalking?  What did she do?"
She: "She was looking at us."

That's all.  A trio of giggly girls caught her attention, and she...the nerve of her!...LOOKED at them.  She didn't keep looking.  She didn't follow them.  She just looked at them.


I know it is hard to balance, to teach discernment.  It's easier to teach a child that no one has the right to look at you, everyone is a danger to you.  It's easier to raise children to be fearful, untrusting, always scared, but, hey, at least they are safe. 

Please, while we teach our children to take care, let's also teach them that adults who look at them are almost always NOT the Bogeyman.

Hero at the Next Table

Friday evening we sat just one table over from a hero. 


He looked just like many of the other men in the restaurant, in his early 80s, silver-haired, suntanned, wearing bermuda shorts and a polo shirt, eating and talking with five other vibrant senior citizens. 

These seniors can be found all over Florida, but Friday evening we were near The Villages, where most of the residents are retired, all the landscapes are manicured, and shopping centers and grocery stores have parking places designated for golf carts.

The lady seated next to the hero, a much younger retiree, chatted with him, and, as folks do at a large table in a busy restaurant, they turned toward each other to speak, which directed their conversation in my direction.  I tuned in when the lady said, "...ya know, like in Saving Private Ryan? The movie?  You were there?  On D-Day?"


The man answered, "In Normandy? Oh, yeah.  I was there."  Their conversation within my earshot continued long enough for me to hear that he was on the beach that first day, D-Day. I sat,  a little awestruck.  An American hero.  Part of the push that won the war.  So THAT'S who he was.


Yes, I know there were thousands there that day.  I know that this man, and many, probably did not want to be there, but were simply following orders.   He may have been no braver than soldiers who were back in the states, filing paperwork, driving trucks, casting off ropes on troop transports.  They are all my heroes. 



A few of them are in my family - less now than a few years ago. 



Every few months lately, our community has sent off an Honor Flight.  A plane full of elderly veterans and their escorts takes off early in the morning for Washington, DC, where they visit several locations, including the World War II Memorial. They are saluted as heroes everywhere they go.   They fly back the same day.  These flights are publicized ahead, and the community is invited to meet the returning heroes.  Hundreds show up each time.  Our community is patriotic like that.



The schedule has not worked for us yet, but maybe next flight, in October, will find us in the crowd forming a cheering line.  Cheering the heroes.