Category: Inspiring

Posted in Blessings of Habit, Coffee-ism, Homemaking, Inspiring, Recipes, Wisdom, Womanhood

The A-OK Breakfast – Veggie Frittata!

Posted on by Katharine

Good morning!

The hardest thing about dieting, for me, is that the only way I can really lose weight and stay healthy is to cut carbohydrates. I dread that. I love chocolate-coated sugar bombs with milk and cream on them. I love pancakes with too much syrup. I love granola bars, instant milk stir ins, and smoothies.

The only way I can make myself follow a low-carb diet is to keep telling myself that sweet = poison. In a way, it is true, for me. Sugar sure is sweet and sure is poison. Most sugar substitutes are, also. Since I stopped allowing sugar past my lips, I have been tons healthier. I try hard to stick to only 10 grams of sugar per day, although I often go up to 15 or 20. Still, I try.

Now, lest we be confused, in my book, starch = sugar. If you paid attention in school, you learned that starch changes to sugar in the body, often as soon as while it is in the mouth. So–no sugar = no starch.

Exit: breakfast as we know it. Enter: eggs, the wonder-food.

Long ago when scientific empiricism ruled, children learned in school that eggs are nearly a perfect food. Soon after that, media sensationalism took over and we all became scared of the egg. Impossible! Now, surprise, surprise! the egg is coming back into vogue, probably because if we want, we can circumvent media tripe by watching the computer, instead, choosing to read the research for ourselves, instead of trusting the interpretation of those who have agendas.

Slowly it trickles down and grows to a deep sea of truth. The truth is, I cannot eat the average donut or cereal breakfast and lose. I ate that way for most of my life, and now, the part of me that processes sugar is worn out. It’s gotta be protein and greens for me.

I have learned, from long years of perfecting my breakfast menus, that I cannot tolerate egg after egg after egg, unless I do something drastic about the boredom. So I collect amazing egg recipes. Thinking others may be in the same boat, I have decided to share, every Monday, how I have beat egg boredom. (Yes, I know today is Wednesday. Minor glitch. Just think–you only have to wait five more days for the next installment.)

Today will be the Vegetable Frittata. It is so NOT breakfast-y, that it shocks the taste buds into sobriety while delivering tons of great nutrients to the fasting body, including one of the most easily digested protein sources, the lowly egg.

Here it is, in all its glory. Adjust it to meet your taste buds and your veggies on hand. Enjoy!

Vegetable Frittata

2 T. olive oil or butter
4″ sprig rosemary
1 or 2 green onions, chopped
1 clove garlic, pressed
1 or 2 mushrooms, sliced
1 small tomato, chunked
2 eggs
grated parmesan cheese (opt.)

Warm oil with rosemary in covered saute pan for a minute. Add onion and garlic and saute briefly, stirring, until clear. Add mushrooms and increase heat slightly. Saute, stirring, until mushroom begins to shrink and brown. Onion should brown, also, and garlic should be nearly overdone. Increase heat slightly and add tomato. Stir and fry until tomato just begins to peel.

vegetable frittata-1
Just After Adding Tomato

Beat eggs with 1 teaspoon water and add to pan, stirring constantly until done. If desired, contents of pan may be pushed into interesting shapes before egg sets.

vegetable frittata-2
Prepared with Love

Sprinkle lightly with parmesan cheese, salt, and pepper, if desired, and serve with 2 ounces of pomegranate juice and/or 1 cup coffee or tea. Serves one.

Enjoy!

Okay, I know it’s a shock. Move to a sunny window, close your eyes, pretend you’re in Italy, and learn a new thing.

See ya’ tomorrow!

Posted in Inspiring, Who's the mom here?

All My Men Have Been Good to Me – Sons

Posted on by Katharine

God has blessed us with four sons.  Sometimes I can hardly believe this. And I can hardly count the joys. But I will try.

  1. They have played with each other for their whole lives. They truly care about each other.
  2. They are careful to honor their mother. It is such a blessing.
  3. They all have applied themselves diligently in school. They have made good names for themselves with teachers and employers. They are known for hard work.
  4. The guys at church like them, enjoy teasing them, and they can hold their own when it happens.
  5. They bring me things—amazing rocks, wonderful feathers, gifts, songs, gadgets, cards, books—I lose track, but they seem to enjoy bringing me things.
  6. They ask me for advice. Not often, but on important occasions.
  7. They call me and write me.
  8. They remember what I have taught them. When they forget, just a look, a touch, can remind them.
  9. They have given me three incredible daughters-in-law.
  10. Those who have children have taught their children to love me.

This list could go on, but ten is a good place to stop. To summarize, my sons have been good to me.

Posted in Believe it or not!, Husbands, Inspiring, Wisdom, Wives

All My Men Have Been Good to Me – Husband

Posted on by Katharine

They hoped he wouldn’t love me, but he did. They predicted we wouldn’t last, but we did. Vietnam tried to separate us, but it didn’t. They said we’d never get anywhere, but we did.

And at least half of it was due to the only man who would give up his seat to me, forty-something years ago.

We were hardly more than children, but love and stubbornness led the way. Milestone after milestone whizzed by until it seemed there was no stopping us.

Bumps in the road gave us strength, new direction, and adaptability, a great combination.

Now, six children homeschooled and raised up and out of the home, mostly it’s just us. And that was really all I needed in the first place—all the rest was frosting.

Buying and selling houses and cars, fixing broken things, building what we lacked, sweating at laboring, always taking the frugal route, he provided, always provided, so I would not have to leave our nest, was free to tend our babes in peace, not harried. I love the life I acquired with this man who spent himself so willingly for my freedom.  

Then there is the wisdom. They say still waters run deep, and for him, it is true. When he spoke, the words were worth listening. When he spoke, other women feared.

And patience. Married to a woman who “needs a mute button”, he always listened, always listens. Always knows the answers to my confusions,

Let the world belittle marriage and commitment! Let them rant against fidelity and sanctity! Let them screw their brows into frowns and suspicions! Let them pretend they are happy without loyalty and truthfulness! Let them blow!

I cannot hear it.

I have spent my whole life with my best friend and would that I had another life to do it all again.

Posted in Brothers, Inspiring

All My Men Have Been Good to Me – Brothers

Posted on by Katharine

I have two brothers. God knows I could not have stood any more. And I don’t mean that in a mean way.

My brothers spoil me. They are extravagantly generous to me. If I had one more brother, I would pop.

First, they endured my obnoxious childhood foibles as a sister. I know they learned their extreme patience from living with me for all those years. If I wasn’t trying to get them to play dress-ups with me, then it was playing school. Which was worse? With me taking charge of everything, it didn’t matter!

Second, they grew up to be strong and loving husbands and dads. They gave me wonderful nieces and a wonderful nephew, and have raised and are raising them right. I rejoice in knowing they all, all, all are my family.

dozen pink roses
One Dozen Pink Roses

Third, they call me, visit me, write me, and bring or send me gifts. Just recently this lovely bouquet arrived at my door. I can hardly believe it. When they visit, the closest one travels about 500 miles. This is devotion, friends. I wish I could grow to deserve it.

But I see similar devotion in my sons, for their sister and it gives me such hope.

Posted in Blessings of Habit, Good ol' days, Inspiring

All My Men Have Been Good to Me – Dad

Posted on by Katharine

Making plastic articles was hot, fumey work.I wrote of my dad already, but left much unsaid.

A WWII veteran, my dad was a factory worker. He lifted heavy bags of plastic pellets into a machine that turned out knobs, duck calls, and laundry baskets, at high temperatures. He seldom took sick leave and came home exhausted every night. For that he received $100 per week and a party sometime in December.

Yet he had such energy left for tomfoolery! He played with us kids as if he were one himself. Airplane rides (on his feet), jigsaw puzzles, carom games, goofy drawings, and croquet were among his repertoire. He made the stand for our carom board, himself, without any plan or pattern. He also made several bookcases and two desks the same way. And he repaired our toys.

One play activity he initiated with us was about trust. Did he think it through and decide to teach us trust? Maybe not—he was having fun. He encouraged and coaxed us to fall backward into his hands, if we believed he was strong enough to catch us. Was that ever hard to do! And how insulted he acted when we were scared to try it! He never dropped us, though, and we learned something, I think.

When his family grew, he built an addition to the house, himself. Alone. He hired help with digging and pouring the basement, and with the rafters. All the rest he did with our help. We gained a new living room, bedroom, basement, and bath. It was hard, but he did it. He wired, plumbed, hammered, sawed, plastered, sanded, and varnished. And I still can back any nail out of any board, no matter how bent or stuck. Just ask my kids.

He kept a huge garden, too. Corn, tomatoes, beans, and cucumbers, I remember. Sometimes he hired it plowed in spring, sometimes he could only afford to burn it off and attack with a shovel. But he had a big-wheeled cultivator and we pulled weeds. And there is still something about pulling weeds that pulls me into the garden.

How I loved to sit on his lap while he watched television! Mostly I did not watch, but just nestled and played with his hands. I twirled his wedding ring round and round his finger and rubbed the calluses on his palms and ridges on his fingernails. Sometimes he would give me one quarter of one of his Throat Disks from their slender tin he kept in his pocket. He also had a smaller tin of tiny, black Meloids that were too spicy for me.

One thing bonded me to him more than any other. When I was very little, he would give me piggy-back rides. He sat on a big chair while I climbed up to grab hold around his neck, then he stood up and bounced me around the living room. What fun we had! The day came, though, when the ride was over, I slid down his back, and my leg caught on a screwdriver in his back pocket. I screamed. He was absolutely heartbroken. I had never seen a grown-up cry before and it riveted me.

Oh, to be that concerned about my own precious children!

Posted in Blessings of Habit, Good ol' days, Inspiring, Wisdom

All My Men Have Been Good to Me: Grandpa

Posted on by Katharine

My grandpa used to gather us kids around to play a mouse game with us. He somehow folded his handkerchief into a cylinder shape with a tail and would hold it in his hand and stroke it like a pet mouse. Then he would talk us into petting it, too. Suddenly it would jump up his arm while he acted surprised and we nearly jumped out of our skins, although we knew what was coming, each time. It was the only kid entertainment at their stuffy parsonage, and we loved it, couldn’t wait to go there and beg to play the mouse game. Oh, the giggles!

Imagine my awe and shock when my mother revealed to me the truth: my grandpa never did like children much. Imagine!—Oh, just imagine!—What dedication to doing right prevailed in this man who did not like little children yet took them into his arms and blessed them with a silly game!

Outside of that game, our activities with him were on adult level. He lived in St. Louis, and took us often to Shaw’s Garden and the Climatron. Anyone who has ever been there knows a child can be totally impressed with such a ho-hum-sounding activity. I was. I loved it there; the waterfalls that ended in fish-filled pools with floating lava rock amazed me. That the birds could live there for our enjoyment, that we could climb stairs to be near the treetops, that the birds were used to us, was unbelievable. I grew up to be an amateur botanist and birder.

After retiring from parish life, he took a simpler job as proofreader at a large publishing company. Twice he took me there to see the processes, every step conducted in house, in the good ol’ days. I remember a long set of cover-less books aligned side-by-side with an enormous screw clamp, waiting for their corporate edges to be gilded. I grew up to be a writer.

Grandpa also had a pump organ and played very well. He would not let us play on it unless we could pump it ourselves and knew an actual song to play for him. My brother was better at that, but when Grandpa took us to the big, old church that had a real pipe organ, when the organist was practicing, it was sublime. I soaked in it and grew up to prefer richly chorded classical organ music.

One activity bonded me to my grandpa more than any other thing: milk toast.

milktoast
Buttered or Not–Mmm!

For the uninitiated, that is a bowl of torn-up toast, doused in milk, to eat with a spoon like cereal. A-a-ah!

I liked milk toast and none others of Grandpa’s fourteen grandchildren did, that I know of. He liked to eat a bowl of it every night before bed and if we were there, he would make me one, too. We sat together at their antique oak dining table that was covered in hand-made lace, old man and little girl, happy as coons in corn, eating a meal he prepared just for me.