photos – Page 39 – Home's Cool!

Is Your Water on the Rocks?

Posted on April 6, 2011September 26, 2017 by Katharine

Our five chickens would die without us. We have to check on them at least twice per day. It’s only natural: every critter in the four-state area wants to eat either our poor little hennies, or their feed. From time to time, a rat will even try to prevent their accessing their own water supply. It does this by piling rocks into the water trough, which is only about 1 ½” wide. One night of rat work can mean no water in the morning when the hens leave the roost and need a drink.

So we go down to the hen house every morning, remove rocks from the water, make sure no fresh coon tracks lie in the dust around the building, and hand out treats like bits of bread or cereal. They really love the first morning visit.

How about you?

Do you find yourself waking up to rocks in your water? What do I mean?

Maybe you have been asleep. Sleep is not bad; we all need rest. We can rest in the Lord or take an understandable nap. We suffer without it. Sometimes we might even snooze on the job—tsk! While our eyes are closed, though, sometimes the enemy slips in and harasses us in ways we don’t realize.

Once we wake up, we really need a drink. We haven’t met our hydration needs for a long while. That Living Water can be just the thing to quench that thirst, but where is it? Why is it not where it should be, where it always was?

Some rat has been inserting rocks. What we really need is the Solid Rock, but what we find is an irritating pack of pebbles. Foreign platforms, foreign ideas, foreign habits, small but many, are in the way, blocking our access to the life-giving, thirst-quenching water.

So we wait for the owner to come on down and help us. He clears the way to the water and we drink deeply of trouble-free water and find refreshing. Then, to make sure we love, trust, and remember him, he hands out treats: wonderful bits of nourishment we like better than the daily ration and that cause us always to wait expectantly for his return.

How is it with you? Have you been napping on the job? Thirsty? Not finding the water you expected where you expected it?

Wait. The Master will come to you and clear it all up for you.

And will treat you to something special.

Coffee-ism, Homemaking, Inspiring, Recipes

The A-OK Breakfast – Turning Eggs Into Oatmeal!

Posted on April 4, 2011April 11, 2011 by Katharine

Turning Eggs into Oatmeal? Yes—Check it Out!

Well, I did say low carbs, last week, didn’t I? Yet sometimes I get a hungering for the tastes of days gone by. I remember an egg and oatmeal dish from my youth called Golden Oats. When I looked it up, I found far more oat than egg, a sort of crumbly mix to which you add juice. Too many carbs! What do I do?

I eat oatmeal.

Of course, if I overdid it, I would ruin the diet, so I allow myself about one tablespoon of it. Are you confused, yet? Let’s just have the recipe and get on with it!

A-OK Oatmeal

1 T. uncooked oatmeal
1 T. butter
1 serving stevia powder
1 t. cinnamon
2 eggs
a dash of cream

Brown the oatmeal in the butter lightly, over medium heat.

Whip eggs, cream, cinnamon, and stevia together thoroughly.

Pour over oatmeal in pan, stirring and chopping until eggs are set. Serve hot with additional cream, and a small serving of pomegranate juice, and/or coffee or tea.

Tastes a LOT like a bowl of oatmeal. No need to add sweetener. Of course, in this land of free speech, it is illegal to say the stevia adds sweetness, so I won’t say that!

Blessings of Habit, Husbands, Inspiring

A Rosy Posy

Posted on April 1, 2011March 31, 2011 by Katharine

About a month ago, someone plowed our garden spot. Then he tilled it. Then he harrowed it. Then he marked it into rows. Then he planted and planted and planted. Onions, cabbages, corn, tomatoes, all are out there. Everything is growing. The corn is two inches tall. Last night, I got this gorgeous posy:

It is more than just a clump of radishes.

It is saving and scrimping to buy land.
It is buying and maintaining a tractor.
It is watching weather and planning ahead for planting.
It is keeping a vegetable inventory, to know how much to plant each year.
It is changing diet to fit what grows in our area.
It is walking out to the garden every day to be sure things are okay.
It is stringing irrigation hoses out there and paying for water when the rain refuses to fall.
It is seeding it over in autumn with crimson clover so we either get a cover crop or else some venison.
It is buying and maintaining a small tiller for between rows, later.
It is researching through gardening books for help with pests and diseases.
It is sharpening and oiling the hoe, shovel, and rake.
It is pulling rocks out and chunking them into the ditch.
It is winding twine round and round and round stakes to support plants.
It is shredding piles and piles of newspapers for mulch.
It is staying up late and going out with a dorky “headlight cap” on and covering tender plants before a surprise frost comes.

All of the above, and more, go into the first bouquet of the vegetable gardening season. And here it is, held in the hand that provided it, the hand of someone who, though he doesn’t eat many radishes, knows who does.

radish bouquet — First Bouquet of the Vegetable Season

Do you know the difference between wisteria and lilac? This is wisteria!

Homemaking, Womanhood

The Costliest Perfume

Posted on March 31, 2011March 9, 2018 by Katharine

Do you ever have a day when you have to unload before you can function? It’s like having your arms full of groceries when someone wants to shake hands. “Hello. Glad to meet you. Let me unload, first…”

Today, chick checks are driving me nuts. We’ve had horrible troubles with a wicked old raccoon, torturing our poor hens have to death and then leaving them to die. Chickens cower when I check their feed and water. Rain waits until I’m half-way past the lilacs on the way to the coop, before it sends a few drops directly over the rifle. Then I have to dry the rifle so carefully.

After lunch, and after the lunchtime chick check, is when I decided it—I had to unload before I could function any more and definitely before I laundered shirts. I calmed myself and gathered gloves and a lopper. Eight joyous branches later, and our dining table centerpiece was doing what lilacs do best. They may be too much perfume for one meal, but are just right, for right now. As the house fills with their scent, I relax.

I once had an opportunity to visit West Bend, Wisconsin, during the bloom time for lilacs. West Bend must have a policy about lilacs because everyone there has them, even fast food places. Arriving at dusk, my family and I wandered out of our car and into the spicy sweetness. Their essence was too strong to recognize on the balmy evening air, but it was sublime, as it is in my house, right now.

Was it like that when Mary bathed and anointed Jesus’ feet? The Word says the house filled with the perfume. Jesus said we always would remember her, too. I feel glad for her sake, but I wonder why He said this and why we remember her.

Of course, her story provides a glimpse into the seamier side of life in Jerusalem. Things were different, then. Adultery and prostitution were against the law, then. Nowadays they are just entertainment for the soaps crowd and fun pastimes for teens. Most kids of today have not heard and would hardly guess these activities are sin, would never be able to guess why. Almost no one can see the demise we’ve inherited from them. Ruined personalities, ruined families, ruined towns, counties—even whole states can trace their downfall to the ruin of marital faithfulness. Whole villages have thrown away the solid ground on which they built. It won’t take much of a wave to wash them away. It will be sad when it comes, and it only takes one village ignoring erosion to start a huge washout.

Will anyone ever see it? Will anyone ever feel sorry about it and stop it?

Mary did, although it meant embarrassment for her.

The perfume of lilacs, faithfully calling to us, can make a difference in this world. Like Mary. I want to be like her. I want to be always at Jesus’ feet.

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

The A-OK Breakfast – Veggie Frittata!

Posted on March 30, 2011April 17, 2011 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!

Brothers, Inspiring

All My Men Have Been Good to Me – Brothers

Posted on March 25, 2011December 16, 2014 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.

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.

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

All My Men Have Been Good to Me: Grandpa

Posted on March 23, 2011December 16, 2014 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.

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.