from the mixed-up files of a middle-aged mind

At the request of Lianne --another one of my good friends I've never met--here are a few pics of some of my favorite quilts. People ask me when I find time to quilt. The answer is I don't. It's just that quilting is as good a diversion from my real responsibilities such as housework, dishes and the laundry as is blogging. The other question I get is "Why?" Aside from "Why not?," I would have to say that the reason I love to quilt is because it is the only thing I do in a day that does not get immediately undone. Such is the nature of motherhood. Seriously. If it weren't for this little hobby of mine I'd be certifiable by now. preservation: my friend and I designed this a few years ago when everyone else was still canning bugs choir of angels: this little Christmas quilt is still hanging up--even though it's the end of July underground railroad: a gift to my grandmother on her 88th birthday. she loved it, but she never used it--convinced the t...

Part I ...now let me tell you why you should be writing down yours . Several years ago Pioneer Day (Utah holiday) fell on Sunday. For Relief Society (women's auxiliary meeting) we gathered in a circle around a fake campfire and listened to various women tell stories of the pioneer ancestors. Quaint, I thought. But I like a good story as well as anyone, so I tried to listen attentively. Except it was so hot I started to have a difficult time staying awake. All of a sudden I was startled from my reverie when one of the stories started to sound very familiar. "What a minute," I thought, as one woman read about Henry Chariton Jacobs being born on the banks of the Chariton River. "That's my pioneer story." Suddenly I couldn't wait for the meeting to end. "How does she know this story I had heard so many times from my grandfather?" I wondered of Charlotte Loveless, whom I had met a few times but didn't know well at all. After the meeting was ove...

Because I've spent enought time recently dwelling on the dark side, I give you this: Things by which I am amused... 1). The End's "Brigham Blocks" weekend. 2). This 3). What? "People don't take this costume seriously." 4). A fitness magazine, paid for by my hard-earned insurance-premium-paying money, which concludes all the educational articles regarding HEALTH with a recipe for Raspberry Swirl Squares containing the following ingredients: 3 Tbsp. fat-free tub margarine and 2 cups frozen fat-free or light whipped topping, thawed. (Methinks they need a more enlightened editor. Perhaps Carina ?) 5). Little son at breakfast: "Mom, I want you to make this again sometime when no one else eats so I can eat it ALL!" Me: "You like the farm fresh eggs?" Little son: "Fresh off a chicken butt?" Don't laugh. It only encourages him.

Knock. Knock. Standing at the door is my neighbor, her 10-year-old daughter, and my other friend's 10-year-old daughter. Pregnant pause (of the early second trimester variety). My neighbor : "Um. We just thought you might want to know that L~ hurt herself shaving and she'd hiding from you. But she's hurt and we thought you should know." (Read: You must be a real Mommie Dearest that your daughter is hurt but she feels she must hide from you while she bleeds to death.) Me : "Uh. Thanks." Pregnant pause (this time of the 42-week variety). Me again as it starts to sink in : "Um. Shaving? Did you say L~ was shaving?" My neighbor : "Well, yes. Apparently she's been shaving for some time now." Me : "OK. Thanks. I'll go see if I can find her." (Read: Thanks for being the one to break it to me that my barely 11-year-old daughter has been shaving her legs behind my back. Are you also going to knock on my door someday and tel...

So my oldest son leaves in the morning for Havasupai . Already I have listened to him rattle off his itinerary and narrate his menu for the next three days at least ten times. It's not that I'm not interested. It's just that I got it all the first time. I can't really blame him. His need to play it--or anything else he's preparing for or worrying about--over and over again in his head and to recite it over and over again to me is all my fault. As much as I have lived my life trying to run from the OCD (or, as my mother calls it, OCDC) that flows through my genes, I think it may be time to concede. It is what it is. I can thank my maternal grandmother. We used to joke that she'd wash the glass you were drinking out of and have it put away before you took your last swallow. We were only partly kidding. This woman--whom I love dearly--kept an immaculate house. In fact she even kept an immaculate garage and shed to go along with it. I still wonder what the carpet cl...

It seems a bit audacious to post a recipe when you all have this and this to browse through for your culinary pleasures. But here it is... Sour Cream Lemon Pie 9-inch baked pie shell or cookie crust (I usually do a gingersnap or 1/2 graham cracker 1/2 gingersnap crust) 1 c. milk 1 c. sugar 3 Tbsp. cornstarch 3 egg yolks, slightly beaten 1/4-1/3 c. freshly squeezed lemon juice 1 Tbsp. freshly grated lemon peel 1/4 c. butter, cut up 1 c. sour cream Stir together sugar and cornstarch. Stir in milk. Add egg yolks, lemon juice and lemon peel. Whisk together till smooth. Slowly bring just to a boil over just under medium heat, stirring constantly. Remove from heat. Stir in butter till melted. Cool to room temperature, then stir in sour cream. Pour into pie shell and refrigerate for 4 to 6 hours. Top with fresh whipped cream and serve. (I would give credit where credit is due, but this is combination of several recipes. I got my start from the version in the "A Taste of Oregon" c...

I'd like you to meet my friend Kate . I want to honor her memory. But I'm afraid my words won't do her justice. It's always difficult to tell a story that doesn't belong to you. But sometimes you just have to try. I remember-- The day I first really met her. She had just turned twelve. She wasn't sure what she wanted me to call her. Katharine, Katie, Kate. "I'll call her Kate," I thought to myself. She seemed quiet and unsure of herself. I always thought she was so beautiful and kind. Her smile warmed your heart. A few years later I got to know and love her mother like a sister. And I would hear bits and painful pieces of Kate's story, which parts are not mine to tell. I will just say she struggled and suffered in ways I can't imagine. Except that because I sensed part of her pain was because she didn't feel worthy of the love that surrounded her, I felt like I understood somewhat. My one wish for Kate was the same wish I have for her m...