One Candle...

...on a brownie I baked tonight marks forty-ONE years and a sweet ending to a relaxing birthday.

I am truly blessed. All week long, I've received greetings from family and friends in various worldly corners. Dan had suggested dinner and movie – for the two of us on Saturday. But after I scanned the local theater ad, I opted for a twist to his plan.

I volunteered using my gift card from a local steakhouse for the five of us on Friday evening. After our meal, I dropped off Isaac, Aaron and Noah for their traditional First Weekend of Summer Vacation with Grammy and Paka.

On the way home, I used birthday money to buy a DVD that a friend recom-
mended to me months ago.

Back home, Dan joined me in our family room to watch "August Rush" – a modern-day fairy tale about an 11-year-old "orphan" boy who uses his musical talents to find his biological parents who are also musicians leading separate lives. For me, this was the perfect "happy-ending" birthday movie.

Before turning in for bed, I started a grueling but inspirational book that Grammy had sent home with me.

As the clock neared 1 a.m., I forced myself to set aside "90 Minutes in Heaven – A True Story of Death and Life" about a man crushed in his car by a semi that crossed into his lane.

I closed my eyes comforted by the words of Don Piper about his 90-minute heavenly encounter before he was prayed back into life by others here on earth.

This morning, I rose, put on my Nikes, grabbed my camera and walked to the mile-marker and home again taking in these marvelous Spring scenes.

Dan and I spent the day at home enjoying each others' company as we worked on projects. The cedar ceiling in the boys' bathroom now has a fresh poly-coat. And all the wood trim is cut and ready for primer and paint!

My flower bed is half weeded and thinned. Why – only half? A tornado warning this evening drew me away from completing the job. Fortunately, no harm hit. And, I've got two ice cream buckets of day lilies waiting to be transplanted into Grammy's new flower beds.

Following supper, I mixed up a batch of brownies from scratch. Last night, I turned down Dan's offer to buy a birthday cake. But tonight, something sweet seemed right.

While cocoa permeated from the kitchen oven, I laid out fabrics on the dining room table. A family friend and my sister are both expecting babies the end of August. Tonight's quietude seemed perfect to start stitching baby blankets together.


Now it's time for bed.


Thanks to all
who made
this birthday
THE best.


I'm closing my eyes,
making a wish
and blowing out

One Candle!

Kitty Cat

If
a
picture's
worth
a
thousand
words,






then
let
these
two
speak.

Memorial Day...

...holds many memories for me. But until today, none involved attending a public service for those who have served in our nation's armed forces.

That changed this morning. Our family of five sat at various corners of the school gym where community members gathered for a presentation of flags, prayers, speeches and music honoring – especially local – veterans.

Isaac and Aaron played clarinet and flute with the high school band on their two selections. Dan sang three numbers with the community choir.

Noah and I snuck in moments before the program began and sat in the back next to three elderly men from our church. Noah had a small flag in hand. While we stood during the songs, Noah waved his flag.

As we sat for the speeches, Noah ate crackers that I'd bought him at our little town store to stave off his complaints of hunger. One gentleman looked at Noah and then to me. I whispered apologetically, "He didn't eat any breakfast." The man replied, "That's okay. He's got his flag. That's all that matters."

The guest speaker briefed us on the start of Memorial Day. He explained:


Shortly after the Civil War, some southern women were walking home from church. As they passed by a Confederate cemetery, they thought aloud: 'How lonely those graves look.' They picked wildflowers to decorate the headstones. Likewise, their children picked wildflowers – only they walked across the road to the other cemetery and put their bouquets on the graves of Yankee soldiers. Some of the women wondered whether this was proper. An older woman of the group pondered the question and decided: 'Yes, both sides fought for what they thought was right. These Yankee men died and were buried far away from their homes. Their graves deserved attention too.' And so, began the tradition of Decoration Day to honor our nation's deceased military veterans. Later the holiday became known as Memorial Day.


The speaker encouraged us to verbally express our thanks to our veterans before – "they fade away." He explained that those words were made famous by General Douglas MacArthur during his 1951 Farewell Address to Congress. MacAurthur quoted part of a popular barracks' ballad refrain: "Old soldiers never die; they just fade away."

As the school band played the various marches from each military branch, veterans in the audience stood up for their song. Noah and I discovered we were surrounded; Our church men (sitting beside Noah) were former Navy and Army vets.

I'll admit a lump in my throat formed as a proverbial light went on. Now I better understood why Noah's cracker-eating didn't matter to these men. Instead, they cared more about Noah's enthusiasm for waving his little flag – the Stars and Stripes banner under which they'd served.

This Memorial Day exceeded my memories of earlier ones. Decades ago, I was born the day after Memorial Day. In all the years of birthday celebrating, I'd never come so close to grasping our nation's commemoration. What a blessing to be drawn out of our home and into this service on Memorial Day.

To our veterans: Thank You for your service, patience, and enlightenment. And – as the great entertainer Bob Hope used to say – "Thanks for the memories."

Country Living

I miss Country Living –

not the place

(We're still here
in the foothills of
rural Minnesota)


but the magazine.






Each month,
I looked forward
to strolling
down our driveway,
opening the mailbox
and picking out
a big book
filled with
seasonal photos
and
inspirational ideas.




I especially
enjoyed the
one-page
spreads
featuring
nine small
photos

– in three
lines of
three –


that told a simple yet vibrant story.


But
a
couple
months
ago,
my
subscription
ran
out.



I
didn't
renew,

because

our
house

is
under
reconstruction

and...





...I am

desperately

trying

to simplify.




Even with
no piles
of publi-
cations
for
inspiration,

I am
inclined

to create...


especially
when my
neighbor
drops off
a bundle
of her
garden-
fresh
tulips
and pear
blossoms.


(Tell me a photographer who COULD resist? Not I.)


There really is

nothing like

Country Living –

and this time

I mean

the place!




To thoughtful neighbors. Thanks, Kim!

On the Move

"Stop!" Isaac blurted on the drive home from track practice tonight. "There's a turtle on the road.

I pulled over to the roadside, so my turtle-fan son could get out for a look. I too grabbed my camera and slowly moved in on the reptile.

"It's a painted turtle," Isaac said. "Look at it's shell."

He held up the critter

to show me the tell-tale

orange underbelly

painted with

tan-and-brown

designs.



Isaac put the critter down.

Then we had a look at the top and noticed this turtle's toughness.

Somewhere during its life, this turtle suffered injury when the side of its shell was crunched.

Scar tissue now sealed the cracks.



Isaac

stroked

the turtle's

shell as I

snapped

a portrait.


And then, we were all off – On the Move – during this Spring evening.

Never Say Never

"I'm NOT touching your mouse-mobile," I told Dan this morning when he suggested fueling up his summer car.

Over the winter, he'd parked the 1988 Dodge Aries wagon in the shed where his old Farmall tractor once stood. Last Spring he sold the big rig and deck mower to buy a new lawn tractor that the boys could manage. This Spring Dan found the mouse family that used to "winter" in his tractor engine bedded down on the floor of the car. Dan quickly evicted mama and her pink hairless baby, removed their mess and vacuumed up the debris. Unfortunately, their odor stayed.

After disinfectants and deodorizers failed, Dan came to me and said, "Maybe YOU can try scrubbing down the floors."

I made no reply but thought many.

A week later at Dan's request, I renewed the car's license tabs and insurance. Today before leaving on a week's work trip for Dallas, Dan suggested "Maybe you could take the car and fuel it up."

That's when I uttered those fateful words: "I'm NOT touching your mouse-mobile."

Later that day I hopped in the truck intending to pickup Isaac from track practice. I turned the key, heard a clicking noise and got no start. I checked the fuel, oil, and battery gauges – all fine. I tried the key again. Same story.

Now what? I thought. Dan's on a plane to Dallas. A mechanic is miles away. Our son is waiting at school.

Through the windshield, I saw the "mouse-mobile" parked ahead of me. I grabbed my key ring, found the right one, opened the door, rolled down the window, fired it up and drove away to get Isaac.

On our way home, I stopped at the gas station. As I fueled the tank, I laughed. Not only was I "touching" Dan's mouse-mobile, now I was driving and fueling it up – just as he'd asked.

How easy it is to advise our boys: "Don't tell me you're NOT gonna do something."

How fast did I eat my own words? There's sound advice in the adage: "Never say never." And a lesson here in helping one another.

17. mai 2008

Gratulerer med dagen!


Happy
Constitution
Day
(1814)
to
Norwegians
and
their kin.



And to the upcoming of 103 years of independence – Heia Norge!

Kransekake Queen?

Maybe "Kransekake (crawn'-seh-caw-keh) Queen" should be my nickname. I made four of these tedious treats for our church's Scandinavian Dinner and Concert tonight. Why?

My husband likes to boast of his Norwegian heritage. Because he co-chaired tonight's event on the eve before Norway's Constitution Day (called "syttende mai"), Dan asked me to make Norway's National Cake for an estimated 100 people to taste.

I promised "to attempt the process" but not to "produce the product." Even Norway's best chefs concede, "Sometimes the recipe works and sometimes it doesn't." (Hence the menu's other desserts: krumkake, rosettes and fruit soup.)

Each ring on the Macaroon Wreath Cake is very delicate. During the process, I'm usually lucky to salvage enough for one 18-graduated-ring tower. I decided to make two batches and hoped for two cakes and lots of side-serving pieces.

Wednesday evening I felt blessed when one set of 18 rings came out perfect. Three other sets had a few rings with manageable cracks. I bagged, labeled and froze the rings overnight. Thursday I let them thaw – a step to achieve "chewiness."

Thursday evening, I mixed up bags of icing, sorted "puzzle" pieces and "glued" together the towers – one at a time. The result? Four cakes!

I sealed the cakes in plastic wrap overnight to further the "aging" or "chewiness" process and let my imagination flow. Since Scandinavians use the kransekake for a variety of celebrations, I decorated each one differently.





Here's one
dressed up
wedding style
with
red roses,
pearls
and
ivy.








Another
decked
out
for
baptism
or
confirmation
with
white
lace,
tiny rose buds
and topped with a dove.




The last one
I called:
"A Friendship Cake."

Besides the Norwegian
flags, I attached
chocolates wrapped
in colored tissue paper
and ribbons
to represent
Sweden, Denmark,
Finland and Iceland.

(In spite of its slightly smaller size and drippy glaze, Aaron insisted this candy-laden cake should be his. All four of my guys LOVE kransekake and couldn't understand why I didn't hold one back just for us.)

To say the least, the kransekake was a hit. Because it contains just almonds, powdered sugar, egg whites and a few splashes of milk, this dessert appealed even to diet-conscious folk. Both Noah and Aaron took charge of serving kransekake to the already over-stuffed party guests. (Pea soup, flat bread, lefse, herring, baked cod, Swedish sausage, dill carrots, boiled potatoes and white sauce as well as lingonberry preserves and juice made up the first two courses.)

"I really pushed it," Aaron told me later. "I told them, 'THIS (kransekake) is THE best dessert of ALL!'"

The boys had their fun and I had mine. Earlier in the day while googling images of kransekake to look for cake-topper ideas, I came across a Scandinavian-bakery website. Imagine my shock when I saw the line item for this product at $125.

Multiplying that price by four cakes, I quickly copied the inform-
ation, pasted it to a new email and addressed it to Dan – who pesters me to rejoin the workforce. I sent him the email under the title: "My New Job?"

Tsja? (As they say in Norway.)


Well... Maybe "Kransekake Queen" works best for fun and not fortune.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high,
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby.


Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue,
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.

Someday I'll wish upon a star

And wake up where the clouds are far

Behind me.

Where troubles melt like lemon drops

Away above the chimney tops

That's where you'll find me.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly.

Birds fly over the rainbow.
Why then, oh why can't I?

If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?


Singing a Judy Garland classic this rainy evening Along Life's Road.

Wild Waders

Canada geese
foraged along
our roadside
this afternoon.

Had I not
been on my way
into church
to help box up
handmade quilts
for world missions,
I'd have missed
these Wild Waders.

The Krumkake Bakers

Dabbing
batter
onto
the
iron
to
close
and
bake.







Lifting
off
the
soft
golden
disks.







Rolling
them
around
cone
forms
to
cool.







Removing
the
forms
for
a
cone-
shaped
cookie.








Packing
boxes
with
layers
of
krumkaker
to
store up
for Friday's
Scandinavian
feast.






That's the job of The Krumkake Bakers – Novices turned professionals in two hours, four batches and 120-plus cookies!

Your Turn? Try this:

Krumkake Recipe

3 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 tsp vanilla (I use 1 tsp of vanilla sugar)
1 tsp cardamom
1/2 cup melted butter
1/2 cup whipping cream
1-1/2 cups flour

Beat eggs until very light and fluffy. Add sugar. Slowly beat in melted butter. In a separate bowl, mix flour, cardamom and vanilla sugar. (If using liquid vanilla, add it to the batter separately.) Alternatingly, stir a portion of the cream and flour mixture into the batter. Drop a dollop of batter onto the krumkake iron. Bake until golden brown. Roll around a wood cone to form cone cookie. Fill with berries or fruit preserves. Top with whipped cream.

Piccolo Debut

Four notes on the piccolo.

"Did you hear them?" Aaron asked after Monday night's All-School Band Concert.

A month ago, his teacher asked for a flutist volunteer to play the piccolo for a massed-band song. Aaron explained, "Nobody else wanted to, so I raised my hand."

Aaron practiced the piccolo part on his flute. Two weeks later during his jazz band (trombone) lesson, Aaron said the band teacher let him try the piccolo.

"Why don't you bring piccolo home to practice?" I asked. "I'd love to hear you play. How big is your part?"

Aaron said, "Four bars – one line. I've got to figure out some of the high notes first."

A week before the concert, Aaron still hadn't practiced the piccolo with the band. I called his flute teacher who agreed to show Aaron the piccolo fingering during his regular lesson in four days. Unfortunately, Aaron missed the lesson – the whole junior high was away at a two-day camp retreat. No piccolo. No practice... Nothing over the weekend either.

This afternoon I picked up Aaron after baseball. On our drive home, Aaron said, "I went in the band room this morning, got the piccolo and figured it out on my own. It's not as hard as I thought."

"You're going to play all four bars tonight?" I asked. Aaron confidently nodded, "Yep!"

An hour later, Aaron walked into the gymnasium with both his flute and the piccolo. He played the flute during the junior high band's numbers. Later the massed band (grades 5-12) took the stage. Aaron found his place up front. As the conductor cued the various sections, Aaron paged through his music folder. He grimaced.

As this sixth grader's mother, I knew that look and understood: No music. And... no time to find it. I figured: No debut.

Midway through Bob Margolis' "The Battle of Pavane," Aaron picked up the piccolo. Quickly, I poised my camera and he played. It was over in a wink, but Aaron debuted. My mom poked me and whispered, "I heard him – all Four Notes!"

"Four Notes!" Aaron announced afterwards. "Did you hear them? I played them by ear!"

Grandma Sue interjected, "I DID. Four HIGH notes!"

"I saw you scrambling for your music," I said. "What happened?"

"I left it on the other music stand," Aaron replied. "I couldn't remember all four bars just four notes."

Four notes on the piccolo for a perseverant debut.

The Perfect Toast

On
Mother's
Day,
some moms
may get
breakfast
in bed.

Others may
lunch at
a buffet.

But this one opted to dine out for dinner. Afterall, the boys wanted to cook over an open fire.

Hot dogs, brats, baked beans, lemonade and for dessert?

S'mores –
The
Perfect
Toast.

Saffron Salute

The wind in the

willows whipped

while the morning

light glistened

upon their blooms.





Sharing
Spring's
Saffron
Salute

Along
Life's
Road.

Meow-therhood

Our resident kitten turns one-month old on Mother's Day, May 11th.

Raising a single kitten is a calmer experience than with quintuplets. (Tickles' usual litter size) However, we recently had trauma (maybe "drama" is a better word) when mama disappeared for 14 hours.

About 7 AM, I let out Tickles for her daily stretch. Every hour I hollered out the porch door for her to come in – without results.

She likes fresh meat. So, I thought: "She must be hunting." About 4 PM, baby began meowing for mom – still gone! By 5 PM, I couldn't take the squeals any longer. I called Dan at work.

"Tickles has been gone for hours," I said. "This is highly unusual. Maybe she's stuck in someone's garage. Maybe she's trapped in a tree. Or maybe... some fox picked her off and we've got an orphan on our hands. I don't know!"

"What I do know IS there's one wild kitten in our bedroom closet. He's gone from a tiny, sleepy slug to a noisy, hungry monster – standing on all fours, tail high up in the air and squealing at the top of his lungs!"

Dan met my request and stopped at Fleet Farm for kitten formula and a bottle on his way home. By 6:15 PM, the boys were each having a go at bottle feeding. I surfed the web, found a few kitten-feeding tips and instructed Aaron. He faced the kitten away from him, propped it up on his lap, tilted the bottle at a high angle and tried to insert the nipple in its mouth.

The kitten showed complete RESISTANCE – time and again. We tried other angles. Same story. I sputtered, "Imagine if Tickles would've had five kittens!"

We managed to get a few squirts down this one during the hour-long feeding. Then Isaac took over, put kitty on his human belly and coaxed it into a nap.

I returned to the kitchen thinking: "This is NOT going to work. Not only is he resistant, but how are we going to fit an orphan kitten into our already busy schedule." I prayed, "Please let Tickles come back."

At couple hours later when I opened the porch door to holler for her again, Tickles was waiting to come in.

She strolled over to Dan who was sitting on the couch. To the mama cat, Dan said, " What's this? Coming home at 9:30 at night? You can just bend over and take your spanks right now. I just wasted $7 on kitten formula."
"Whatever!"

I scoffed.

"I'm just

glad we

haven't got

an orphan

afterall."

Maybe – like most moms – Tickles just needed a break.

To Motherhood and all who mother – in many ways. Happy Meow-ther's Day.

Baby Blues

How four weeks flew

since Baby Blizzard

said: "Howdy do!"

Now he's coming out
of our bedroom closet
to see the
Wide, Wide World
with his big
Baby Blues!

Track and Field Day

Elementary students swarmed across the football field. Others ran races around its circum-
ference on the asphalt track. Amidst the sea of kindergartners, first and second graders, I squinted to look for my son.

As soon as I turned away toward the softball fields, I heard him shout: "Hi Mom!"

Noah appeared lying on a blanket very near where I'd stood just moments ago. Maybe, he'd been hiding?

"There you are!" I said. "I was looking for you."

He got up and tried to elude me again. I put away my camera. Noah told me about his morning's activities: running sprints, hopping hurdles and long jumping.

"This is like one long recess," I said. Noah replied, "No! It's like one LONG gym that NEVER ends."


On this partly

cloudy afternoon,

I watched Noah

run the 400 meter dash.

I encouraged him to launch the softball HIGH (See half of it at this photo's top?), so that it would go LONG.

(Advice I'd heard an on-looking father give his first-grade son who threw for 60 feet when everyone else averaged between 40-50 feet.)

I grinned when Noah's softball throw was marked the longest – at 62 feet!


And I cheered on Noah as he took the baton from his teammate who was in the lead during the second leg of the 4 by 100 meter relay. (They finished close to second – because of a misunderstanding on the last baton handoff.) Still... impressive for a FIRST-ever relay run.


I am NOT a sports fan. Noah is our third son to compete. I am tired. But somewhere from deep within comes the ability to encourage – on this Track and Field Day.