Kirsten Rides a Pony

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Birds At My Feeder

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And Still I Paint

It's been four months since I wrote about a close relationship with my paintbrush. (Click here to read Me and My Paintbrush.) Back then, I was thrilled to have finished the kitchen ceiling at the farmhouse, and that was a great accomplishment. But it's been four months. One would think I would have that entire painting project finished by now. One would be wrong.

It's not because I haven't been working at it. I've been painting most every weekend since Labor Day, sometimes on Sunday too. It has become quite obvious that I am a slow painter. Or rather, a slow surface preparer. It's not usually the painting that takes so long, but rather getting ready to paint: filling holes, sanding, cleaning, taping. Once all that is done, the actual painting goes along fairly quickly. Sometimes. Bead board would be an exception to that rule. I haven't found a way to speed up painting bead board.

For ever so long, I was in the stage of invisible progress. I've found in house construction there are some things you don't normally notice when they are all done, things like window and door trim, baseboards, and such. However, when they are not finished, or not even there, you notice right away. You wouldn't think painting would fit into that category, but for the better part of a month, it did. In the bath and laundry, sanding the bead board, the doors, and trim work, and then applying the final coat of white paint took all of the paint time I could muster in November.



Bath & Laundry: Paint is finally finished!

In the pantry, priming the drywall above the bead board was visible progress at last, but the two coats of white paint weren't near as obvious. Putting multiple coats of bright white on the original door and the trim around it and the window took forever without showing much. Priming the bead board made a big difference, but sanding it didn't show at all. What fun it was to put on the first coat of green! But the second coat didn't make much difference unless you looked closely.

Pantry: bare bead board.

Pantry: bead board with primer.

Pantry: The only thing left is to sand, stain, and finish the floor.

At last I'm working in the dining room, and getting all that drywall primed was a big, showy step forward. "Laying down the color," as they say on those TV commercials, will be even better. Putting three or four coats of white on five door frames, a window frame, baseboards, and the mantle, however, will slow me down considerably.


Dining Room: Before drywall, trim, and a new door.

Same corner of the dining room today.

Kitchen (above & below): Before anything except the new window.

Kitchen (above & below):  with painted walls and cabinets (our old ones).

And don't forget the ceiling, complete with light/fan!

I've spent a good portion of my Christmas vacation painting, and the carpenter has been at work too. We've made some great and visible progress in the past week. There is still a lot to do, though. In addition to all the painting in the dining room, we have to move the stove and refrigerator from our old kitchen (they've been waiting on our screen porch for over a year now), get the water hooked up and install kitchen and bath fixtures. And then, there will be all the cleaning to do. But for now...I still paint. But I'm gaining on it, and one sweet day it will all be done. That is, until we start on another room.

Ahh, Christmas!

It's Christmas Eve. In fact, it's 11:30 on Christmas Eve. The house is quiet now, and Christmas is coming. It's almost here! It's coming even though I didn't get all the cookies baked. It's coming, despite the fact that my house is dirty. It's coming, regardless. And I can't wait! My heart is ready, even if nothing else is. And when Christmas gets here - in just a few minutes - it will be magical. Christmas magic is a heart filled with God's love. Christmas magic is peace, knowing that no matter what, there is God, loving me. Christmas magic is joy! Pure joy that makes me grin, even when I'm by myself and no one sees.

The lights are on our little Christmas tree are twinkling, but the real show is outside. The heavens are singing the glory of God with stars upon stars upon stars. If I slip outside when Christmas comes, I won't hear any animals talking, but I will hear the sweet sound of angels singing! It's almost here! The clock is striking midnight! Gotta go!

Merry Christmas!!!

Auntie Letters

Every month I write a letter to my three elderly aunts. I started this ritual one Christmas when I couldn't think of anything else to give them. I had purchased a home computer and digital camera that year, which made it easy to compose one letter, illustrate it with some photos, and print three copies. They loved it, and five years later I'm still at it. I tell them about what's going on in my life and what's up with the rest of the family. I've done pretty well: only a few letters have been late, and I think I missed only one month when I was sick. I'm always on the lookout for auntie letter material. I know they will be disappointed if I don't come through. The next letter I write will be bittersweet, though. You see, one of those three aunties died this week. Aunt Frances, at 89, was the youngest of her four siblings and the first one to pass on. She was a tiny thing in body, but big in spirit, apparently a lot bigger than I knew.

Aunt Frances, who was always full of spunk, got married the day after she graduated from high school in 1940 and moved over a hundred miles away, give or take a few, to start a life with her new husband. Her family saw little of her during the next 20 years or so. World War II interrupted everyone's life, and Aunt Frances was busy raising six children. My memories of her begin when I was in elementary school and her sons and daughters were young adults. After her husband died in 1975, she was able to reconnect with her brother (my dad) and two sisters and by the time I was in college she came to visit her homeplace a couple of times a year. My, how the stories would fly when the four of them got together: I was spellbound by tales of a depression-era childhood in the country: stories of farm life and school life, of adventures with friends and lessons learned the hard way, all of which took place way back when in the days before television.

Even though I knew Aunt Frances, saw her, talked with her, hugged her, wrote to her, it was the kind of knowing that families have when they live long-distance. I didn't know any of her friends, never met her on the street running errands, never stopped by her house on Sunday afternoon. Yesterday, during her funeral service, I got a glimpse of "that little woman" that her friends and neighbors knew. Folks spoke of her love of quilting, gardening, and red birds. I heard how she marched her children down the road to Bible School in the summer, sang in the church choir, and spoke with stark honesty, whether you wanted to hear it or not. And I was glad I was family, glad she was my aunt, glad I was there, shedding tears along with those who knew much more of her than I. Despite the sadness, it was a sweet hour of remembering and celebrating the feisty little lady that was my Aunt Frances.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

I went to choir practice last night. I haven't done that in a very long time. Long ago, before the age of waning energy, elder care, and to-do list overload, I sang in the church choir. I even directed it for a few years. A really long time ago when I was young, I sang with a ceili band and we even made a record. But since the turn of the century, I haven't done much singing, with or without a choir or ceili band. Singing got pushed to the outer reaches of my life, where it has been wasting away for too long.

Folks are so kind - and persistent. They keep asking me to sing with the choir at church, if only for the annual Christmas cantata. They keep asking me to sing a solo for Sunday worship whenever I'd like to. And I would like to, but that same old challenge of making room in a busy schedule for practices has gotten the best of me. Sadly, I've let singing slip away, and it's almost beyond my grasp now. You see, a singing voice is one of those things that, if not used often, will eventually be lost. I haven't lost my voice completely yet, but I have lost some range and control. Only a lot of practice and effort will bring it back.

In the past couple of years, I've been working at getting my voice back. I sing while I'm driving. I sing or hum along with the radio while I paint at the farmhouse. But nothing replaces the exercise and discipline of singing with a choir, with regular practice being one of the best benefits. In addition to the vocal workout, the camaraderie of a choir is good for my soul, nourishing that part of me that longs to belong.

And so, I made time for Christmas cantata practice last evening. The music was a little overwhelming in places, and when the ladies' notes were too high I dropped down to sing with the men. But it felt good to be there, to sing with a group, to be a part of the choir again. It will still be a challenge to get to rehearsals - I probably won't make them all - and I hope no elder care emergencies interfere with the Sunday morning performance. But Christmas is coming and music has always been a gloriously necessary part of the season for me. What sweeter way to celebrate my Saviour's birth than to sing!!

Recipe Copycat

At the risk of being called a copycat (which I hate), I'm going to try my hand at recipe posting/food photography. It seems that sharing great recipes through blogging is a popular thing to do these days. Ree Drummond, a.k.a. The Pioneer Woman, has it down pat, complete with stunning photos of every step in preparing a delicious dish. Check out her blog/website at http://www.thepioneerwoman.com/, and click on the cooking tab to see what I mean.

I'm not a newbie when it comes to photography, although there's always a lot to learn. But still, taking nice pictures of ingredients sitting still on the counter top can't be too hard, can it? Well, let's just say that over two hours and 200 photos later (thank goodness for digital cameras), I have a healthy respect for food photography! I'd even venture to say that food photography is an art and science unto itself, requiring great knowledge, skill, and creativity, not to mention a good dose of luck.

I chose my mother's Apple Crisp recipe for my first food photo shoot. It's a simple recipe, with only seven ingredients, and is quick and easy to prepare. Even so, it took Robin and me about two hours to get it in the oven, what with posing and snapping photo after photo, and checking to see if they were sharp and clearly focused, most of which were not. In the real estate business, they say location, location, location is the secret to a successful sale. This evening I learned that in food photography, the secret is light, light, light. Light is everything, and if the light isn't right, the photo won't be right either. I also learned it is helpful to have at least four hands when shooting food photos. Thanks, Robin!

So here goes:

Apple Crisp ingredients: apples, sugar, cinnamon, salt, water, flour, and butter.

Pour 1 cup sugar into a medium-sized mixing bowl.



Add 3/4 cup flour.

Add 1/3 cup cold butter (a scant 6 TBSP).

Set bowl in the frig while you peel and slice the apples.
(Too late, I realized this shot should have been taken with the bowl sitting in the frig!)

Peel apples. You need 4 cups sliced apples. Most any kind will do just fine.

Robin set up this still life: the peeling is all in one piece.

Slice apples into an ungreased 2-qt. baking dish.



Sprinkle 1/4 cup water over apples.



Sprinkle 1 tsp. cinnamon and 1 tsp. salt over apples.
Sorry, didn't shoot adding the salt because I forgot to add it!

Remove the flour mixture from the frig and mix with your hand
until crumbly and fine, but don't melt the butter.

Sprinkle mixture evenly over apples, covering them completely.

Whew! Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes, until lightly browned. I tried getting shots of the oven setting, but they came out really blurry, as did the ones of the dish inside the oven. I'll work on that, but not tonight! I realized I hadn't added the salt right after I put the dish in the oven, so I scratched around in the topping and sprinkled it in. While it baked I started writing this post and uploading photos. By the time the crisp came out of the oven, I was about whipped, but here are the final photos:

Hot out of the oven.

They say food photographs best in white dishes...but my only
white bowl looks yellow! It's the light again.

Here are some closeups...but the light is still yellow. *Sigh.*

This one isn't so yellow, thank goodness.

So...four hours after I started, I'm almost done with my first food photo shoot. Getting all these photos on this post was no small feat either, and I'm ready for bed. But in case you don't care about the photography, here's the recipe for my mom's yummy Apple Crisp. It doesn't have oatmeal, and I think that's why I like it so much. Take my advice: don't try to photograph it, just make it and eat it!!  It'll sweeten your day. Enjoy!

Apple Crisp

4 cups peeled and sliced apples
1/4 cup water
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. salt
1 cup sugar
3/4 cup flour
1/3 cup cold butter

Stir flour and sugar together in mixing bowl. Add butter and mix by hand until crumbly and fine. Set aside. Arrange apples in ungreased 2 qt. baking dish. Sprinkle with water, then sprinkle on cinnamon and salt. Sprinkle topping over apples evenly, covering completely. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature, with ice cream if desired.