Home is Where You Hang Your Heart

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of fixing broken things so that they are even more beautiful than the original.  This art can be seen on cracked streets, broken pottery, cracked statues, pretty much anywhere. 

If my house could speak to me it would be asking me what it did wrong.  I’ve been lusting at the idea of building a new home.  Over the last couple of years it has almost become an obsession… ok… not “almost”…. it was.  In fact the plan has, in my mind, always been that we would eventually leave this house and build a new house.  It’s been a life long dream of mine.  Life long dreams are not always easy to let go of.  When we found this house, I loved it with all my heart; I could see so much potential in the character that comes along with an older home.  Over the years it has transformed into what I originally saw.  We have created priceless memories in this house and yet, I have over the last few years spoken hateful words towards this house.  The closets aren’t big enough, there’s no where to put the daily dozen shoes, if not more that pass it’s threshold.  The attached one car garage is more like an attached shed, just enough space to hold the lawn mower and kids bikes.  And I just cannot deal with pedestal sinks.  Where did my love for this house go?

My love of houses runs deep.  I’ve loved houses since I was little.  I can still imagine the exact layout of the house I lived in until I was 12 years old.  I can picture the summer wind blowing my aunts kitchen window curtains at their house on Grandview Avenue.  My aunt and uncle are going to be selling their house on Bartlett Drive because they are building a new one, and I will not lie, the thought of it has caused me to lie awake crying.  Not because of the actual house but because of the memories contained within those walls.  You can show me one picture of certain rooms from houses in different movies and I can tell you without a moments hesitation which house it’s from.  I hear the melody from home alone literally running in my head when I walk into certain houses.  I have floor plans stashed away at my parent’s house that I drew up as a kid.   Everyone has something they are passionate about, mine just happens to be houses.  I think I love houses mostly because of the life that is lived inside of them.  Certain houses have helped “build” me.

Side Note:  If you love houses as much as I do, “The House That Built Me” by Miranda Lambert is worth your time.

     

So where did we go wrong, my house and I?  I’m certain the blame is on me.  My desire for more has gotten in the way of what I have right in front of me.  My passion for this house fizzled as I let a dream cloud my view.  I’m not saying I’m completely letting go of this dream.  It just might take a bit longer than I had hoped.  I think I’m ready to “Grow where I’m planted”.  I’m ready to take the advice of old people everywhere…. If something is broke, fix it, not throw it away.  The art of Kintsugi will hopefully be a reminder to me.   This house already has my mark on it, but I’m not done, and I’m about to reignite my love for this house.  Stay tuned…..

Daytime Memories....

I can see sunlight streaming in through the windows.  Flour hangs in the air, suspended, permanently.  I can hear the old screen door bang shut, the humidity is a persistent cause for haste as bread and donuts rise without the need of a proofer. I can feel the heat on the back of my neck and arms as flour sticks to my skin, I wonder if my lungs have turned to a doughy mass as I count the years in my mind of breathing in the flour that is suspended in the air.  Eight dozen cookies and one dozen Kringles from scratch in about three hours time after a day of school was my typical order of business in high school.  The oven was the size of a room and had a carousel that squeaked around, and we worked our magic on a butcher block table that had to of been at least 100 years old.  On weekends when I worked the front of the store I would arrive around 1:30 am with my mom.  We’d stroll in through the back, my mom and uncle would quickly pick up their conversation and I would move slowly through stocking the front of the store with donuts, Kringles, muffins, bagels, and cookies.  There was always coffee and every once in a while officer Callaghan would stop in through the back door for a visit.  I can hear my mom and uncle laughing about something.  Orders need to be packed for deliveries that will start around 4:00am and go through the mid morning to different restaurants, gas stations, and specialty shops.  Buns need to be sliced, sticky buns need to be flipped out of their pan.  The radio was always on and I enjoyed the company of my family and especially my cousins.  Some mornings there would be a line of people reaching out the door by 5:15 am, and I always would wonder, “Why are you people awake and wanting baked goods?”.   I got my start at around age 13 scrubbing floors and dishes but moved up to baking and deliveries very quickly.  At age 15 in drivers Ed I remember thinking, I’ve known how to drive for over a year, why do I need to take this class.  I’m sure the same can be said for kids raised on farms.

            I remember complaining and thinking how unfair it was while other teenagers were able to sleep in until noon on the weekends and enjoy their late nights with friends I was stuck in a hot bakery and constantly smelled like flour…. A scent I now miss.  I miss it all. I miss seeing my uncle and cousins every single day, and coming up with the ultimate sandwiches of our own creations in the oven when all the actual work was done, even though it was never done.  I miss the yellow lab that would show up for a Dinner roll and then hang out until the owner inevitably would come strolling in, sometimes an hour or so later saying “Is he here?”, “Sure is, right over there.”  I’m so grateful for those years as I look back on them.  They also helped to instill a work ethic in me that is as solid as my faith in God.   People talk about “Midwest work ethic” because it’s real; I’ve seen it first hand through my uncle Paul.  He labored that Bakery for years, and he enjoyed it, but it took a serious toll on him.

            Today I pulled out my mixer and put aprons on the kids and we are baking bread, from scratch, something I forget not everyone knows how to do, but I do, and I’m proud of that.  I will continue to teach my kids how to bake as the years unfold, and I pray that they learn to love it as much as I do.  Who knows, maybe I can even help them find their first jobs at a local bakery?  They would probably resent me for it at first, but maybe someday they too would have a cloud of flour filled memories come drifting back to them, bringing visions of their youth and time spent with me, or learning first hand what Midwest work ethic is all about.

Dreaming of Paradise

It's spring, and when I say it's spring I mean it finally feels like spring in Wisconsin.  I just came in from mowing the lawn for the first time.  The weather has finally turned a corner.  Every year around this time the wheels in my mind start turning the soil in my garden.  I'm a dreamer, I dream big, and I dream often.  Sometimes I need the people around me to pull me out of the clouds.  When I envision what I want my garden to be I see flowering trees, beautiful willows, perfect gravel pathways, colors of deep plum and bright yellow, a white picket fence strewn with morning glories, and peonies a plenty.  Unfortunately to obtain all of that would cost an arm and a leg, so I'm forced to edit that vision.  I don't mind editing though it helps to make the big goal much more obtainable.   Baby steps and the appreciation for what I do have is a much healthier approach as spring arrives each year and brings a flood of new dreams along with it.  What good is it if you get everything your heart desires the moment you want it?   If you're interested in starting a garden but have no idea what you're doing, don't fret, I had no idea either and I'm still here.  I do have just a couple of tips though.  Read on if you're interested.

• Be prepared to work and work hard (hopefully I didn't just scare you off).  It is such rewarding work, you feel tired and worn out at the end but you get to see practically instant results as you start to transform an area.
• Start small, don't think you'll be able to transform the entire front and back yard in one season, unless you're paying others to help you out.
• Make sure you read up on what plants and flowers are native to your zone.  Also, research if there's a pest you'd like to keep out, there are plants that can deter certain insects and even animals from approaching your garden.  We planted a bunch of lavender last year because we read that they can help deter mosquitoes. 
• Plan.  Don't just grab a shovel and start digging.  Call diggers hotline to know where underground lines might interfere with your ideas.   Draw out a plan on paper, or better yet, try your hand at google sketchup (it's free!) to help you visualize the layout.  
• Check out your local city or town center and see if they have a recycling center.  Often times you can get free wood chips, mulch, and even compost.
• Have fun and take it one step at a time.

“The many great gardens of the world, of literature and poetry, of painting and music, of religion and architecture, all make the point as clear as possible: The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden. If you don't want paradise, you are not human; and if you are not human, you don't have a soul.” 
― Thomas More

Dutch Asian Chicken

Ingredients:

·      3 ½ lbs boneless skinless chicken thighs

·      a dash of Goya Adoba Seasoning

·      Salt to taste

·      Pepper to taste

·      ½ Tbs soy sauce

·      ½ Tbs Teriyaki marinade/sauce

·      1Tbs Asian Hoisin Sauce

·      1 medium yellow onion chopped

·      1 stick of butter

Heat a dutch oven over medium high heat.  Melt butter in the bottom of the pan.  Dice onion and sautee in the butter.  Season chicken thighs with salt, pepper, and Adoba to liking.  Add chicken to the dutch oven and allow chicken to brown.  Stiring occasionally to get all sides.  Add a half bottle of stella artois beer and deglaze pan.  Add ½ Tbs soy sauce and ½ Tbs teriyaki and Hoisin Sauce.  Cook on low for two hours covered stirring occasionally.

I mixed in a half bag of frozen peas five minutes before serving.

This recipe is super easy and amazingly delicious, full of flavor and super tender.  My entire family loved it including my four picky little ones.  Enjoy!

One cannot Think Well, Love Well, Sleep Well, If one has not Dined Well.

It's Friday, the sun is shining, and the meatballs are baking.  Life is good.  Friday Night Meatballs usually begin on Wednesday for me, but this week I've been holding steadfast to my spring cleaning goals, so the meatballs were put on hold until this morning, and what a beautiful morning it is.  Tonights tradition is more about people coming together more than anything else, it's about family, it's about friends, it's about neighbors.  It's about trying to hang onto something that has been a fading tradition in our society, although now that summer is almost here, I'm hoping people get together a bit more.

    I would encourage anyone to start their own tradition of inviting people over once a week to catch up.  It's not as difficult as you would think, it's very enjoyable and I quickly learned last fall that I couldn't wait for the company.  I recommend letting your guard down a bit though, don't fret over the house or over the little things, most people don't care that you have toys strewn across the floor.  That's the greatest thing about people, most of us have been there, or soon will be and we understand that life can be messy.  So put on your aprons, invite some friends over, let the kids be themselves and play, and just reconnect.  If you don't feel up to it, then come on over to our house one of these Friday nights, no judgements here, just good company and good food.

    I have one secret ingredient I add to my meatballs and that's raisins.  Does anyone else do this?  I've been making them this way forever.  I think they help make the meatballs moist and the sweetness balances out any spiciness from the crushed red pepper.  I also think it might be a Sicilian thing.

If you're interested in the woman who started the original "Friday Night Meatballs", here is the link: http://www.seriouseats.com/2014/08/simpler-entertaining-friday-night-dinners-end-loneliness-how-to-build-community-after-having-kids.html

SPRING CLEANING: INSIDE & OUT The Five day plan to reach inner peace

Time to let some fresh air into this house. I'm wrapping my hair in a bandana and putting the kids to work (as long as they are interested). It has been a long winter and beautiful weather is right around the corner. I want to be able to jump head first into summer, enjoying the things that are most important in life. I want to play in the warm sunshine with my kids, and grill out every evening that the weather allows, I want to enjoy coffee on the deck in the morning, and hear the kids echoing into the evenings, I want to get my nails dirty in my garden, and can some beautiful tomatoes, and make my own jam. I want to get full of sand from the beach and I don't even care if it gets in the car. I'm sure everyone has their own list of incredible activities that make summer hands down the best season, for me it's just simply the warmth.

Onto the task at hand. I want to be ready for when it's finally here, because every year it hits like a freight train and is gone in an instant. I'm spending the next five days spring cleaning both inside the house and out, but I'm hoping to also spend the next five days reflecting as I work on the important things in life, and giving thanks to God for each and every blessing, so perhaps a little cleaning of the soul as well. Life is moving fast and I want to be present in the moments that lie ahead in the beautiful summer that is fast approaching. Below is the list of actual cleaning projects I hope to tackle, so that this summer I can enjoy the little things in life with a greater appreciation. For me, knowing that the kids aren't being raised in total filth helps.

Day 1: Time to tackle the bedrooms: Vacuuming, mopping, dusting, folding clothes that have been stuffed into drawers, clearing out what has been outgrown.
Day 1 Spiritual Focus: The Gifts God has granted me in the form of my amazing husband and my beautiful children.

Day 2: Bathroom bleach down and comet scrub. Clean the appliances in the kitchen, inside, outside, and underneath.
Day 2 Spiritual Focus: I'm not perfect, forgive yourself and move forward, be grateful for God's unending, unwavering love.

Day 3: Finish the laundry and put it away. Vacuum, mop, and dust the downstairs living areas.
Day 3 Spiritual Focus: Find contentment in the little things, stop trying to fill any voids with stuff and focus on my relationship with God.

Day 4: Moving to the outside: rake the garden beds of debris, till up raised bed to prepare for planting, and clean the garage.
Day 4 Spiritual Focus: Share with the kids, don't be afraid to talk about my own shortcomings openly and how Jesus heals us all.

Day 5: My least favorite area to tackle, the basement.... our basement took a beating this winter because our family went through a mini renovation as the result of a small house fire. The basement became the dumping ground for miscellaneous boulderdash. This will probably consume the entire day.
Day 5 Spiritual Focus: The road less traveled, sometimes we have to give up control to God and be open to his plans.

Well that's the list. I'm hoping to not miss a beat and stick to the plan. Happy Spring cleaning!

A Time for Meatballs

I tried to start something at the end of last summer...  My intentions were to bring people together.  The platform to accomplish this was "Friday Night Meatballs" and it was going really well, but then things were put on hold due to an unexpected bump and a little "smoke" in the road.  That bump helped to solidify my understanding that we all need Friday night meatballs in our lives.   We all seem busier than ever, more stressed than ever, more exhausted than ever.  Have we taken on too much? Are we over worked compared to previous generations?   Or is it that we have simply made time spent together as friends, as family, as neighbors less of a priority?  Why? I think it's important to come together to reflect, to converse, to lean on one another and be present in our own lives and in the lives of each other.  Our generation is working hard and we are accomplishing great things, but at the same time I would argue that previous generations worked really hard also, and accomplished amazing things, but somehow, someway they still made time with family, neighbors, and friends a priority.  Why are people now a days distancing ourselves from one another, making excuses, and putting up walls?  I could sit and wonder endlessly about the differences of todays world in comparison with say my great grandmothers world.... She survived the great depression and then some.  So enough wondering for the time being, it's time to act.  Friday Night Meatballs is officially back on and that's all there is to it.  Just as before, any and all people are welcome to attend.  Just let me know by Wednesday if you'll be a part of our renewed tradition.  Feel free to come as you are, the house might be a mess, the kids will be loud, but the food and company are free.  Feel free to bring something to share, even if it's just conversation.  We can't wait to see you all and catch up once again.

There is a season for everything, a time for every occupation under heaven: A time for giving birth, a time for dying; a time for planting, a time for uprooting what has been planted.  A time for killing, a time for healing; a time for knocking down, a time for building.  A time for tears, a time for laughter; a time for mourning, a time for dancing.  A time for throwing stones away, a time for gathering them; a time for embracing, a time to refrain from embracing.  A time for searching, a time for losing; a time for keeping, a time for discarding.  A time for tearing, a time for sewing; a time for keeping silent, a time for speaking.  A time for loving, a time for hating; a time for war, a time for peace. Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

There's a time for gathering, and that time is now, Friday night meatballs is back.

Our first Friday night will be April 17th around 6:00 our limit is 10 adults please respond if you would like to come.

Thank you for the popsicle sticks.......

When I was a kid summers were hotter and longer, fall was filled with dirt bikes and leaves, when it snowed it was deep every time, and in the spring I would fall and scrape my knees because of my easter shoes and the scabs would last until June.  I had my cousins one block away and we would play every day.  It was the best childhood a kid could ever hope for.  I remember riding my bike to Storms to play mini golf, or to Little Vittles drug store for candy, kids were allowed a bit more freedom back then.  I remember my uncle Paul taking us all to city beach and building sand castles.  I remember taking walks in the evenings with my Aunt Jeanie.  I remember my dad sneaking us into movies or into Olympia's swimming pool, I still remember how we got in.  I remember my uncle Pete's pig's in a blanket, and my aunt Kathy's laugh. I remember my Grandpa Pete's gray sweatshirts, even in summer.  My Grandma Renee's casseroles and backyard, and watching StarTrek.  I remember going to my uncle John and Aunt Janet's after Christmas and they would take us on a real life Sleigh ride, it was magic.  I remember watching the little Mermaid with my cousin Sara for the first time.  I remember a lot.....  I remember people I have loved my entire life, some of those people are gone, way too soon.  They all helped to make my childhood absolute magic.  It's so amazing to me the role we play in each others upbringing.  I was very very blessed, not everyone gets to have such incredible fond memories of their youth.  It's all so fleeting, it has all gone way too fast.  When I think back on my mom I remember swimming in the middle of a blizzard in a kiddie pool filled with warm water from the stove that she had set up in our greenhouse.  She would paint our faces full of star bursts for parades and help us decorate our bikes.  She would take my sister and I "bumming" which is her word for shopping.  Mostly I remember her giving me things to help me use my imagination, to help me learn how to "create".   It is a skill that I cherish and am so grateful to have.  My mom would get a huge box of popsicle sticks and Elmer's glue and put them out and say, "build me something".  In the winter we would cover our creations in glitter and hang them on the tree, in the summer we would try to build little houses, or little baskets to hold napkins.  It was so much fun, and I'm convinced that if I had a box of popsicle sticks and glue I would still love to sit down and just create things with them.  It was a gift that has lasted me a lifetime, only instead of popsicle sticks I use two by fours, and instead of glitter I've learned to paint, and instead of rearranging my childhood bedroom, I rearrange my house.  I love my mom so much for the gifts she's handed down to me, and when I think of them, they aren't anything you can touch, it's my ability to dream, to look at things or spaces and know without a shadow of a doubt that I can make something beautiful.  That vision, and passion was a gift from my mom.  It's because of her that I didn't panic at the thought of having to put the house back together again, I didn't panic, I dreamed, and delighted in what was to come.  She's a really good mom.

Talent

My uncle’s hands are callused and scared, his nails are thick and unkempt, they show the wear and tear of a life lived working, and working hard.  For as long as I can remember his hands have been like this.  Even after he washes his hands they still look dirty even though they are clean.  He has never had to wear a suit and tie to work; he’s lived most of his life in jeans, and T-shirts.  He looks rough around the edges, but he’s kind hearted and would give you the shirt off his back.  He is the kind of guy who just wants what’s best for everyone, he’ll knock on his neighbors windows in the morning to remind them to move their cars to the other side of the street so they don’t get a ticket.  He’ll chase hooligans trying to raise hell down the street with the attitude of “not my neighborhood”.  He’ll take in any stray dog, cat, bird, person that needs a bit of love and dignity in their lives.  He’s my uncle and he's incredibly gifted.  He comes from a long line of gifted men and women. 

My family is littered with creative and skilled people.  We are a multitalented family, like those of the renaissance.  We have carpenters (Mike & Luke), sculptors (Great Grandpa Anton), artists (Amber), and chefs (Eric), stain glass workers (Mary), bakers (uncle Paul), whittlers (Great uncle John), barbecue masters (uncle Pete), and a mason (Grandpa Pete) in our family tree, and every single one of us claims to be an incredible cook.  The common thread that runs through all of these people who I call my family is that we have all honed our skills, perfecting them through years of practice, never quite satisfied, and always driven to perfection.  I really think there is something in our blood that is unrelenting; it drives us to keep at it, not because we have to, but because we love to, and we are fiercely competitive with our talents.  We are Slovenian and Italian, both very reputable nations for donning some of the worlds most famous artists and artisans and I would argue that some of those skills have found their way into my family, especially into my uncle Mike. 

I’ve had the pleasure of watching my uncle and my cousin Luke, who is equally talented; reassemble my house over the last month.  I could not have chosen a more skilled set of men to do the job.  The work they have done has been nothing short of perfection and I’m so blessed to be the recipient of such craftsmanship.   Our house is not quite complete, but it is close and I look forward to sharing pictures with all of you soon.  It’s been almost 4 months since the fire and there is a light shining at the end of the tunnel.  We started out stunned and in a cloud, but we found our clarity and have had such incredible support from our family and friends.  I still wonder how much of this we will remember as the years unfold.