Your mission, should you choose to accept it…..

Posted in Daily happenings, Home and Garden, home tour, House project, Mission statement by Climbing Vine Clothing

Dear Readers,

Next week (Lord willing) will be the beginning of a new era in the life of our family. And, as promised, I am starting the whole process (and hope to continue doing so) by sharing with you what we are about to undertake. The story of how we have arrived in our current difficult position is so long and convoluted that I cannot explain it all here, but along the way, I can’t count the number of times I have been asked the following questions-

“How is the house is coming?”
“What do you have left to do on it?”
“Is it at least livable?”
“Do you know when you might get into it?”

And perhaps the most frequent of all-

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

I hope to answer these questions in the following post.

They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, and if we had known eight years ago what was going to transpire in our lives, what with job loss and financial upheaval, family emergencies and unexpected moves, (not to mention another baby and another and another) we never would have bought the house. But wise or not, we did it, and against all odds, we are still the owners. As I posted before, we have reached the point where it has become necessary to do something desperate. This will be the last try. If we don’t succeed, we will at least know that we have done everything in our power, and we trust God to open another path for us.

So, you asked how the house was coming on? What do we have left to do on it? Well, here is where we are at-

This is the front of our house. As you can see it has lovely dormer windows and an enormous porch. The entire front of the house needs to be scraped, sanded and repainted. The windows (throughout the entire house) need to be replaced, and the hubby is custom building them himself. These are just two “small” projects that need to be tackled.

This is me, walking around the exterior. You will notice that about half of it is painted a different color than the original yellow, and all the windows are boarded up. We have had to go to some length to keep the burglars (and pigeons) out.

This is the yard. Oh man, I feel like I would be willing to live just about anywhere to call this yard our own- even a trailer. The trailer has not yet arrived, but will go in the back corner where the parking area is. The boys have already marked out the spots for their new forts.

I just realized I forgot to take any pictures of the front yard. It’s a good sized front yard that we leveled out a few years ago and ambitiously planted bulbs and trees. The bulbs and trees are starting to bloom, which seems like a good omen.

You ask if the house is livable? I’ll let you decide by showing you the interior.
It’s a little difficult for me to share these with you, because it makes me feel vulnerable, like the whole world can now see what a mess we have to tackle. But I’m going recklessly on in hopes of some really amazing before and after shots down the road.

When you enter the house you are welcomed in, not by one, but by two living rooms.
The left one (which will hopefully be a library)

And the right. It already has a functioning wood stove set up, so we won’t freeze to death if we haven’t finished before next winter. There is also a piano. We have to warm the soul as well as the body, right?

As you can see, the entire house needs to be wired and sheet rocked before anything else can be done. You might notice lots of empty blue electrical boxes which once upon a time were wired and ready to go. But stolen copper is good money apparently. So all that has to be redone.

Walk through that room, and you arrive in my kitchen, the size of which makes me feel a little giddy. It’s not quite ready for cooking, unfortunately.

And such a large kitchen needs a corresponding dining room. As soon as we move over there, I am tearing down the plywood on these enormous window holes. It will be such a beautifully light-filled room.

I’m not bothering to show you any of the four bathrooms, (FOUR BATHROOMS!) or the enormous laundry room, (LAUNDRY ROOM!) since they don’t look like much yet. There are two very large bedrooms on the ground floor- our Master Suite, of which it is hard to get a good angle-

And the guest suite, which is currently home to eight years worth of our excess stuff. The reason it looks so jumbled is that it has been ransacked on a few occasions by a person (or persons) unknown. Whoever they are, I hope they are enjoying all my old books. (Grrrr). My first job will be to go through this room, reorganize and probably throw most of it away. Fun!

All right, bear with me- this is a huge house. Let’s head upstairs, shall we?

This is the view at the top- the door to “The girl’s room.”

We have called it the girl’s room ever since we started on the house. I am so glad we finally have a girl to put in it! Although it does seem like an awful lot of space for one little peanut, who currently lives in this much space.

To get to the boys room you cross this large open area we aren’t sure what to call- the den? The playroom? The ‘what on earth am I gonna do with so much space?’ room?

. And then the boys room itself. (Pardon the sawdust. Daddy uses this space as a workshop)

Oh, but wait- it goes around the corner too, and ends in some secret tunnels Daddy built in, just for his boys.

Oh, and then there is this room. Just an extra, you know, for whatever.

But the best of all, is of course, my own especial room, to do whatever I want with. There will be a lock on the door and much crafting within.

So then you asked, “When do you think you might be able to move in?”

Well, I hope you have seen that we have a looooong way to go before this house can become a home. That is obviously the scariest and riskiest part of this whole venture. There is simply no guarantee and no timeline in place. All I can really say is, the sooner the better. Which leads me to your last question-

“What can we do to help?”

Oh friends, the time has come for me to be very transparent. This is not an easy thing for me.
There are two things that we need- skilled labor and money. My hubby is one of the most skilled laborers I know, but he is one man and he is finite. If he must, he will build this house one inch at a time over the next twenty years. Obviously, this is not ideal, and we would like to be able to hire out most of the work. But without going into financial detail, we are stuck. We don’t have the money to finish the house, and yet we cannot keep the house if we do not make this last effort. We have prayed so long for an answer to this conundrum, but it has seemed insurmountable. My hubby has worked tirelessly over many years now to build his fledgling business, and has accomplished amazing things. But it is a fledgling business still. I would like to build my own business as well, but cannot without a larger space.

Then one day a friend suggested that I just ask people for donations.

I snorted- I scoffed- my pride recoiled at the suggestion. But the idea wouldn’t leave me alone. A thousand objections arose, but still it nagged. I wrote my family about it, asking advice- they said I should do it. I still resisted.
Then one night, before I went to bed, I asked the Lord to make it clear what we should do. Before I even closed my eyes, a message pinged on my ipad. It was a facebook friend, not someone I am particularly close with, but someone who apparently had been thinking of us and our situation. She simply asked if I had ever considered setting up a fundraiser so that people who would like to see us get into our house could donate. Stunned by the timely message, I asked her if she had been talking to my family at all lately. Perhaps they had mentioned the idea to her. She said no- that the idea had just popped into her head.
Well folks, what would you do?
I caved.
So without any more hemming and hawing, I am here today to ask if you would consider helping us reach our long-awaited goal by donating to the following site.
http://www.gofundme.com/pctz2w

And of course, if you are not in a position to help financially, any and all prayers would be most welcome!
We (and the children) thank you!

10Mar2015

A Domain of my Own

Posted in Daily happenings, Home and Garden by Climbing Vine Clothing

Hey folks! Just a few little announcements here tonight. The first being, I purchased my own domain name for my blog! Basically all that means is that instead of being climbingvineclothing@wordpress.com, I am now just climbingvine.net. I decided it was high time I got rid of the ‘clothing’ in my blog title since I haven’t been doing clothing since the very beginning of this blog. It is also much easier to tell people I am at climbingvine.net, than that other, longer title. But don’t worry, if you are still typing in the old address, it will redirect you to my new one. I have updated a few of my pages, and hope maybe to do some design update as well.

I thought it was a good time for a change, since I think the content of my blog is about to change quite a bit as well. We are hoping to move in about two weeks, which means my needle is already packed away. I hope it will be out again and stitching with renewed vigor by the next holiday season, but all of that is a bit up in the air because of the house. You remember the house? I may have mention it a time or two. I am really hoping, if the Lord and money allows, to take my loyal readers through all of the many steps needed to complete this mammoth task before us. I think it will be fun, but there is no telling how long it will take, so stay tuned.

In order to help fund this project, I have almost decided to take this cake making business to the next level. I have sold so many of them in such a short period of time that I think it will really be a help. I have had a few generous offers from friends for kitchens that I might be able to use since I will be without one for the foreseeable future, but I still have lots of little details on that to work out. I’ll try to keep people posted on that.

Of course, I am not sure what kind of internet access I am going to have at our property, so posting will probably be spotty, but I really hope not to let this old blog fall by the wayside. I have so enjoyed writing it, and looking back over almost two years now, and seeing how far we have come constantly surprises me. So thank you for being willing to read my stuff and for supporting me in all my little endeavors. It has truly been an encouragement to me.

And prayers would be appreciated. We are headed into uncharted waters here, which leaves me inexplicably excited and a little bit terrified. Eek!

1Mar2015

Be not afraid

Posted in Daily happenings by Climbing Vine Clothing

Life has been hard lately. And not just one hard providence, but one after another after another. There are so many areas in my life that are broken right now that I find myself compartmentalizing them, unable to think of them all at once. Today is a day to pray for this, tomorrow for that, and I will get around to worrying about the third and the fourth at some other time.

Today was the heaviest day of all. Today we went to a funeral for a child- a dear little child, no older than some of my own sweet children. And the death of a child- that trumps everything else. All other concerns and worries and cares- you can’t help but put them aside and deal with this one all-consuming trouble now before you.

As we were driving home from this funeral, eyes still swollen, throat still aching, I was trying not to think of all the things that must happen in our own family soon. Big decisions concerning my dad and his illness, and how to be a support to my mother and sisters in the difficult days ahead when we are so far away. How to be a help to so many other friends whom we know are undergoing many other trials. And then of course, our big move and the project looming on the horizon, a project that has drained so much time and so many resources for so long- a project that, for my own sanity, I just need finished, one way or the other.

I was trying not to think of all this, trying to pray for the family we had just seen mourning the loss of their son, trying to focus on being thankful for what we do have instead of dwelling on what we need. And then our van died. There In the middle of busy Saturday traffic at one of the busiest intersections of the city, we were suddenly sitting ducks while angry drivers zoomed around us, or honked impatiently as we made them miss green light after green light. And my husband and I sat and stared at each other, while five children clamored in the back seat, wanting to know what was wrong.

I’m not sure how long we sat there, trying to figure out what to do- it sure felt like an eternity. But I do know that my first feeling was one of anger- anger that such a long and crappy week had to end in this humiliating way, with my husband taking off his suit jacket and tie and popping the hood to see if there was anything he could do while I tried not to notice all the other passing drivers rubber-necking our situation.

And then I was worried and afraid. After all, we need our car, especially since our other car died a few months ago and we have been trying to make do with just one. We knew the van was on it’s last legs, but I often felt like that van had been our widow’s jar of oil that just kept coming every morning. And now it had run out.

There was a little despair mixed in there too, a few questions asking myself why we bother to strive and struggle and overcome at all, when things were just bound to get worse. It was as if our van became the proverbial “dead engine” that broke the camel’s back.

But before I could make matters worse by sobbing in front of my children, my husband, and a whole bunch of unhelpful onlookers, an apparition appeared. It was a short man crossing the street and wearing a ten gallon hat and a large, silver, belt buckle worthy of the state of Texas. He could see that the hubby was trying to figure out how we might push the van backwards and across the next lane into a small parking lot and was willing to help by offering to direct traffic for us. The boys were immediately interested in this “Yosemite Sam”, pointing out his long drooping mustache and wondering if he had a couple of six shooters in his belt. (he didn’t) So as this man masterfully halted traffic (he seemed to be hugely enjoying this power) I slid over into the drivers seat and tried to man handle the steering wheel while daddy pushed.

My faith in humanity slightly restored, I was looking intently over my shoulder, trying to steer, but when I turned back around, there were now two people pushing, and new arrival wasn’t Mr. Texas. It was actually someone we knew- a friend from church. As soon as we were off the road, Mr. Texas disappeared, but our friend remained- helping us get our car into a safe place and then spending the afternoon shuttling us around to car repair shops and even his own home. Not only did we need a bathroom, but he saved us from sitting in front of the Tax store, having to watch that ridiculous person in a statue of liberty costume twirl his sign for two hours. We made it home in the end with a temporary fix, but things are looking pretty bleak for our van, the old dear.

I have now had several hours to think over the day’s (and week’s) events and have come to this conclusion.

I talk big about believing in a sovereign and all powerful God, but my words and actions simply do not show it. The way I worry and complain, the way I grieve with fear instead of hope, the way I get angry when things do not go my way, you would think my “big God” was smaller than even me.

But as the simple actions of one man turned our afternoon from one of despair to one of hope, so my worry also began to change to a realization that God is big enough to send help, even for a seemingly insignificant little broken down van. I began to see that I don’t like to ask God for help, because I feel sure he is busy with so many more important things. I take it upon myself to fix my own life, perhaps thinking that I am saving God much time and trouble. I live in fear of bothering him, since he must be trying to deal with the rest of creation that is groaning so loudly.

And then my anger at our circumstances began to take a proper turn- towards the only entity who could possibly want me to think that God has limits. Surely there is only one power that wants me to forget that God is the God of little things as well as the big. So I shook my fist at the prince of darkness grim, and reminded myself that not a hair falls from my head without the will of my father in heaven. Or as William Cowper magnificently said,

In holy contemplation we sweetly then pursue, the theme of God’s salvation and find it ever new.

Set free from present sorrow, we cheerfully can say, let the unknown tomorrow bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it nothing, but he will bear us through. Who gives the lilies clothing will clothe his people too.

Beneath the spreading heavens, no creature but is fed. And he who feeds the ravens will give his children bread.

Or in stronger language still, from the book of Isaiah-

I, even I, am he who comforts you. Who are you that you are afraid of man who is made like grass, that you have forgotten the Lord your Maker, Who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth. Be not afraid, for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee.

Who am I indeed that I am afraid, grieving, and tempted to despair. I have forgotten the Lord my Maker, who stretches out the heavens and lays the foundations of the earth. I have forgotten the Lord my Shepherd who clothes the lilies and feeds the ravens. I have forgotten that he holds us and our children and the details of our lives in his hand, even down to the most stubbornly unfinished house or the most erring of old vehicles. And in the forgetting comes the fear.

So I ask for help- help to remember the simple command. Be not afraid.

And help to take a big God at his Word.

I am thy God- I will strengthen thee.

17Feb2015

Desperate times……

Posted in Daily happenings, Home and Garden, Mission statement by Climbing Vine Clothing

Well folks, I’m not sure exactly how to go about writing this post. I guess the best place to start is to refer back to this post that I wrote long ago, at the inception of this blog.
It’s simply the tale of a certain house that we own, and that we have been trying to get into for many years now.
We have attempted time and again to push forward and finish the project, but have been continually hampered by circumstances (time, money, logistics etc.) Each fresh attempt has ground to yet another halt. So many people have wanted to help, but it was so difficult to know how to let them, and if we should put more money into it, when every time we have, someone has broken in and robbed us.
And so we have tried to make the best of living in our tiny house in the Projects- still hoping, praying and, working towards that day when everything would line up just right for us to finally finish and move in.
And I am here today to tell you that we still have not reached that day.
But we have decided to move anyway.
Lord willing, in about six weeks, we will be moving onto our property and into a trailer, where we can be on the spot to make one last ditch attempt to finish our house.
Now I know that many people will think this is a crazy plan.
And guess what- it totally is.
But we have talked and prayed long about it, and we are at peace with the decision. I am actually excited at the prospect. Don’t get me wrong- I am well aware that it ain’t gonna be no picnic.
But I am excited because we will finally be out of our tiny house, and though we will be sleeping in a trailer, we will be spending our days in an enormous (though unfinished) house. My boys will be able to run free in a huge yard, instead of being confined to a yard that literally hems them in with barbed wire. We will be in a neighborhood that has parks and places to walk without fearing for our safety. Daddy will be close to work. (and mommy much closer to her sister : ) There are so many other reasons that we feel that, as insane as it might sound, this is the wisest thing we can do right now.
But most of all, I am excited because we are literally stepping out in faith, trusting that since God has allowed us to keep the house for so long, that he will help us to finish it. And even if nothing goes according to plan, and we lose the house in the end, there will finally be some closure to a burden that has long been weighing us down.

Of course, this has implications for everything that I have been building with my little business over the last couple of years. Climbing Vine will have to go on hiatus for a while, which is difficult for me, especially since it seems like, with just a little effort, I could add a successful cake-making side to the business. But reality has struck lately, as I try to juggle so many hats. My current house seems to shrink by the week, making running a business here more and more difficult, I might almost say impossible. But there is a craft room of prodigious size waiting for me in another location, if only we can get there.
And we are going to do our darndest.
So pray with us as we begin this endeavor. I will be continuing to blog if possible, and hope to keep regular updates of what is happening there. I also hope to keep writing if I have a second. But if you want a doll (or a cake) let me know. It might be your last chance for a while.
But don’t despair- I’ve noticed that climbing vines are hardy plants that transplant very well.

7Feb2015

Cakes!

Posted in Cooking, Daily happenings by Climbing Vine Clothing

Well, if you have been a faithful reader of my blog, you might remember that last year the hubby and I had a contest to see who could make the best cake for our annual church fundraiser, which takes the form of a Valentine themed cake auction. We had a lot of fun doing it, and you can read that other post here. We had every intention of carrying on the tradition this year, but as the time drew near, the hubby simply ran out of time. He has been more than a little busy lately, building other things besides cakes.

So I was kind of bummed. But then my boys offered to make a cake instead, and I thought that might be just as fun! So we flipped through books and internets and each found some inspiration and went on from there- one cake for the boys, and one for the girl. I’m not going to post recipes here- it would just take too much time, but I did want to document the event with a (largish) photo dump.

Tonight at the auction, I had to reassure several people that the boys (mostly James) really did make the cake, with only the tiniest bits of help from me. Here’s proof!

Not one bit of egg shell did he drop.

Men and power tools….

They chose a strawberry cake…

Being super helpful

Strawberry cake with lemon frosting that is.

Love this boy

Learning to frost

And then the final touches. (which made me cringe a bit- ohhh, so much sugar)

Very Proud.

Then it was mama’s turn.

Out of the way boys.

Then I forgot to take pictures for a few steps. I finished off the day with this. (there be four layers underneath that there ganache)

And then had to tackle this…

But I wasn’t finished yet.

This morning was decoratin’ time, starting with baked raspberry meringue rosettes.

Dipped in chocolate ganache

And up into place.

Then to cover the gaps, I decided on raspberries.

But not just any old raspberries.

These were amazing- like little chocolate bombs of bliss. I may have sneaked a few, or ten.

Then my own final touches.

I admit, this cake was a little bit over the top ridiculous, (all for a good cause of course) but I had so much fun making it, that I thought I would just throw this out there. Would anyone out perhaps be interested in purchasing a cake from me, outside of an auction scenario? (now that sewing season has slowed down.)

I’m thinking fancy birthday/anniversary cakes, and of course it would have to be for local people. But I do make a pretty good cake, if I do say so myself.

Let me know! If there is enough interest, Climbing Vine might just be branching out!

9Jan2015

Better than Butter

Posted in Cooking, Daily happenings by Climbing Vine Clothing

As you all know, the new year is a time for starting over, for instilling good habits and for watching your waistline. Which is why I am posting a recipe that consists of nothing but condensed whipping cream. Because who are we kidding- those resolutions aren’t going to stick, so we might as well skip all that painful self discipline and get on to the good stuff.

All joking aside, I am posting this recipe because it was a project I was working on as a Christmas gift for the hubby, and I didn’t want to post it during the Christmas season for two reasons- One, I didn’t want him seeing what I was up to, and two, I wasn’t sure it would even work. Here’s a longish back story or two for interest and clarification.

My father-in-law used to run a dairy farm on the southwestern tip of England, near Cornwall. Because of this, he is a veritable mine of information concerning all things dairy. You have to be careful asking him any question regarding cows because he is likely to turn quite encyclopedic on you, and you might not be able to get away for a couple of hours. It’s all very interesting stuff however, if you like dairy, which I do. I remember having a discussion with him once about the making of butter and cheeses and other things, and the term ‘clotted cream’ came up. My blank look told him that I had never heard of such a thing, so he rectified the situation immediately.

He told me in lavish detail all about it, starting with it’s many names- clotted or clouted cream, Devonshire cream or Cornish cream, depending on who you ask. Being an Englishman, he was even able to tell me the slight variations one could find depending on what region you were in and if your palate were discerning enough. But I don’t remember all that. For all intents and purposes I found that it is a product that comes from cooking fresh, unpasteurized cream at a very low temperature for a very long time until the cream condenses on the top. Then you chill the result and spread it on something like a scone.

My hubby was also listening in on the conversation, apparently unaware that he was drooling as he reminisced about the few times he had been able to enjoy this treat as a child when visiting family in England. I took note of the longing look in his eye, and began my mission- to find clotted cream in America.

I thought I had achieved my goal, when one afternoon in a local tea shop, I discovered a tiny jar on a shelf marked with the words- Devonshire Cream. It contained about 4 ounces of the stuff and cost over eight dollars, but I bought it anyway and brought it home to the hubby. He was pretty excited, so we immediately made some scones and spread it sparingly on top. (at two dollars an ounce, we wanted to make it last)

And although it was tasty, it wasn’t quite what the hubby had remembered. After all, it had been made and processed in some way to keep it from going bad, and then shipped half way around the world where it had probably been sitting on that shelf a long time. I didn’t buy it again.

A few years later, we found ourselves with a friend who had access to fresh, unpasteurized milk. She wasn’t allowed to sell it to us legally, but she did let us buy some for our ‘Pets’. (ahem.) I knew what the hubby was thinking as soon as he walked in the door with it. He was going to try making clotted cream. (You know what? I just can’t stand the term ‘clotted’ when it comes to anything food related, so from now on, I’m calling it Cornish cream, even though the residents of Cornwall will doubtless protest.)

At any rate, he tried to make it just using the directions his father had given him all those years ago, letting it heat in a pan on the stove for a long time. We had no idea if it was turning out right or not, but he decided to take it to a friend’s house where we just happened to be invited for a fancy tea. He hadn’t skimmed the cream off the top, but just brought the pan- liquid and all- into the car. He asked me to drive so he could hold it on his lap, but then realized he had forgotten something inside, and so set it on the dashboard. He slammed the car door, and before I could stop it, the whole pan slid off the dash and landed on his seat, deluging everything in it’s path, including myself.

It really was a horrific mess, and it took so long to clean it up that we were very late to our tea party, sans Cornish cream. We were never fully able to clean up everything that spilled in the car that day, and even now, on hot days, you can still get a whiff of it. We didn’t try again.

Fast forward a few more years to when my father-in-law came from France for a Christmastime visit. In honor of his arrival, the hubby and I hunted high and low online until we found a little site that sold Cornish Cream. They charged a ruinous price for it, but we bought two jars anyway, and it arrived straight from Cornwall a few weeks later. My father-in-law was pleased with it, as well as my hubby, as testified by the fact that they polished both jars off in an astonishingly short time. But apparently it still wasn’t quite right- it lacked that fresh, creamy, straight from the cow taste. And it was just too expensive to make a habit of buying.

I decided it was time to abandon my mission. Apparently the stuff was not to be got unless you were able to make it yourself, and that was something I was sure I couldn’t do unless I bought a cow. I never thought to look again until a few months ago, when I was hunting for a good orange marmalade recipe (which my hubby also loves) and I saw a link to a recipe for Cornish cream in the side bar. To my amazement, it said that it was indeed possible it make it yourself- using just a crock pot and cream that had not been pasteurized at ultra high temperatures. It seemed too good to be true, but I thought it was worth a shot. I had to stop at three different grocery stores before I found the right kind of cream, and I bought two quarts just in case I messed up a batch.

I was really nervous when I poured all that cream into my crock pot and set it on low. I hovered nearby for several hours, checking it constantly. Even so, it began boiling and got overcooked. I think my crock pot was just too hot. Nearly in despair, I searched the internet again and found one last tip- try making it in the oven in a water bath. I went ahead and did it, even though I had little faith left that it would work.

But folks, this time it worked beautifully. I can’t describe to you how excited I was to scoop up that wonderful, creamy concoction and put in a jar for my hubby to open on Christmas morning. And at long last, after one taste, he had nothing left to ask for except another bite.

Now, I am well aware that some of you might think we are totally crazy, being so obsessed by something as trivial as a jar of cream, but I suggest you try it and see. You just might find yourself joining our little club. Here’s what you need.

Yep. That’s it. But be very careful to make sure that it doesn’t read UHT (ultra high pasteurized) anywhere. It should just say pasteurized, like this. I found this at Whole Foods.

Now get out two pans- one that fits inside the other. The bigger the better, since you will get more surface area and hence, more cream. I used an 11×15 and a 9×12.

Just nestle the smaller one into the bigger one…

and pour in the cream (I used three 8 oz. containers here)

Preheat your oven to the lowest possible temp- mine is 150. It won’t take long to heat up.

And place the cream in the oven.

Now pour some water (it doesn’t have to be hot) into the outer pan until it reaches about half way up the sides of the inner pan. This is your water bath.

And close the oven door. I put this in the oven around noon and pulled it out right before dinner- about six hours. Half way through, I checked on it and it looked like this.

I know, it looks weird, but that is how it should look- like the skin that forms on the top of a pudding. Just don’t disturb it- you want that layer to get nice and thick.

After six hours, pull it out very carefully. It still won’t look very thick and there will be a lot of liquid under the surface. Just transfer it to your fridge and let it sit overnight. It should firm up a lot and end up looking like this-

I know, still strange. But keep going. Get a slotted spoon and sterilized jar ready to go.

Now gently stick the spoon into the corner and start scooping, letting the liquid underneath drip off, and put the top layer into the jar.

You will notice that it looks a lot like butter, but the taste is totally different, which is quite amazing really, seeing as they are made from the exact same ingredient. Keep scooping and filling the jar.

In the end, you will have about a cup of leftovers in the pan. It’s sort of like whey, but much creamier. You can save it to use it in other cooking or in the scone recipe I am going to post later.

But after the rest of it has all been spooned into the jar and stirred gently together, you should end up with about two cups of this marvelous, delightful, sinfully delicious stuff.

Just stick it in the fridge and wait for my next installment in this series. I’m going to call it “Cornish Cream and Lemon curd- the quest for the perfect scone.” Stay tuned.

7Jan2015

Remorse

Posted in Daily happenings by Climbing Vine Clothing

So today was a long day- nothing particularly dreadful, just lots of fatigue and whining children and noise and a baby who is suddenly mobile and a daddy who wasn’t home yet. It was getting late and I was wishing someone other than myself had put the kids to bed an hour before. And as I was wrestling with dishes and fights and pajamas, one of them suddenly said something to me that hit a raw nerve.

It was a first for me, having one of my children say something that hurt my feelings so much that it made me cry. There was a moment where I was standing there, staring at him, blinking back tears, and then I had to excuse myself. I went into the bathroom and closed the door and had to take a few deep breaths to get a grip and think how to deal with the situation.

I knew he hadn’t said what he did to be malicious, but I also knew that he had no business talking to his mother that way. I was frustrated, angry and hurt, and I wanted to be able to handle things graciously but firmly, to make sure my erring child knew that what he had done was wrong and that he needed to be careful with his words. But I have a hard time telling people when they have hurt me. It feels whiny and self-centered for me to let someone know that I need an apology from them- a chance to extend forgiveness so that I don’t seethe quietly inside from past offenses that I have failed to deal with.

But this was my child- not a sister or a parent or a husband who had offended against me. He is my responsibility and I pictured him, if I ignored this offense and pretended I was fine, growing up to treat his friends and family and eventually his wife in the same way. I knew I had to say something. So I squared my shoulders and opened the bathroom door, prepared to go hunt down the culprit who was no doubt off in a corner somewhere, blissfully and unrepentantly playing with legos.

I was prepared to go and look for him. But I was not prepared to find him standing their with his head leaning against the door. I was prepared to convict him of his sin, but I was not prepared for the look of sheer misery on his face as he turned to try and look at me, and couldn’t meet my eye. I was prepared to administer discipline, but I was not prepared to see his whole body trembling with suppressed sobs of pure remorse as he tried to gasp an apology. I was not prepared for any of it, but I grabbed onto the moment and his shoulders and pulled him close. We both stood there in the hallway, crying together. If you know anything about me, or him, this is not a normal occurrence.

Parenthood is many things, not all of them wonderful. But sometimes I am astonished at the glimpses it can give us into the heart of God. Tonight I thought about how often God has to go and hunt us down in our sin and misery, and drag us, sometimes with a hard providence, kicking and screaming into repentance and restoration. That is usually how I picture remorse- a remorse rooted in getting caught and being forced to deal with what we have done. And that is what I was ready to do for my son because I love him too much to let him remain in his sin.

But tonight I saw a different picture. Tonight I saw that remorse doesn’t always need to be that way. Tonight my boy came to me. He didn’t try to hide or make excuses. Yes he was guilty and he was afraid, but he came anyway and leaned on the door. That was all. He couldn’t quite speak the words. But it was enough. And so tonight there was no hard providence- no kicking and screaming and hard earned restoration. Tonight I smiled over his misery and his grief because it meant a soft heart. Tonight I was glad to receive a wound because it showed me a tender conscience. I thanked God for my small hurt that could bring my boy such big happiness, because as much as I was glad to forgive him, he was giddy with joy to be forgiven.

In my life, as a parent, a wife, a part of God’s family, I so often fail to draw the obvious parallels that He lays out everywhere for my help and benefit. But tonight, at the end of a long day, I know that I too have sinned and offended. I am also a child, guilty and a little afraid. But I will go and lean on the door.

20Dec2014

Love Came Down

Posted in Daily happenings by Climbing Vine Clothing

This short story is my first attempt at fiction. Or perhaps I should say a true story in a fictional setting. Most it is based on experiences in my life, but it’s pretty jumbled up chronologically and I added quite a lot to it. It just seemed the best way to share what has been going on in my mind this Christmas season. It’s a very personal story, (the strangest parts are the truest) and I’m a little nervous to share it, because sharing my heart makes me feel vulnerable and because writing fiction somehow makes me more self-conscious. But I’m going to risk it. It’s a little longer than usual. Hope you don’t mind. Merry Christmas!

The hike had started at midnight. According to the locals, this was the best way to experience the mountain, and with perseverance and luck, one could reach the end of the trail just as the sun was rising. It sounded good in theory but at 3 am, half the hike completed and legs already like putty, I was done. I had always prided myself on being an excellent hiker, but this mountain had me beat. I sat down on the side of the trail, ignoring the snow that covered my boulder chair, and howled.

“Just leave me here honey,” I moaned. “You can finish without me. I probably won’t freeze to death before you get back.”

My husband gave me one of his infuriating smiles- those smiles that expressed all too plainly that he was about to ask me to do something for my own good. And he of course, with his calm demeanor unimpaired by weakness or emotion, new best. He knew how sorry I would be if I didn’t continue- how I would always regret not finishing what I had started. He also sensibly reminded me that if we didn’t keep moving, we actually would freeze, and that the closest way to warmth and rest was the cabin at journey’s end. Then pulling me to my feet and dusting the snow from my pants, he took my hand and we continued on our way.

We pushed on for a few more hours, my legs soon finding a steady rhythm as they pounded the frozen ground. I began ignoring the pain and trying to take in my surroundings. Up until this point we had been hiking through dense forest, bathed in that eerie light that only comes from snowy landscapes at night. Seeing nothing but snow laden trees on either side, I looked up instead, and stifled a cry as a huge ghostly shape floated overhead, enormous amber eyes hunting the ground for prey.

“Honey!” I gasped.

“It’s a snowy owl,” came the whispered response.

I was amazed at the sight and also completely spooked. All was silent in the dark wood except for the crunching of our boots and I found myself shivering from more than just the cold. It felt like something out of a fairy tale, and not one that would end happily ever after. I started to wonder why we had come at all.

But in a few moments, the darkness seemed to lessen and the trees thinned. We rounded a corner and the forest came to an abrupt end. The vast expanse that suddenly opened above us made me feel light-headed and I clutched at my silent husband’s arm. That eerie feeling was replaced by awe, and I no longer wondered why we had come.

We were standing in an enormous valley- a deep, snow-filled bowl surrounded by mountain peaks. Above us, the broad swath of the milky way dominated the velvet sky, excepting where the edges of the jagged peaks stood out against it in sharp outline. My mouth opened, but words were futile. Tears came instead.

We had arrived at our destination earlier than expected. In the distance, across the starlit snowfield, I could see the small cabin we had been striving to reach. But all thoughts of cold and exhaustion had disappeared. This was not a moment for creature comforts. It was a moment to see our Creator. We held our breath and gloried.

Eventually the icy flow of tears slowed and we breathed again. The stars were fading, the cabin inviting us to warm our numb hands and feet. When we finally reached it, we found the door unlocked, as promised. It was a rustic space but well furnished, and a neat stack of wood was ready in the fireplace. The flickering light of crackling flames soon added to the beauty of the moment, and the discovery of the means to make a pot of hot chocolate were thankfully taken advantage of. With a sigh of contentment we sank deep into armchairs. The whole front of the cabin, we were elated to find, was constructed of broad glass windows, which gave a breathtaking view of the surrounding mountains. All we needed to do now was watch the show.

It started along the outline of those jagged peaks that only moments before had been cutting off the starlight. A barely perceptible flush crept along each edge and slowly slid down the silent, snowy faces of the cliffs. Rose pink light, tinted with gold made the mountains seem to grow taller. We gloried again, forgotten hot chocolate growing cold in our hands. After a long time, a sliver of the burning sun broke the mountain barrier, filling the valley with a glittering light so bright we had to close our eyes. The sunlight warmed our upturned faces. Without knowing when, we both fell asleep.

–

The descent from this transcendent experience was almost as silent as our ascent. As brief as it had been, I felt sure I would never be the same person again. I was marked for life by those few glorious hours on the mountaintop and never again would it be difficult to find God. Reading my husband’s expression, I was pretty sure he was thinking the same thing. And though our faces might not actually have been shining, I felt that that was as close to Moses on Sinai as I was ever going to get.

It was a bit of a shock, several hours into our descent, to find the snow growing thinner on the ground, and then disappearing altogether. I had forgotten, in the magic of the night before, that it wasn’t even winter yet- had forgotten just how high we had climbed to reach that unseasonably snowy world. September’s leaves were only just beginning to fall off the trees at the base camp where we had left our car.

With a groan of relief, we lowered our heavy packs to the ground and loaded them into the trunk. Opening the doors we stood for a moment gazing around, holding onto the moment. Then, with a sigh, we got in the car. Real life was calling.

–

The first several days after our return were wonderful. It is always delightful to be reunited with a child, even if you have only been away a few days. And it was the first time we had been away from our son, so we were doubly glad to kiss his chubby cheeks again. Both of us were exhausted from the physical strain we had endured, but with the euphoria of our hike still hanging over us, we smiled through the days of aching muscles and blistered feet. How loving and kind we were to each other as we returned to daily life, with the influence of Creation upon us. How patient with our fussy baby, how cheerful to do our work.

But my fatigue did not go away. My husband recovered quickly, but each morning that first week, and for several subsequent days, I felt weak and nauseous One day he came home from work to find me sobbing in bed.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I wailed. “I’m grumpy and moody and I have no energy at all! I just feel sick all the time and I don’t know what to do.”

He waited for my sniffling to subside with another of his infuriating smiles playing at the corners of his mouth. He then kissed me on the top of my head and went to buy a pregnancy test.

–

So another baby was on the way. Sure we were living in an apartment too tiny for even three people. Sure we were starting work on a bigger house and it would be a lot of hard work to get into it before this baby was born. It didn’t matter. We pushed ahead excitedly. Pregnancy wasn’t going to slow us down.

But hardly had we gotten used to the idea of a new life when I was awoken one night with a terrible suddenness. At first I thought it was a nightmare, just remnants of the fear leftover from our first pregnancy and the baby I had miscarried. But soon there was no doubt- I was bleeding. I hated to wake my sleeping husband and tell him this news, again. But as soon as I woke him, he seemed to see it in my face. He asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. After our last terrible experience in the hospital that landed us with a 10,000 dollar bill and a lot of emotional damage, I told him I wanted to avoid it if possible. So we lived again through several anxious and heartbroken hours. There was soon little doubt that I had lost the baby.

I was racked by guilt thinking that our wonderful hike had somehow hurt my baby. And I was confused. It had seemed like a precious gift, that transcendent moment we had shared under the stars. But now the taste of it was sour in my mouth- tainted by grief and doubt. I clung to the memory, hoping to bring it to my aid, but it was ebbing away like a pleasant dream.

–

After a week, everything seemed to be back to normal, physically speaking. We informed our families that we had lost another baby. We tried to move on. Busyness helped with the grief. Our housing renovation was in full swing and my spirits and energy returned. I was still young, there would be other babies to help fill our new house.

“After all,” I was soon able to reason to myself, “for every mountaintop there must be a valley.”

I spoke those words glibly, but nothing could have prepared me for how deep that valley would get in the next few months. Just two weeks later, my husband unexpectedly lost his job, and we had to say goodbye to all of our plans for the new house. It seemed to me like another death. But even as we struggled to reconfigure our future, we received a devastating phone call. My father had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. While we were trying to absorb the shock of this discovery, and with a suddenness that left us reeling, my brother-in-law died.

The Christmas season was now upon us and there was nothing but grief and death, confusion and heartache in all directions. I cried out to the God of the mountaintop, but he was too far away to hear me. The clear alpine air had turned to a dense and dark cloud of misery. And now, wherever I turned, I saw the misery of others. So many were hurting, so many fighting dark battles, so many longing for a moment where they could see the face of God on the mountain and be comforted. I grew depressed and bitter that I couldn’t climb back up to that place of peace and assure myself that God was in his heaven. I felt sick and tired all the time again, with strange pains in my stomach, terrible heartburn and problems sleeping.

“I’m pretty sure I have an ulcer,” I told my husband one morning as I described my symptoms. He didn’t smile this time.

But it was Christmas. I was too busy and distracted to go to the doctor. I felt as if I was hanging on by a thread in every way- physically, emotionally, spiritually. And as I struggled one morning to find meaning in and make sense of the burdens now placed on me and my entire family, and as I longed to bridge the distance between me and a distant God, one simple line suddenly flashed through my mind-

“Love came down at Christmas.”

I couldn’t even remember where I had heard it before, but the words continued to pound in my ears.

“Love came down at Christmas.”

I grabbed my computer and looked it up. I remembered. It was Christina Rosetti.

“Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, Love Divine,
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and Angels gave the sign.”

A breeze was stirring my foggy thoughts. Of course it was a truth I had known since I was a child, that Jesus had come from heaven to earth at Christmas. But I had never until now had even a taste of just how low he had had to stoop. For the first time, I had an inkling of what it might have like for him to trade divine glory for human misery. Phrases from the old carols came thick and fast now-

“He came down to earth from heaven, who is God and Lord of all, and his shelter was a stable and his cradle was a stall”

“Mild, he lays his glory by, born that man no more may die.”

“Come to earth to taste our sadness, He whose glories knew no end”

“Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high,
And cheer us by your drawing nigh,
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.”

“As the Light of light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.”

“Sacred Infant, all divine,
What a tender love was Thine,
Thus to come from highest bliss
Down to such a world as this.”

Then with a final phrase, I was undone.

“Lo, within a manger lies
He who built the starry skies”

There in that dirty house that I hadn’t cleaned in two weeks, surrounded by piles of unfolded clothing and dirty dishes, in my grief and despair, I realized that the God of the mountaintop was right there with me.

–

My husband came home to find me sobbing again, but there was joy in the tears this time. I tried to tell him my thoughts and express my sudden lightness of heart, but once again, words seemed futile and the tears just flowed. Even so, that night I still felt sick and the sharp little jabs in my stomach kept me from sleeping. I made an appointment.

When I got to the doctor’s, I told them my suspicions. They did some basic tests, asked me some questions about the stress in my life, and told me they were going to draw some blood. But when the nurse came back in, she wasn’t carrying any needles and she was smiling.

“Honey,” she said. “You’re pregnant.”

I was floored. With all the turmoil in my life of late, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me. My jeans had been feeling slightly snug of late, but nothing out of the ordinary.

“Do you know how far along you might be?” she asked.

Feeling like an idiot, I told her I had no idea, but that I had been feeling some strange pains in my stomach lately. She looked surprised and came to feel my belly. With a quick look at me, she wheeled the ultrasound machine over and called in the technician. Within minutes, they were running that little wand over my belly.

“Well, we have a healthy baby here,” said the technician. “Would you like to know what it is?”

“You can tell already?” I asked, flabbergasted.

“Yes, I’d say you are about 5 1/2 months along.”

The room began to spin. 5 1/2 months? How on earth was that possible? But that meant…that meant I had never miscarried my baby back in September. It had to be the same pregnancy. And all the heartburn and insomnia and the strange pains in my stomach- that was a baby? And I was hardly showing! There were so many questions and so much mystery. I tried to explain all of this to the nurse, but could only stutter. She just smiled and said,

“Well, it’s definitely a boy.”

And there, sitting in that little room, dressed in a paper gown and surrounded by strangers, the God of the mountain and the manger- the Great Giver of good gifts, was with me again.

25Nov2014

Expanding our borders (ever so slightly)

Posted in Daily happenings, dolls, Hand made gifts, Stuffed animals by Climbing Vine Clothing

Well, I know I’ve been posting a lot about my shop lately, but I wanted to get this out before the holiday weekend- you know, the weekend that starts the shopping mayhem for the next month.

Up ’til now, I haven’t done much with promoting my shop on designated online shopping days, or even Black Friday. But apparently, this Saturday is ‘Small Business Saturday’ and I was invited to join a real, live, local Etsy market to show some of my wares.

It’s at the downtown Chattanooga library, and I have no idea what to expect. Supposedly about 30 other vendors will be there, and as to numbers of customers- that’s anyone’s guess. But I thought, since it was free, that I might as well give it a try and get my stuff out there using a different venue.

So come on down and take a look if you are so inclined. And if you’ve been on the fence about buying my stuff, it will save you shipping : ).

‘

In other news, I posted something on my Facebook page a while back- something I couldn’t reveal on public media for disclosure reasons. I had received a rush order for three of my horses about two days before our big trip out west, and because of the generous amount this person was willing to pay, both to make them and ship them overnight, I went ahead and filled the order.

I am now at liberty to reveal what they were for. They were shipped out to Hollywood, CA for a little commercial. They really only needed one for the commercial, but ordered three to see which one looked better on set. It’s just a brief, horsey cameo, but I’m tickled pink about it. Take a look!

http://http://youtu.be/DtAbDkudP54

11Nov2014

Getting my fall fix

Posted in Daily happenings by Climbing Vine Clothing

Since I moved to the south, Fall has become my favorite season. I like spring as well, but I so struggle with the hot and humid summers here, that that first cool breath of autumn air seems to wake me up from a long and exhausting dream. Doors may now be opened without air conditioning being swept out to cool the neighborhood, and windows propped up without threat of the pesky mosquitos.
And then, of course, there are the colors. The sky changes from that muggy, bronzy haze to a startling blue, and the trees begin their magic. I so look forward to this time of year that I was saddened by the thought that our trip out west was taking place during the last few weeks of October. I didn’t want to miss a moment of it. I had great plans for leaf collecting, orchard tromping and pumpkin patching before we left, but in the hurry of sewing and cleaning and packing, I did none of it. And when we got to Washington, we were greeted with such a series of rain that there were only a couple of days that allowed the few bright deciduous colors of the Evergreen state to shine.
All in all, I was pleased, (after returning from our wonderful and exhausting trip) to find that fall was still going strong here. But before we could go out and enjoy it, there was the sorting and unpacking and shopping to do and school to resume. And then we were all hit with a doozy of a cold that kept us housebound all weekend.
But yesterday, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I decided to ignore our runny noses and take advantage of what fall weather we have left.
I thought it would be fun to find an apple orchard, so we loaded up and headed to nearby Signal Mountain. We arrived, but after taking a quick tour of the place, it was clear that we had missed the season.

Although there were still delicious apples and cider for sale in the little store, I was disappointed. But having come all that way, I thought we would make one more stop at one of our favorite parks, just for the view. It was well worth it.

It was such a beautiful time, that I kind of went crazy taking pictures. I wasn’t the only one. There were people up there taking engagement photos, family Christmas card shots and maternity pictures. So I did my own little family session and went home satisfied. Then I made an apple crumble and drank some fresh cider. I felt like I had fulfilled my fall quota in one afternoon.