Glorious Fun

Oh, it has been a glorious week so far, and it is only Wednesday!

I’d love to just blurt out all the goodness that God has been bestowing on us as of late, but I will take my time and parse it out properly over the next few posts.

Yesterday was an absolutely beautiful day. I spent it with my daughter, doing not much of anything, just mom and daughter stuff. We made gluten free peanut butter cookies (recipe to follow) and she highlighted my hair . . . wait for it . . . wait . . .

PURPLE! And so now with my natural silver/gray, I’m sporting the Sacramento King’s colors! Too funny. That one’s just for you, Dale! (Okay, so it doesn’t show up all that well in this picture, but my hair is tinted purple on the ends.)

Those of you who know me personally might notice something else about the pictures. I’m losing weight, although I am not sure how much because I have not stepped on a scale since Portland. Needless to say, I am down a few sizes. Yea! And it is simply melting away without all the usual starvation and torture. What’s my secret, you may ask? Well, when we started our journey, we basically changed our entire lifestyle. That, and I give thanks to God for this, another blessing in my life.

Okay, so I am blurting out an awful lot of the goodness all at once.

On to the cookie recipe. It is the simplest and most delicious cookie recipe ever. Even if you are not gluten intolerant, you may want to try these. They are amazing.

GLUTEN FREE PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES

• 1 cup peanut butter
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 1 egg
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp vanilla

That’s it, unless you are hankering for chocolate with your peanut butter, then add some chocolate chips and you are good to go.

Bake for 10-12 minutes in a 350 degree oven, and I promise they will disappear right before your eyes, even before they have had a chance to cool. Better double the recipe, folks, it is that good.

Love and blessings to you all,

Jenni and Ken

Blessings Abound

Okay, so this hasn’t been the best week for creating works of art. It is becoming more difficult. I am not lacking imagination, but I am definitely running short on supplies and money to replace them.

Darn medical bills. And other bills. I pray for my son to get a job so that things won’t be so tight, but so far no such luck. It is difficult, three adults living on one retirement income. I am thankful we are here to help my son now when he needs us most. And I am thankful he is here to help us, too. If only we didn’t need to eat so often . . .

Even so, I count my blessings daily. And they do come daily.

I prayed for less pain when doing my writing and artwork, and my best friend and her boss gave me an office chair so that I would not have to sit in an uncomfortable kitchen chair.

Our Jeep broke down. I prayed to God that I did not know what we were going to do. He answered my prayers by arranging for another good friend to lend us their second car.

I prayed more about how we would be able to afford to fix the Jeep. Yet another friend stepped in to offer his free labor and know-how. Still praying about the cost of parts, but I feel confident in the Lord’s workings.

Out of the blue, a neighbor a few houses down offered us a lug and a half of pears from his tree. He even picked them for us. I am very thankful for his generosity. Once canned, they will provide fruit for us through the winter. (That’s my son’s best friend William [another blessing] helping me sort the pears. There’s nothing wrong with our skin; it is dappled shadowing from the umbrella.)

Our neighbors in the other half of the duplex have also been a godsend. They are getting married in a few weeks, and knowing our talents, they have hired us to cook the wedding feast, design the invitations (below), and photograph the wedding. I will also be doing a family portrait for them. This could not come at a better time for us, financially.

There are so many blessings, large and small, in our lives right now. All this brings me to tears. The love we’ve been shown by friends and strangers alike, it overwhelms me.

Another blessing is that our apple tree produced its first abundant crop. From half the apples, I made three pies, and I still have the other half of the honey crisps to munch or to make more pies.

Being gluten intolerant, I made these pies with a sugar cookie crust and a crisp topping. They are amazingly tasty.

I have only managed a few finished pieces this past week, though I have been drawing and have come up with plenty of sketches to paint later, once I can replace some of my supplies.

The imagination is a wonderful thing. As I was painting yard sale signs for Ken, I asked if I could have a few of the smaller plywood boards. These, I will paint upon with acrylics. Below, Ken is adding a second coat of base paint for me. Of course I had the tough job of sanding them smooth, myself!

All the family gets in on the action.

After all the week’s work and prayers and praises, it’s no wonder Tink and I passed out last night.

Mom’s Cinnamon Rolls, Redux

For the past several months, I have been craving my mother’s cinnamon rolls. This craving was made especially sharp because I cannot have the gluten or cinnamon; therefore I can no longer have my mom’s cinnamon rolls.

During the past Christmas season, I also missed my mom very  much.  She passed away in 2008. Maybe that is why I was really craving the cinnamon rolls. I wanted my mom. I wanted the warmth of her kitchen. I wanted the laughter we used to share as we made those cinnamon rolls or bread together. I wanted all those things I can never have again.

Life is funny that way sometimes. We always want what we cannot have. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.

But, alas, I cannot have the gluten. I know this but I do cheat sometimes. Those Voodoo doughnuts we can get here in Oregon cast their magic spell, and I fall on my knees, sick from eating just one. I am sick for a whole week after just one delectably gooey doughnut.

Cinnamon. I love cinnamon but it does not love me. My migraines are not worth its spicy goodness.

And finally, I cannot have my mom back. I can dream about her. I can remember her each time I make borscht or clam chowder. And I can cry when I cannot quite get her recipes right.

Even with all these obstacles facing me, I still longed for Mom’s cinnamon rolls. So, I did the one thing I could do: I found the next best thing. I found a gluten free cinnamon roll recipe here, and instead of sprinkling cinnamon on the filling, I sprinkled my newest spice friend, cardamom. It doesn’t quite have the bite that cinnamon does, with its slight bitterness, but I am growing to like it, and it tasted absolutely wonderful. They were so tasty, I forgot to take a picture first!

And the tray of actual cinnamon ones, well, you’ll see they are almost gone already.  They could not keep their hands off, even though I insisted that particular tray was for our gluten free neighbor. I did manage to save a few for her.

While savoring each bite, they took me back to my childhood kitchen at mom’s elbow, which is really what I was after in the first place.

Bad Luck Opens New Doors For Weary Travellers

When God closes a door, He opens a window.
Or in this case, when happenstance or the bad economy force our favorite restaurant to close, we were forced to find a new chowder eatery. And find one we did. I don’t know why we have never eaten at the Sea Hag before. It has been on the Depot Bay waterfront for years, yet we have always sped past on our way to Newport, in search of the best chowder around, to be found only at the Whale’s Tale. Mo’s doesn’t hold a candle to what the Whale’s Tale used to make.
Sadly, we may never taste their chowder ever again.
Happily, though, we found the Sea Hag. I am always wary of trying chowder at new places, since I never know for sure whether they have spiked it with bacon, as many places do. If that bacon were to have nitrates, as most does, I would be rewarded with a doozy of a migraine. Do you serve aspirin with that chowder? Plus, now I have the whole gluten avoidance issue to deal with, and it is usually thickened with roux (made from flour and fat). So, unfortunately, we were not searching for chowder for me, but for my sweetie.
Besides, when I perused the menu, the bouillabaisse nearly  jumped off the page at me. It sounded so good, I decided I would take the plunge into eating soup with my fingers in public.
Talk about overcoming your fears. It took me a very long time to eat any seafood “finger food” other than deep fried prawns when in front of others. Isn’t it funny, all our worries and fears that involve what others may or may not think about us?
My first step toward seafood freedom was actually on our honeymoon, though I do not recommend indulging in all-you-can-eat crab right before boarding a plane to go home. A stomach full of Dungeness and a gut full of anxiety do not mix. Pepto, please carry me home.

This was a whole new issue, however, because it involved broth, not simply cracking dry crab legs. I actually had to fish them out of the stew before any cracking could take place. Doesn’t it look like there’s a crab trying to escape my bowl?
It was well worth every drip of broth that ran down my wrists. I have never tasted such a delightfully perfect bouillabaisse. If that guy across the room really wants to gawk at me while I tuck my napkin into my collar and lick that delectable broth from my fingertips, that’s his business. I don’t care anymore.
I was there for the good food and the only man I cared about was Ken, who was drooling as he eyed my bowl, wishing he had ordered the bouillabaisse instead of the oyster stew.
Sorry baby, this bowl’s all mine.

Busted Again!

“I’m getting full,” Ken said to me earlier today as we greedily gobbled down the biggest BBQ brisket sandwiches I had ever seen.

“Me too,” I answered back, with my mouth full.

“I think I will take the rest home for Trevor.”

“Here, you better finish mine.” I said as I handed him the last quarter of my sandwich. “Otherwise he will know I ate the bun.”

Ken put his half sandwich back in the earth-friendly to-go container and smiled as he happily finished off my sandwich. Then on the way home, he said that they were so good, he was contemplating pulling over to finish the other one too.

I just smiled, hoping I had gotten away with something but fearing all along that Trevor would know, the way a mother just knows things. He has that way about him.

Today we shopped the presale of the semi-annual consignment event where I had taken a bunch of my hardly worn clothing. I had originally decided not to buy anything at all at the sale. It kind of defeats the purpose, you know, of trying to get rid of all our excess baggage in order to travel comfortably in our 32-foot RV. Unfortunately, Ken, Trevor, and I helped out at the setup and sign in yesterday, and I spotted too many cute things to pass up. Besides, my darling husband/enabler kept holding up items for me to see as he was sorting sizes.

I have been praying that all my items sell so that I won’t have to bother with taking them to the consignment store next, but asking for all is being greedy. I prayed today, kind of jokingly (sorry), that enough stuff sells so that I can at least pay for what I spent today. Besides, there’s also lunch for three yesterday after our volunteering. We were ravenous and finished just about everything on our plates at the Black Bear Diner in Beaverton. This in itself was a miraculous feat, considering the humongous portions they serve.

Then there was today’s lunch at Sheridan Fruit in Portland. I was absolutely giddy as I perused the meat counter. I grabbed Ken’s arm, “They have clean meat!” No antibiotics. No hormones. Vegetarian fed. Locally raised. And for the most part, their sausages don’t have nitrates. I was in meat heaven, and that is why I persuaded Ken to treat me to lunch. Damn the wheat bun it was on, I was going to eat it anyway. It was amazing, especially with my sugar and caffeine laden real Pepsi. No diet drink today. I guess I figured I was already blowing my day by eating gluten, why not add sugar to my tummy troubles?

It is interesting living with two men. There’s my husband, who enables all of my bad habits (like gluten, sugary drinks, ice cream, shopping, being lazy), and then there is my 19-year-old son, who is a taskmaster. He sternly cautions me about whether it is a wise choice, what I am putting in my stomach, especially when it comes to gluten. When longingly eyeing a bauble or cutesy in a store, he reminds me that I said earlier I didn’t have that much to spend and I was only to buy necessities. Ugh. Yes, I remember saying that earlier. Thanks, son, for keeping your mother on track. He is such a sweetheart, despite his rules. He wakes me in the morning with freshly made carrot juice. “It’s ten, time to get up,” he says, as he steals my Tinker Belle to take her out. She is such a lazy dog in the mornings. She must take after her mommy.

All things can be used for good. I’ve heard it said God can use the bad that happens to us for good, so why can’t I use the behaviors/actions of others to suit my needs? I was thinking yesterday it might be a good idea to use Trevor’s taskmaster tendencies to help me diet and exercise. What a concept. I already have a built-in health coach.

And yes, he used his intuition on me again. When Ken gave him the sandwich, he took a bite and said it was good, which led me to slip up, “Yes, isn’t it?” He smiled his knowing smile.

Oops, I’m busted again.