Musings From a Grateful Heart...

I had a chance this weekend to spend some time with friends, good friends.  It got me thinking, I wonder if these folks have any earthly idea how much it means to me, this time I get to spend as a member of their family?

How, exactly, does a person ever express what it does to the heart to sit around the dinner table with people that one loves, sharing slices of one another's lives, right along with the butter and the salt?  To be included in the family soccer game or Duck Dynasty session?  To wander the woods under the supremely confident guidance of a nine-year-old woodsman, safe in the protection of his trusty bow and arrow?  To receive an equal share of the good-night hugs?  To savor a certain relaxed camaraderie, accompanied by good coffee, good music and good conversation, with people that one is proud to call friends?

I know, I'm Carrie the confident (cocky?), the smart and self-assured, always-together one, the "go-to" girl.  And yet, that face that the world sees doesn't necessarily reveal the time spent on the knees, the tears that wet the pillow from time to time.  The cool exterior doesn't always show the soul that is so deeply moved and touched by kindness, by joy and sunshine, and a smile that shines straight out of a genuine heart.  And, so, here are all of these many wonderful folks who have made a difference, a big, big difference, and who probably have absolutely no idea of the impact they've made.

I guess, what I'm saying is, how can I say thanks?  I've thought about it; I really can only think of one worthy response, and that is to take the supreme gifts that I have been given, and to pay them forward.  To extend the hand of fellowship at every opportunity; to never miss a chance to shed a little "sparkle" whenever and wherever I can; to shine a light into every single dark corner I find.  And though I may never know whether I've made a difference or not, it really doesn't matter.  I've experienced first-hand exactly what God can do with all of those countless, nameless little things shared by those who love Him, and so I am supremely satisfied in giving my life to doing the same.  It's like the song my mom used to sing:

Brighten the corner where you are...someone far from harbor you may guide across the bar...brighten the corner where you are!

Here's to brightening my corner...

Oh, and to all...thank you.

Cinnamon Rolls

It's Saturday, O blessed weekend.  The weather is perfect, and I say that unreservedly.  One of my babies wanted cinnamon rolls.  Saying "no" to this particular baby has never been my strong suit, so I am spending this perfect Saturday in my kitchen, earbuds blaring my "best-of" playlist, chicken stock bubbling on the stove, making cinnamon rolls.  This, after a rather hellish week on the work front, is pure bliss.  I feel my battle wounds melting away.

For the record, these cinnamon rolls are really, really good.  When I need some lovin from my family, this is what I make for them.  My popularity immediately spikes.  (I say this somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but there is a morsel of truth to it; they're that good.)

Make them when you want to love on your people, or when you want them to love on you.  Oh, and the fat content?  No, we won't talk about that.

Cinnamon Rolls

(Makes 24)

Dough:

2 packages (or 1 1/2 Tablespoons) - yeast

2 cups - warm water

1/2 cup - sugar

2 teaspoons - salt

1/2 cup - shortening

3 eggs, beaten lightly

6-7 cups - flour

Filling:

1 cup - butter, softened (I know, I know...)

1 cup - sugar

1 cup - brown sugar

cinnamon to taste (think bountifully)

Frosting:

1 cup - butter, softened (yes, again. The key to these rolls is excess.)

8 ounces - cream cheese, softened

6 cups - powdered sugar

1 Tablespoon - vanilla extract

Combine yeast, 1 cup of warm water and a pinch of sugar.  Set aside until bubbly.  Meanwhile, combine remaining 1 cup of water with sugar, salt, shortening and 3 cups of flour.  Beat at medium speed of an electric mixture until smooth.  Add eggs and beat again.  Add yeast, and beat again.  You should have a smooth dough with a batter-like consistency.  Switch to a wooden spoon and stir in just enough flour to make a soft dough.  Knead 8-10 minutes.  Let rise in a greased bowl until doubled, about 1 hour.

Divide dough in half.  Roll first half of dough into a 10x13 rectangle.  Spread with 1/2 cup - butter.  Sprinkle (liberally, people, liberally!) with cinnamon.  Combine 1/2 cup of sugar and 1/2 cup of brown sugar and spread evenly over cinnamon.

See that little edge at the top? Makes it easier to seal, once you've rolled it up.

Roll up long side first and seal the edge.  Cut into 12 rolls and place in greased 9x13 pan, sealed ends facing the same way (makes the finished product look better).

Repeat this entire process with the other half of your dough.  Let rise again until doubled, about 45 minutes*.  Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes.  While you're waiting (and enduring the heavenly aroma that emanates from your oven), combine the frosting ingredients and beat until smooth and creamy.  When rolls are finished baking, allow them to cool for maybe 5 or10 minutes, and then frost (again, use a generous hand).

A warm cinnamon roll, oozing buttery goodness and dripping cream cheese frosting, accompanied by a cold glass of milk or hot cup of coffee, is enough to put the coldest and hardest of sinners into a sugar-saturated, blissed-out stupor.  A mighty weapon indeed.

*Note: instead of the second rise, rolls can be refrigerated overnight at this point.  Remove them from the refrigerator about an hour before you intend to bake them.

Apple Festival

Kate and I hit the world-famous (one would think so based on the traffic, anyway) Apple Festival in Ellijay today.  Oh, it was great.  One must experience a small-town festival at least once in one's lifetime.  This one was classic, too.  First, of course, you park in the huge field converted to a parking lot and manned by the local Boy Scout troop.  (Well, FIRST first, you endure two hours of bumper-to-bumper traffic to cover approximately two miles.  But that's another story.... Let's just say it's a good thing none of the men in my life were present.  They never would have made it.  But anyway.)  Then you join the hordes swarming the gates of....FESTIVAL LAND!

Miles upon miles (not really, but...) of booths jammed together and selling everything under the sun along the lines of pottery (MOM! POTTERY!), crocheted potholders, bird feeders, jewelry, beer jelly (yep), salvation (or trying to, anyway), chainsaw art, lawn ornaments, bottle cap art, cap guns, souvenir T-shirts, sand art, candles in repurposed beer bottles, and so on and so on.

Then you have the food booths.  Pizza, nachos, ice cream (made in a Maytag washing machine), fried green tomato sandwiches, gyros, lemonade and frozen limeade, homemade root beer, gyros, fried oreos, fried Twinkies, fried everything else, roasted corn on the cob, candy apples, apple cider, apple dumplings, homemade bread and donuts, sausage, funnel cakes (what would a festival be without funnel cakes); the choices, not to mention the opportunities for an epic case of indigestion, are endless.  All of this bounty framed by the stuff for the kids - bounce houses, zip lines, face painters, climbing walls, pony rides...oh and how could we forget the wall of Porti-Pottis?

 Griddled potatoes swathed in fried onions and Monterey Jack cheese and doused with tzatziki sauce.  

Yes. I ate that.

Oh, mustn't forget the live entertainment.. The Dixie Fire Cloggers!

Yes, it's great.  It really is.  If you've ever experienced it, though, you'll understand why we were more than OK with a night in.  We gratefully sank onto Kate's overstuffed leather sofas and savored dinner prepared by chef Andrew.  Grilled chicken, mushroom ravioli in a sun-dried tomato cream sauce, and roasted broccoli - simple but delicious, enjoyed in comfort and quiet.  Heavenly.

We drummed up just enough energy to whip up some caramel corn and apple dumplings, and now we sit, feet up, coffee in hand, companionably whacking away at our laptops.  A good day, really...

On the way to Atlanta

Had a great experience on my way north towards Atlanta this evening...  I decided to wander off the beaten I-75 corridor path a bit in search of dinner.  Thirteen miles along Highway 26, to be exact; deep in the heart of South Georgia, a land that always startles me with its beauty.  No mountains, no dramatic skylines or coastlines, and yet something happens to my heart when I drive those Georgia backroads.  Rolling hills... mile after mile of cotton and peanut and who-knows-what-else fields dotted with silos and farm machinery... glassy ponds surrounded by herds of cattle grazing contentedly... row upon row of ancient, majestic pecan trees standing sentinel... the sensation of realizing one has been driving for quite some time and hasn't seen a single vehicle... and then when one does see a vehicle, it's always a tractor or a big-man truck.  Somehow, I'm

not quite sure how, but when I drive in South Georgia, I shed something of the wider world and am enveloped in a sense of calm.  Bliss, actually.  With a little perspective, sophistication suddenly seems highly overrated.

It was just this sort of evening, tonight, cruising down the road as the sun set over the fields, throwing the cows and the pecan trees and the old farm buildings into striking silhouette against the bright pinks and purples of the evening sky; the sweet scent of new-mown grass and livestock wafting through the open windows.  

And then, in the barely-a-town of Montezuma, I stopped at Yoder's Deitsch Haus, a little Mennonite cafeteria comfortably ensconced between the road and the pastures that surround it.  When I opened my car door, my nose was instantly greeted with the smell of cow manure.  Granted, I wouldn't normally be overly impressed by this fact, but in these surroundings, it somehow felt appropriate.  

I grabbed my tray and filled it with coleslaw and pickled carrots, pot roast, rice and gravy, lima beans and cornbread, and a big slice of shoofly pie, guided along my way by a passel of sweet and friendly Mennonite ladies, garbed in their aprons and caps.  I sat next to a big picture window, watching the sun finish setting, listening to the familiar deep Southern drawl of the farm families and Baptist grandmas that surrounded me, and enjoying my feast.  I knew deep contentment.

Pure molasses and brown sugar goodness.

Puerto Rico--Archives #6

Stuff.  This is the stuff of 4 adults.  For two days.  On an island.  This stuff includes food, tents, sleeping bags, clothes, personal items, snorkeling gear.  Hmmmm, there must be more there.  If you had the pleasure of hauling this stuff around for two days (in and out of cars, on and off of ferries, finding a large enough transport to the camping grounds), you'd surely think there was more.

This is also the last post on Puerto Rico.  Every so often, this persistent thought flits through my brain; that I have not wrapped up this vacation.  These posts do take a bit of time.  I am speedy at most things, but not at posting.  I enjoy writing.  Creative writing was one of my favorite classes during one of my high school years.  I could lose myself in the pages of my journal, and write about abstract musings of my mind or heart, if I chose to. In a personal journal, spelling is not a consequence.  Nor grammar!  Freedom within those pages was wide and unlimited.  But here, I try to be good.  To follow most rules.  And so it takes a bit of time.

This is a girl who befriended us at the ferry.  Ah, the ferry.  It's been so long ago, that I've quite forgotten her name, so lets call her Persistent Petunia.  She rather looked like a flower.  And she was very sweet.  And she was fascinated by these Americans.  Or, perhaps more correctly, by me and my knitting.  Captivated.  Intrigued.  Fascinated.  So much so, that when I'd tire of knitting, and put it away, she would try to pull it back out to have me knit on.  A mother of five has had many years to work on degrees of patience, and those years stood me in good stead.

The ferry.  Yes, the ferry.  Let me tell you about the ferry.

Our day actually began the night before in preparation for leaving for the island of Calabria.  We had an endless, or so it seemed, list of items we needed to amass for this two day adventure.  And gathering these was an adventure in and of itself.  Then morning dawned with much activity.  To the credit of everyone,

I believe we were even close to leaving at our departure time. The drive to the ferry took about an hour and a half, and midway through that drive, it began raining.  Think in the form of cats and dogs.  Not a great outlook for unloading all that "stuff".  Happily, by the time we reached the ferry, the rain had quit.  We let Kim off close to the ticket area (she actually ran to get a place in line), while we went to park and unload the car.  Well to save a lot of explaining, unknown unto us, we chose the first day of summer to head for the pristine waters of Calabria.  Which explains why I had so much knitting time on my hands.  Yep.  We missed the first ferry.  Tickets were sold out.  Next ferry?  A wait of four hours.  So into our world steps Persistent Petunia.  Four hours worth.  I don't believe her mother was there.  Perhaps a grandmother.  At any rate, she had a lot of freedom.  Which she choose to use in our company.  For the record, she spoke little English, and I speak even less Spanish.

But it was all good.  When you have this to look forward to, who's complaining???

10 steps away from our tent.

Our tent.  Our home away from home.  Not too bad.  I definitely was thrown out of my comfort zone for these two days.  But I survived.  And had fun!  Even the 90 year old rooster that scratched in the dirt and crowed with his mate at 5:30 a.m., had a level of humor to it.  Albeit, very small.

 Now this was an entirely different story.  These were our showers.  Kim told me that the showers were outside, but somehow I had not envisioned this.  The road leading to the campsites was a mere 12 feet away.  Could not the designer of this, simply have faced them the other way, offering a scant more privacy?  I took my showers early.  Even before the ancient rooster began his crowing.

The day dawned quite beautifully.  In fact, we had perfect weather both days.  This corner of the world is quite breathtaking.  Well worth any ones time to visit.

Hiking across the island to get to those pristine waters to experience our first real snorkeling.  Oh the fun!  Loved, loved, loved it! If you can have a break from the everyday responsibilities, what a great way to spend it!

The morning of the day to head back.  All the way to Florida.  Back to dear Natalie.  Back to work.  Back to the hustle and bustle of everyday life.  We enjoyed our time in Puerto Rico.  Very much so.  But Marc and I are mountain people.  Given a choice of vacations, we will choose hiking in mountains every time.  But we loved this vacation.  Puerto Rico is a diverse and beautiful place.  The pastries were sooo good. (Thank you Bill!)  The people colorful and lively and very nice.  Our host and hostess?  The very best.  A-1.  Top rate.  Thank you so much.