Yes.  I have a lint bowl.  It’s quite small and irregularly shaped.  Actually, it’s from the first and only pottery class I’ve taken.  It wasn’t the first piece I made (that “gem” went to my mother), but it’s one of the first few for sure.

This little bowl sits atop our dryer, and after each load, I put the lint in it.  Or maybe I just set it there . . . or squish it on the top.  It started out in laziness, really.  The small trash can has a lid and is low to the ground and squeezed in between the dryer and the wall that has the broom and dustpan hanging there.  Why twist and stretch every time I switch the clothes?

Then I realized that I liked watching the lint bowl fill up.  The clean clothes these days have been dispersed rather quickly to where they need to go, but the lint . . . it fills up and becomes a little abundance of accomplishment, a monument of achievement.  When I think it’s time to dump it and start over, I do, knowing I can watch it grow again.

It’s the little things, right?  We are all working so hard every day to keep the wheels running smoothly.  Whether we’re working outside the home helping some company/business/organization to thrive or working in the home to make sure those nearest and dearest to us are thriving (and chances are, all of us are doing both, whether we’re paid for it or not), we are all working hard.  Sometimes we just need little signs to remind us that our work adds up.  What we’re doing makes a difference.

I have a lint bowl.  You might have a diaper pail, laundry pile, crossed-off checklists, clean dishes . . . who knows.  Keep tally marks on a post-it if you have to.  I’m telling you that you make a difference.  The work you do is appreciated.

And you will always be loved more for who you are than what you do, anyway.  So, as the card I received from a friend says: “be a beacon of fierce and potent love.”  May my family always remember how much I love them.  I know they won’t know how many times I empty the lint bowl.

Today’s calendar presented an open slate, which then filled with the simple pleasures of keeping house and preparing an abundant lunch.  The next wave of thunderstorms has rolled in, just in time to go pick the kids up from school.

For this brief moment, I find myself sitting in a quiet house . . . well, maybe not completely quiet.  The thunder, rain, and dishwasher have their voices heard at the moment, along with the clicking of the keyboard.  It is, however, still — especially compared to what it’s usually like with four kids and two adults and a dog and cat running about.

Some days we just have to revel in what is, and I know that this is good.  I don’t know what the next hour or tomorrow or next year holds for us, but I do know that if I can remember the joy and gratitude I feel in my heart at this present moment, that all will be well.

Right now we also get to enjoy eating the few fresh strawberries we have from the garden, reminding us what a real strawberry tastes like, what a fruit of the earth carries in a perfectly packaged little bundle of tender juiciness.  Experiencing and tasting these delights, I know that what I buy in bulk from the store doesn’t even get close to the truly organic variety from the backyard.  Sometimes we just have to be reminded of how good it can be.  Sometimes we have to remind ourselves how sweet we really have it, fresh strawberries or no.

I consider myself delightfully spoiled today, and I give thanks to all that is.

(Cloudy skies today contrast with the sunny skies of yesterday morning, when we remembered to collect our first strawberries of the season. )

The community creeps out of hibernation, slowly but surely.  The sun’s mighty power pulls us all out of our dwelling places.  The crocuses beckon us to look more closely at the earth.  It’s time.

Cold-weather crops.  Garden planning.  Spring cleaning.  It’s time to open the windows and let the fresh air disrupt the winter residue.  If outside, we have to make sure not to be fooled by warm yet cool temperatures; sunburns happen regardless of temp.  It’s a good time to clear out some clutter.  Yesterday I cashed in $100 worth of things laying around that we had collected (aluminum cans), didn’t need (extra movies and video games), or didn’t use (outgrown jeans) anymore, turning excess into something useful (groceries, gas, soccer kleats).  I also gave back to the community with a donation to Goodwill.  To give and receive should be a daily practice, not just a seasonal thought.

And now I cut this post short because while I do want to get kids’ clothes out of the attic to take to the consignment store, I don’t want to miss this morning’s opportunity to take my youngest out in the bike trailer.  Truly, the blue skies are amazing, and the bike trails await.

This evening concludes with church and the bookstudy I mentioned yesterday.  Oh, what a beautiful day.

Chickies!  (As Autumn so gleefully calls them.)

Yes, thanks to a city ordinance, we are allowed to have four hens.  Our hope, of course, is to have eggs sometime after fall and ever after.  But, we are learning very quickly that one doesn’t just get chickens and have eggs.  You get chicks, have to raise them, checking them ever so often to make sure they’re not getting sick or dying, and make sure their living environment isn’t disgusting and that the cat and dog don’t get in.  We’ll have to build a coop outside soon.

Oh, wait?  You didn’t know they have to be kept above 80 degrees F?  Well, they do.  So right now our bathroom feels like a sauna (which has its advantages, if you can get past the scent of chickens).  We have six chicks in our whirlpool tub, and my husband has his giggles about that, for sure.  When they are big enough and when it’s consistently warm enough, we’ll be moving them outside.  Fortunately, Spring Break is right around the corner, so we’ll take this on as a family project.

The first dramatic thing that happened was that one of the chicks had “pasting.”  Before we knew it was dangerous, we just fondly called the chick Dingleberry.  Fortunately, after what I’m sure was traumatic cleaning for the chick, the name is the only thing that stuck.    Autumn has interpreted the name and Jingleberry recently.  Of course, now we don’t know which chick it was since it recovered well and is healthy and thriving like the other three that look the same.  We may just have to come up with two more -berry names!

The next thing wasn’t so much drama as it was wanting to improve their quality of life.  I added a perch to their set-up.  Give them a little diversity, you know?  They loved it immediately.  I do have to check in on them sometimes to make sure they’re not playing king of the mountain.  As they grow, the space available is shrinking.  They are growing rapidly.  In a day it seems like their new feathers get longer.  These photos are from last week.  It really is amazing, and I have to watch myself, making sure I don’t spend too much time checking in on them.  Lucky for me I have at least two kids who are content to watch them for as long as I’ll let them.

Aside from getting all in order to build a coop, our next concern is that they’re about to fly out of the tub.  One has already figured out how to get on top of the waterer (just the water, not the food yet).  Avery said one got out of the tub last night, but I’m hesitant to believe it fully until I see it happen without a child around.  It is possible, though.

Our over-arching concern is that they won’t all be hens.  Roosters aren’t allowed in the city.  Red and Dino are the only two with distinct markings to be able to tell them apart enough to name.  May they all be hens.  We have friends who would be happy to have a couple of hens, too.

If you’re interested in raising some chicks, my dearest found BackyardChickens.com.  Great information there (how we saved Dingleberry’s life!), and good luck to you.  If you’re not interested, you’re welcome to live vicariously through our venture.

A friend shared this recipe with me several years ago, and I’ve made it every Thanksgiving since.  How grateful I am for our family and friends and the food, shelter, warmth and Love we are so blessed with.

So, I share this with you, with thanks and attribution to Erin W. 

(and this is my kitchen at past-midnight, Thanksgiving-eve)

Sweet Potato Casserole

This casserole is sweet and yummy, almost of dessert quality, so a little goes a long way.

5 medium sweet potatoes, cooked and peeled

2 beaten eggs

1/4 cup evaporated milk

1 tsp. vanilla

3/4 cup sugar

1/2 tsp. salt

2 Tbsp. butter

Topping:

1/2 stick butter

3/4 cup brown sugar

1 cup chopped pecans

*In medium bowl (or the 2 qt. dish you’re baking in, if you’re lazy like me!), mash potatoes.  Add eggs, milk, vanilla, sugar, salt and butter.

*Pour into buttered baking dish (if you used a bowl — I always omit this step/forget to butter the dish!)

*Bake at 350 degrees F for 20 min.  Mix the topping ingredients.

*Remove, heat oven to 375 degrees F.

*Sprinkle on topping.  Bake additional 6-8 minutes.

Part of being home is nuturing and nourishing the family.  After husband read In Defense of Food, a renewed sense of commitment to nutritional quality and wellness arose.  I find it difficult to buy manufactured loaves of bread.  Hopefully this is a practice that will last because the allure of homemade bread is irresistible and extremely enjoyable.

Many thanks to this book for making it so easy, though it does eat a chunk out of our refrigerator.  I know I’ve mentioned it before.

I think it’s worth it, though, and I’m sure the kids do, too.

Some days, some seasons, I find myself pulling toward something, someplace.  It may be outward or inward, but the pull is almost gravitational.  Now must be the season of my introverted self, and the home is my sun.

My to-do list is manageable, filled with much, of course, but the first half of the list are things to do around the house.  Okay, really the list was just home tasks.  My other obligations were brought to mind, too, though, so I added those.  Most of what I am accomplishing are the home tasks.  This feels right and good.

I figure I have to honor my body, heart and soul.  As the house becomes filled with the fragrance of a wood-burning fireplace, I feel at home, at peace.  I knit one of many rows in a Christmas gift and feel grounded.  It’s not so much what I am doing as what I am being.

At least for now, I am being home.