'Pleasant words' in life's stormy times.

If I wanted to write all about me I'd lay it out for the world to see like the open book I am, but when it comes to others I try not to get too personal. So I tread lightly today.

Steve's dad is sick. Not a I should make him some chicken noodle soup kind of sick. It's not something extra rest and a few aspirin can conquer. No, we're talking more like a team of doctors and a pretty risky, yet potentially life-saving surgery. On his brain.

My father-in-law has had his share of health struggles this year and we have weathered them as a family, each one of us offering support and encouragement in our own way. We live next door to Steve's parents and our children see them nearly every day, so they are hyper sensitive to any break in routine or disruption of their time with Nana and Papa. That means I am, too, because when their grandparents aren't around I get drilled with questions about where they are and what they're doing.

Oh, it's not like we watch for Nana's car to pull in the driveway after work.

Wait. Yes they do.

Well, not in a stalker-ish kind of way, anyway.

And yes, I suppose the kids do wander over there some afternoons just to see if Papa has filled his candy jars with lemon drops and Tootsie Roll pops. Hey, they're kids after all. But the sweet treats and the always-stocked pantry are just a bonus to spending time with two people who adore them like only grandparents can.

So the thought of something being seriously wrong with their Papa is scary. And to their many questions I can offer few answers. We're all shaken. Nobody really wants to think about how fragile life is.

But today I am reminded through my little book of daily devotions that sometimes all it takes is a few kind words to lift someone up when the world has knocked them down. (OK, and sometimes it takes medical intervention, but then kind words wouldn't hurt, either.)

Proverbs 16:24
"Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body."

I've never been one to sugar-coat the truth for my children, but I can certainly comfort them - with my words and lots of extra hugs and kisses - in the midst of a crisis. They look to the adults in their lives for safety, for a sign that it's OK to be scared and hopeful at the same time. This week I have encouraged them to take their worries to God, and to do their best to focus on all the good in their lives.

And I'm doing my best to take my own advice.

Father-in-law's surgery is planned for Friday. He's hanging out in the hospital being waited on and keeping up with his soap operas and bantering back and forth with the nurses until then. Afterward? I guess we won't know until the time comes. Maybe life will eventually get back to normal ... whatever that is. Or maybe we'll have to learn a new normal.

One thing is for sure: we'll face it together, this extended family of friends and neighbors and ... well, extended family. We'll lean on each other. We'll pray. And I will make a point to speak "from God's honeycomb" to each of my loved ones.

Granola!

After mentioning this recipe ... oh ... a couple of weeks ago, I finally got around to making some granola. Yesterday was rainy and dreary and dark and cold - a perfect day to hang out in the kitchen.

I have just one stipulation for whipping up a fresh batch: I have to do it when I have plenty of time to let it cool completely, seal it up in a container and put it away out of sight, and preferably let the smell of fresh-baked goodness dissipate before the kids get home from school. Otherwise, if they come into the house and smell granola and I don't present them with any, there is a very high likelihood of mutiny.

Remember, I'm outnumbered here. These are the kinds of things I have to think about when my husband isn't around.

Here is the recipe I have to work with:

This I got only after the basics were relayed to me via e-mail and copied from the computer by Rachel. I had asked Steve for his recipe after I searched hopelessly for it in the cupboard. Because - I would like the world to know - that despite wanting to avoid being known as anything close to "crunchy," Steve is the real granola-making royalty in this house. That's right. Not only does he like to eat it, he makes his own granola. I maintain he is a tree hugger at heart. Don't let him tell you otherwise.

Here are the ingredients you'll need:

3 cups oatmeal (I guess that would be uncooked, instant oats)
1/2 cup oil (I use canola)
1/2 cup peanut butter
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup pancake syrup
1 T cinnamon
1/2 cup sunflower seeds
1/2 cup (or so) chocolate chips
1/4 cup (or so) raisins (Horror of horrors! I had NO raisins in the house so I used dried tart cherries. Use whatever you like. Varying the yummy extras in this recipe will not ruin it.)
Cookie sheet or shallow baking pan. I am fortunate enough to have a wicked cool, amazingly well-seasoned baking stone. If you don't have one of these, you might wanna' spray your baking pan with a little non-stick spray.

Sidetrack: Is there anything in this world as sweet as a brand new, freshly-opened jar of peanut butter? Mmmm. I think not. That just totally makes my day.

Anyway.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In a medium pot, melt together the oil, syrup, peanut butter, brown sugar and cinnamon until it boils. Keep stirring and let it boil for one minute. Then turn off the heat.

Add the oatmeal and sunflower seeds and stir it all together until the oatmeal is coated. It'll look all sticky and yummy. Mmmmmm.

Dump that sticky, yummy blob onto your baking sheet and spread it out with a spatula or the back of your spoon.

Now stick it in the oven for about 10 minutes. Set a timer if you think you'll forget because trust me, you don't want to burn the sticky, yummy stuff! After about 10 minutes - or about the time it would take to empty the dishwasher or put away all the leftover ingredients and throw in a load of laundry - take the granola out of the oven and use a spatula to flip it. It's not going to be crispy quite yet. Put it back in the oven.

Give it another 10 or 15 minutes. Go eat a banana. Or a salad. Or some tuna. 

Seriously. You're going to want to put something in your belly before you take this stuff out of the oven or you will eat it all. You will risk burning the inside of your mouth and your entire digestive tract because you think you will try just one bite but you will want more, and there is no resisting.

Listen to the voice of experience.

OK, but you can't say I didn't warn you.

I think this is as good a place as any to tell you that the granola doesn't really change colors from beautiful golden brown to grayish-looking gruel like it appears to in the pictures above. That's just my crappy camera (which I really am so happy to have), the lack of natural light coming into my kitchen (it was a dreary day, remember), and probably several other factors. Really. I am developing a serious respect for the food hacks who take awesome photos with one hand while frying something in hot oil with the other hand. Whew.

Moving along.

I'm afraid there is no distinct way to check whether your granola is "done" when you take it out of the oven. If it looks good and smells good and you hear a little sizzling action goin' on, it's probably done. It's still going to look a little ooey-gooey, but it'll crisp up as it cools. Just set the pan on the stovetop and - this is very, very important - get out of the kitchen. Go watch Oprah. Take a nap. Play a round of Scrabble with your spouse. Write a very lengthy blog post. Something. Anything that will keep you from even walking through the kitchen while the granola cools. I'm not kidding!

When it is completely cool, you may return to the kitchen and spoon it into a bowl and toss it with the chocolate chips and raisins (or cherries or nuts or M&Ms or all of the above, whatever you like).

When I got mine all stirred up I felt like there weren't enough cherries in there, so I added more.

There. NOW you can eat some. But I'm warning you, this stuff is addicting. Like crack. So I've been told.

If there's any left after you've had your just one bite, store it in an airtight container.

I really only had just one two three four (or so) bites because this batch is going to our neighbors who supply us with fresh eggs from their chickens.

And now that I've told you that, I am obligated to actually seal up the container and set it aside until I have a chance to deliver it.

I'm closing up the container now. I swear.

What? I am!

I still want chickens. Sort of.

I keep telling Steve I want to raise chickens, and he keeps telling me I can't have any.

I think the reasons have changed over the years, but they have all been valid. When I asked him recently to tell me again why I can't have chickens he said, "for the same reason you're not planting a garden this year."

Ouch.

He also reminded me that we have all sorts of wild critters around here, including raccoons and coyotes, that would love to eat chickens. And it would be pretty easy for the wild critters to get at them because I would want our chickens to be free range. Laugh if you must, but I would love to be able to sit with my coffee in the morning and watch the chickens cluck and peck their way around the yard. I think it would be relaxing. They eat bugs, too, which would be quite helpful.

Oh well. Raising chickens just isn't meant to be in this season of our lives.

It's all good, though, because I get to live vicariously through our neighbors who do have chickens.

And bonus! They give us fresh eggs.

Beautiful, aren't they?

I should note that originally we (read: Steve) struck a deal with the neighbors to trade something fresh from the kitchen for eggs, and I have been pretty lax in keeping up our end of the bargain while Steve is gone. I willingly admit Steve is the better (read: more adventurous) cook in this house, and he likes to share the wealth with others. I? Can cook well enough to keep us alive. I can't shop in the pantry and throw things together like Steve can. But since I'd like the steady stream of fresh eggs to continue, and since my dear sweet husband keeps telling me I can't have hens of my own, I think I'll whip up some granola today and have it ready for the next time Mr. Neighbor stops by with a dozen eggs.

Granola I can do. Because I have a recipe.

Maybe I'll share the recipe tomorrow.

With pictures! Because that's about as adventurous as I get in the kitchen.

Happy Monday!

When life throws a curveball ...

Here is today's installment of "Why It's Good To Have Relatives Living Next Door". Enjoy.

The morning got off to a great start. Kids got out of bed after only one request to do so. Lunches were mostly packed last night so all I had to do was make sandwiches. I made an executive decision that I would not cook anything for breakfast, so the choices were toast, Raisin Bran, or whatever you want to cook yourself. Everyone was fine with that. Joy!

Five minutes before we were to leave I took the dog outside. She goes potty, I go to start the truck.

And? Flat tire.

Not low tire. Not you-might-want-to-get-that-looked-at tire. We're talking flat-as-a-pancake tire.

I hurried back in the house and called my in-laws next door. Nobody answered. I told the kids to hurry up and get their boots on because we needed to hoof it to the bus stop. I started looking for a flashlight and debating whether we could actually make it. It's not far, but far enough that I didn't want to do it in those conditions: in the cold, in the dark, and in my pajamas. Can you imagine someone driving to work and seeing me walking back down the road alone, in the dark, in my pajamas? Oh, and wearing a black coat? Yeah.

Fortunately the in-laws called back after hearing my voice on the answering machine. Brother-in-law rushed over with a car so I could drive the kids to the bus stop. We got there with a few minutes to spare.

Crisis averted.

At some point today I guess we'll have to take a look at that tire. Right now I need coffee.

I get by with a little help ...

We are incredibly blessed. We live in a small, rural neighborhood where we are surrounded by family and friends. It is the kind of place where people honk the horn and wave if they see us outside when they drive by and where impromptu barbecues happen relatively often in the summertime.

You gotta' take the bad with the good in a community like this. The bad: unless you're a hermit - and sometimes even if you are - people are going to know at least some of your business. The good: because people know what's going on in your life, they often step in and offer help, an invitation to dinner, a fresh perspective, kudos and encouragement, or sometimes just a listening ear. This is the kind of stuff that is important to any family who has one spouse/parent who travels, be it for the military or on the pipeline or in some other occupation. We need the motherly figure down the street (or mom herself) to say "you're doing a great job, kiddo" when she sees us out and about. We need the buddy with an extra beer in the fridge and an open invitation to visit. We need the aunts and cousins who never turn down the opportunity to watch the kids so we can go for a girls' night out. We need that trusty neighbor who knows everything there is to know about cars. And washing machines. And furnaces.

We - those of us who keep the home fires burning - create for ourselves a support system that helps us deal with broken toilets and empty cupboards and injured pets without mama falling into a heap and sobbing. Fortunately for my family, the support system was already here when we moved into the neighborhood and has just grown stronger over the years. That's partly because this is where Steve grew up, and partly, I think, because that's just part of life in the country. We help one another, we look out for the folks around us, we offer what we can to make life a little easier. If it weren't for all of that, I don't know if I would stay very sane if I had to handle everything alone while the love of my life is away from home for extended periods of time.

On the other hand, perhaps a touch of insanity is what got us here in the first place.

Ah well. Life is good.