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Why We Made Our Own Christmas Wrapping Paper and the Unexpected Gifts it Brought

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14 moves in 18 years. That was the reality for my son Joseph. In his 18th year he calculated the number of moves we’d made in his lifetime. 14 …  14 in 18 years. Some of those moves were across town, but some involved packing up every earthly possession and 5 kids, and boarding an airplane to fly halfway around the globe.

Boxes, bubble wrap, packing paper and packing lists. I have a well-developed, extensively tested system for packing, moving and unpacking a household. But that’s a post for another day.

In an early move, when bubble wrap was beyond my budget,  I discovered that the newspaper office sells “end rolls”. When they run the paper through the printing presses there is always some left on the roll. Those are the end rolls. Not only that, they can be purchased for next to nothing, currently $1.50 at my local paper. The diameter will vary.  I have had rolls as large as 18” across. Through the years, we have used miles of this stuff. It makes fantastic packing paper and it’s much more budget friendly than bubble wrap.

One of my favorite uses for the end roll is wrapping paper. Throughout most of our life, the monthly income would fluctuate, sometimes quite drastically. One December we were hit particularly hard. I had no idea how I would buy presents for the kids let alone paper with which to wrap them.

After I’d figured out how to have something for them under the tree, I still had the dilemma of how to wrap those gifts. Then it occurred to me. I had a newspaper end roll. I had planned to create stamps out of potatoes but I happened onto two foam angel stamps marked down to mere pennies.

At home, I gathered the kids around, unrolled the paper across the table, retrieved a bottle of gold paint from my craft closet and spread it on a plate. I carefully showed them how to place the stamp in the paint then on the paper. The three of them shared the two stamps and before long we had a nice roll of glittery, golden, angel wrapping paper.

Every present, purchased or made was wrapped in golden angels. It didn’t matter that the paper was all the same. The golden paint caught the lights from the tree. The packages shimmered and the kids beamed. They proudly showed their creation to guests and visitors.

That started a favorite tradition. We didn’t always make wrapping paper but every couple of years we would return to the practice. We added stamps to our collection. As the kids got older, more creative and more skilled the end product changed. But the shared fun, the bonding, the sense of pride, the love, these things remained.

For this post, I anticipated making some paper while the kids were at school or work. Then the girls got wind of my plans. The protests were loud and complete. Three girls (those kids still at home), three voices, making their desires known. They wanted to help! You aren’t going to do that without ME?!

So, with a great deal of effort, we found a time when all were home and homework was done. An iPhone provide the Christmas music, an essential element of the experience.  Three girls, ages 21, 18 and 15 gathered around the table once more. We pulled out the paint and paper and stamps and they went at it.  I think they enjoyed it as much last night as they did when they were children!

I smiled, not the smile that is merely a polite expression on one’s face, but the kind that reaches to the very soul. The kind that reflects a heart at peace and full of joy, a heart that has found a moments rest among the busyness of life and of this season. A heart that remembers the meaning of the season because the love of the season is reflected in the faces of her children.

We laughed. Anna painted a star and announced she’d created a self-portrait. Later she painted a gift box and announced the same, “I’m a gift,” she said. Yes, she certainly is. Then she stamped out golden angels at a pace to rival the printing press. Alia was slow and meticulous, using brushes to add detail to her stamped images. Abigail’s boisterous voice filled the room and shook the rafters as she bent over her section of the paper.

We wanted a snowflake and a star so we carved them out of potato halves creating our own homemade stamps.

They decided hand prints would be fun, and paper with their handprints would be perfect to wrap my gift . They painted Anna’s nose red, and she posed her gold paint covered hands to resemble antlers as another girl snapped a photo.

Amidst the laughter and painting one of the girls paused and thoughtfully asked, “Did we make paper when we were little because you didn’t have money for wrapping paper?” Silence. Where noise and laughter had echoed seconds before, silence. 3 sets of eyes, all turned to me, all waiting for this answer. I am not sure why it mattered to them, but I knew it did. I knew this question was about more than wrapping paper. “Yes,” I said. “Initially, that is how and why the idea came to me. But you guys loved it and it gave you such pride and that’s why we continued.”

I went on to explain to them that sometimes the hard circumstances in our lives can lead us to things we might not have found otherwise. We had some tough years, especially early on, but without those years I do not think I would have taught myself the things I did. I would not have developed some of the skills and creativity that I so value, that have become a part of who I am.

It’s been said that necessity is the mother of invention. This is truth has been born out in my own life time and time again. And sometimes, the result is so much more than even our wildest hopes can imagine. That Christmas, all those years ago, I was simply looking for a way to wrap gifts for my littles.

I got that and something infinitely more important and precious. That need created treasured memories for my kids. It gave their little selves a sense of accomplishment and pride. It fostered creativity and created a space for laughter and fun and love. The times we gathered around the table with stamps and paper and paint are worth a thousand times more than the money I saved on the wrapping paper. Store paper would have been forgotten as quickly as it was crumpled into a black trash bag and put in the bin.

I doubt the kids can tell you what they got for Christmas that year. But they remember the paper. Because ultimately it wasn’t about paper. It was about family, about memories and creating, about being together, and laughter and love. As we celebrate that baby in the manger, the very essence of love itself let’s not forget that here is where the real magic of Christmas is found.

No-Knead Favorite Cinnamon Rolls

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As a young child, like most young children, my brother and I took afternoon naps. Every afternoon, at 1pm, amid protests, we’d reluctantly snuggle into our beds, convinced we were neither tired nor in need of a nap. My mom would turn on the tv and then the vacuum cleaner. I’d lie there listening as the monotonous hum of the vacuum blended with the theme song of General Hospital. Usually, before either finished I was fast asleep.

Don’t be fooled by the soap opera music. Though I’ve never asked her, I imagine, because I know her and I know what she managed to accomplish, that the show most likely played in the background while she did all of the myriad of things she did.

The song would end, the vacuum would be stowed in it’s home in the hall closet. Then the magic would begin.

The industrious woman that is my mother would pull out her sewing machine and transform discounted fabrics into garments to clothe her family. She’d iron clothes previously fashioned by her hands. She’d create handmade ornaments for our Christmas tree, and crochet afghans to keep us warm.

From her kitchen, on a tight budget she would prepare the food that would nourish us. Shucked corn was cut  from it’s cob, bagged and placed in our freezer. She’d peel and pit and slice peaches and pears then process them in her water canner. The colorful jars, the fruit of her labor, would stand side by side with jars of home-canned tomatoes and green beans, all lined up like little soldiers on our pantry shelves waiting to be called into service. Her hands would peel potatoes, form biscuits, and fry chicken.

But she did more than that. She created things simply to surprise us, because she knew, upon waking from their reluctant naps,  her little ones would be delighted to find a cake covered in pink coconut and shaped like an elephant. And sometimes, we’d wake to homemade cinnamon rolls. I have no idea where she first found the recipe, but it has been a family favorite for half a century. It’s as good today as it was then.

Like the No-Knead bread, the Loafer’s Loaf, this recipe does not require kneading. It is simply mixed in a large bowl, with a wooden spoon, covered and placed in the refrigerator for at least four hours. I’ve left it in the fridge for over a week and the results are just as brilliant. I have, on occasion, baked only half the recipe at a time. I’ve left the sugar out of the dough and used it as a pizza crust. I’ve put the rolls on a sugar, butter, and nut foundation to create pecan sticky rolls. I’ve served them naked, without icing,  or topped with a pastry glaze whose recipe is included here, and even iced them with orange butter cream.

The recipe is quick, easy, and forgiving. Make them according to the recipe here or bring your own imagination and create something completely new. Maybe top with Nutella or chocolate buttercream, or fill with Craisins and include some orange zest in the dough, or maybe find a way to incorporate strawberries or raspberries, or cinnamon apples.

Use your imagination and let me know what you think!

Favorite Cinnamon Rolls

Ingredients:

  • 1 cup butter, room temperature
  • 4 tablespoons sugar
  • 2 teaspoons salt
  • 1 cup boiling water
  • 2 packages dry yeast. (1 package is equal to 2 1/4 teaspoons.  I used 4 teaspoons total because of my high altitude)
  • 1 cup warm water
  • 2 eggs
  • 6 cups of unsifted flour
  • 1 cup of chopped nuts (optional)

Combine the butter, sugar, salt and boiling water in a bowl. In a separate large bowl, dissolve yeast in warm water. When the yeast is completely dissolved, add the butter mixture taking care that the butter mixture isn’t still hot. Add the 2 eggs and beat well. Add flour and beat until the mixture is blended. It will remain lumpy looking

Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, up to a week.

Preparing the rolls:

When ready to bake, turn the dough out onto a well-floured surface and form into a ball. Remember, you do not knead. Simply form the dough into ball. Roll the dough into a rectangle approximately 1/4” thick. Spread 1 stick of melted butter across the surface of the dough. Sprinkle with approximately 1/4 cup of granulated sugar, more or less to taste. Sprinkle generously with cinnamon and nuts, if desired.

Starting on a long edge, roll the dough jelly roll style. Pinch the edges to seal and place the seam side down. Using a serrated knife, cut the dough into 1” to 1 1/2” rolls. Lay rolls flat in a greased cake pan leaving approximately 1/2” between the rolls.  Your number of rolls will vary depending on the size of your rectangle and on how thick you cut them. Allow the rolls to raise in a warm place for 1 1/2 hours. Bake at 375 degrees for 15 -18 minutes.

There’s a printable recipe here.

Allow to cool and top with the prepared glaze.

Glaze: (Prepare while the baked rolls cool)

  • 2 cups confectioner’s sugar
  • 2 tablespoons butter, softened
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 1 tablespoon milk
  • dash of salt (to cut the sweetness)

Mix the confectioner’s sugar, butter, vanilla and salt. Slowly add the milk until a nice, thick glaze is formed. Spread or pour immediately over the cooled cinnamon rolls.

Get the printable version of the recipe here.

Serve with a large glass of cold milk or a steaming cup of coffee and a generous pat of butter. (Ok, butter is optional, but in our family butter is a standard side dish). Oh, and don’t forget the company! These rolls are best enjoyed with a friend or family member and sprinkled generously with good conversation.

 

Loafer’s Loaf – No Knead Bread

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The Loafer’s Loaf

It’s a funny thing, this season of my life, where kids are growing and the family structure is changing. It affects everything, from when I go to bed at night, to planning holidays and vacations, to what I cook and how I shop.

When the kids were young I often made homemade bread. Few things are as quintessentially homey as the smell of freshly baked bread. Somewhere along the line, I baked less until eventually the kids came to refer wistfully to the days when mom used to bake bread.

Recently, my daughter, Katie, texted to tell me that she had baked one of my bread recipes! I was proud of her and more than a little bit happy that she was choosing to continue that tradition. I was also challenged to make time to bake.

So I did.  Several times recently I’ve pulled out my big mixing bowl, and one of my enameled cast iron pans and baked this recipe. There are several versions of this no-knead recipe on the internet. But in case you’ve missed it, or forgotten how simple and delicious it is, here it is again.

I call it the Loafer’s Loaf. It’s for those of us who are just a little bit lazy, or maybe we just have too much on our plates. It can quite literally be mixed in less than 10 minutes. It requires another 5-10 minutes of effort after the initial rising period. And that’s it. Really! That’s all it takes to have delicious homemade, fragrant bread.

This artisan loaf is crusty on the outside, chewy on the inside and the perfect accompaniment to anything, but I especially like it with soups. Katie also reports that it makes a phenomenal pizza crust!

Serves 8  (I doubled the recipe for my large loaf)

INGREDIENTS

•3 cups all-purpose flour

•1½ teaspoons salt

•½ teaspoon instant yeast

•1½ cups room temperature water

INSTRUCTIONS

  • In a large mixing bowl, whisk the flour, salt, and yeast together until mixed. Stir in the water until a chunky, thick dough forms. If it needs a little more water you can add a little more, but just enough to get it barely wet throughout. If it looks like a sticky, pasty mess, you’ve done it just right! Cover your bowl with plastic wrap and let it sit for at least 12 hours. I typically mix it up in the evening and cook it for dinner the next day.

  • When you’re ready to bake, pre-heat the oven to 450. Place an enamel coated cast iron pan in the oven for about 30 minutes to heat. (I have also used non-enameled cast iron with great success.) The dough should have risen in size, be fairly wet and sticky and have little bubbles across the surface. Gently scrape the dough out onto a well-floured surface. (Don’t forget … NO KNEAD.) Gently shape it into a ball with flour on the outside. (I usually use my pastry knife to turn in through the flour a couple of times.) Set the dough on a piece of parchment, and cover with plastic while your pan heats up.

  • Remove the pre-heated pan from the oven then remove the plastic from the dough. Lift the dough and parchment together into the pan so the parchment lines the bottom of the hot pan. This pan is HOT, so be careful not to touch it’s sides. Bake, covered, for 30 minutes. Remove the cover and bake another 10-15 minutes. This will form the golden, crusty, beautiful exterior of the loaf. And THAT’S IT! You’re done! All you have to do now if gather together friends and family and enjoy!

Next week I’ll share my mom’s No-Knead Cinnamon Roll recipe. Like the Loafer’s Loaf, there’s No-kneading needed and it is the best recipe for cinnamon rolls I’ve ever had!

Click here for the printable recipe.

The Practice of Gratitude

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I’ve been thinking about Gratitude lately. The topic seems to be popping up on blogs, and in social media and magazines. So what’s the big deal about gratitude and why are people talking about it?

In his essay, “Why Gratitude is Good”,  Robert Emmos, a scientific expert on gratitude writes, “First, it’s an affirmation of goodness. We affirm that there are good things in the world, gifts and benefits we’ve received. This doesn’t mean that life is perfect; it doesn’t ignore complaints, burdens, and hassles. But when we look at life as a whole, gratitude encourages us to identify some amount of goodness in our life.” So far so good. Who can argue that it’s beneficial to recognize the good in the world and in our lives.

Grateful and blessed to see this view everyday.

In our plugged-in society we are constantly bombarded with stories of negativity, crime, terrorism, abuse and natural disasters. Sometimes it feels like the negativity washes over me, sticks to my body, invades my mind, drains my energy and joy and affects my sight. It’s very much like trying to look across a cigarette-smoke filled room. The colors are muted, eyes burn, images are distorted. The stench is foul and clings to hair and skin and clothing.

Practicing gratitude is a way of opening the doors and windows, letting light and fresh air replace the haze and putrid smoke. It’s like inhaling deeply of fresh, mountain, morning air.  It allows us to see things that we couldn’t see through the haze.

We live in a broken world. Bad things happen, children are hurt, disasters strike, we get sick, bosses are mean. You know this. You walk in those trenches every day. And it’s easy to begin to believe those things are the whole picture. They aren’t!

The world is also filled with beauty, kindness, goodness and love. Sometimes we just can’t recognize those things through the smokey-haze.

Grateful beyond words for these gifts…

Gratitude brings those things back into focus and in doing so it provides us with a whole host of benefits … It reduces depression, increases happiness and optimism. It has documented health benefits, affects neural activity (read more here), reduces stress, increases the length and quality of sleep, reduces pain, and boosts performance. Gratitude helps us see goodness.

Mr Emmos goes on to say, “The second part of gratitude is figuring out where that goodness comes from. We recognize the sources of this goodness as being outside of ourselves. It didn’t stem from anything we necessarily did ourselves in which we might take pride. We can appreciate positive traits in ourselves, but I think true gratitude involves a humble dependence on others: We acknowledge that other people—or even higher powers, if you’re of a spiritual mindset—gave us many gifts, big and small, to help us achieve the goodness in our lives.”

This, my friends, is the part that really spoke to me. For all it’s benefits, practicing gratitude is perhaps most beneficial in the way it affects our relationships. At the end of the day, it’s not the size of our house, the balance in our bank account, or the cars we drive that matter most. It’s the people who walk beside us, who share our lives, those with whom we laugh and cry and work and play.

And my fifth daughter!

And for this new son! (photo by Levi Tijernia)

Gratitude draws the connection between the goodness in our lives, those people who contribute to it and the God who is the source of it. It reminds us to be humble. It fosters kindness. It strengthens our connection with others. It helps us see the beauty around us, in nature, in situations, in people.

I wish I could say I’ve mastered this discipline, that practicing gratitude is natural and effortless. I haven’t and it’s not. It’s too easy to complain, to see the negative, to wallow in self-pity. But gratitude is worth pursing. And like most things, the more we do something, the easier it gets, until hopefully, it eventually weaves through the fibers of our being and becomes a part of our character. That’s who I want to be. So I will take the steps necessary to get there. I will put in the time and effort. I will practice the disciplines because I want to reap the rewards.  Would you walk this road with me, this road into greater gratitude?

Grateful for you!

 

Three ways to practice gratitude:

  1. Keep a gratitude journal. Before bed each night, take 5 minutes to write down 1-3 things for which you are grateful. Do this for at least three months. This is not a new concept nor a difficult one, but it does take commitment and discipline.
  2. Write a letter to someone who has influenced you and for whom you are grateful. This will foster gratitude in you and bless them.
  3. High/low game. When the kids were young we had a tradition at our dinner table. (I think we saw this in a movie, but to be honest, I can’t remember for sure.) As we ate, we would go around the table and each person would share their “high and low” for the day. They would tell something that was hard or disappointing and then they would share the high point. This is something for which to be grateful.

The Greenhorn Farmhouse Discovered

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An assortment of cars, pick-ups and trailers pulled into the drive across the street. My normally quite road was packed with traffic. Impatiently, I watched and waited for my mom to arrive. As she pulled into my drive I pulled on my boots, met her at the door and we walked across the street to see what treasures the estate sale held.

I’d never been in the house before, or even up the long drive. In fact, I had never been quite sure if it was occupied or vacant. The occasional light would come on, but never very often and never for very long. I’d learn that day that it’s owner had passed away, that for most of the time I’d been living in my house, she’d been sick and staying just down the road with her sister.

I walked around looking at the sale items and creating my mental bid list. We made our way from the garage, past the barn and on to the house. When it comes to buildings, I have a gift of sight. I see past peeling paint and rotting wood and curled flooring. I see what could be. This day was no exception. As we walked through the house that had stood there for well over a century, I said to my mom, “I want to buy this!”

My Mom usually shares my gift of sight. We have a question, kind of a joke between us, “Can you see the potential”? If my dad happens to be in the vicinity, he shakes his head from side to side and rolls his eyes. He does not share our gift. But this day it was my mom shaking her head. On this day, with this house, she was blind.

It would be many months before I would purchase the house. I’d watch and wonder what was happening with it. Because my business had been keeping me busy, I hadn’t purchased any investment property in quite a while and I was missing it. I started contacting owners of houses I thought might meet my criteria. I contacted over 200 owners asking if they would consider selling their home. I also sent a letter to the address across the street. I knew the owner was gone and as far I knew my letter would end up in the basement of some government building in a graveyard for forgotten mail. I sent it anyway.

A week or so later I received a call from the sister. She was willing to sell the house and willing to work with me on the price. I was elated! This was the house I wanted more than any other. But I didn’t want to flip it. I wanted to keep it. To move my parents in and maybe someday have it for one of my kids. Eventually, the papers were signed, the sale complete and the work begun.

It would be months before that happened, however. On this day, the day of the auction, we visited with neighbors. We bid on our items. I bought a watch, and a couple of things for the kitchen. I missed out on an old tractor. I hesitated just a second too long and I still feel the regret. I bought a paint sprayer. Later, while using it to rehab this little house, I would think about this day.

I’d remember seeing the house and property for the first time. I’d think about my neighbor whom I never had the pleasure of meeting. Using the sprayer I’d purchased from her estate to rehab the home she’d loved seemed so right, like coming full circle.

I would think about her and her sister. This wasn’t just a house. It had been someone’s home. Someone had lived a life within it’s walls. Someone else had lost someone they loved. That reality was never far from my mind as I hung drywall, installed cabinets, chose tile and trimmed windows. I wondered if she’d be happy with the results. I hoped that my work honored her and her sister as well. By investing the time and the effort and the money, I hoped that this house would provide warmth and shelter, and that for another 100 years individuals and families would make a home here. I imagined meals being prepared in the kitchen, families gathered around the dining room table, sorrows being comforted and laughter shaking the rafters. I imagined future occupants referring to this house as “this place I belong.”

This project is complete, but you can follow the complete story of this rehab by subscribing below. I’ll cover everything from paint colors, to cabinets, and everything in  between, even  including  the  pantry door.

 

 

Thanksgiving and a Life in Perspective

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I love Thanksgiving. The gathering of family, the traditions, the meaning behind the holiday. I love the decorations, the colors, the food, and the smells.

Last year nineteen people, including young children, gathered around the table set up in my living room. I loved having kids running around the place, jumping on the trampoline, gathering eggs, playing with the chickens, petting the horses, and chasing the cats.

I miss having little ones and sometimes I find myself bewildered when I consider my own kids. Where did those years go?

Nineteen years ago I was living in an old Victorian house, in a questionable part of town. In hindsight the house seems delapitated, but it had character and a spire at one corner and I loved it. My children were four, three, two and I was 6 months pregnant. Though my days were filled with endless chores (did I mention 3 kids and another on the way?) I still loved to entertain.

There’s something satisfying about setting a beautiful table, heaping it with lovingly prepared food and sharing it with others. Sometimes we’d have the luxury of lingering over dessert and a second cup of coffee while the kids ran off to play. We’d talk about our lives, our kids, current events, what books we were reading, our dreams. We talked about cooking, decorating, parenting, events in the Middle East and everything in between. The topic didn’t matter much. We were together. Sharing life.

About that time, one of those friends, Barb, first suggested I blog. To be honest, I barely knew what a blog was, and I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to read about my crazy life. I wish now I had listened. I would like to have those years chronicled.

I wish I had been able to really grab ahold of the old truth, “time flies”. It’s the phrase so often and so wistfully uttered by those older, wiser individuals, with a sigh and slight shake of the head. The young nod in agreement, as if they understand, but the elders know it will be many years before the weight of that truth sinks deep and finds a home in the souls of the young. Sometime in a distant future when the young have moved from the ranks of young to the not-so-young, only then will they know.

Beautiful pies complements of my daughters!

So it is with me. I have left the ranks of the young … another truth whose reality eludes my comprehension. I don’t feel as if two of my children should have spouses, my baby should be in high school, and I should be a few short years away from an empty nest, from grandchildren. Yet the truth of it pursues me relentlessly.

I am learning to navigate this new chapter of my life. It feels awkward and unfamiliar, not at all like the transition to motherhood. Motherhood felt like coming home. This feels as foreign as any foreign land I’ve visited. Yet, I know the foreign can become familiar.

We have family traditions adopted from the countries we’ve lived and visited. Those scary, unfamiliar things have become part of who we are. And it’s good. I’m finding more time and money and space for things that have always been in me. Things like starting a business, flipping houses, doing rehab, refurbishing and repurposing old furniture, dabbling in agriculture, and maybe even blogging.

Maybe there are others who share some of my interests. Maybe others could benefit from my experiences. The young mom who doesn’t think she has the energy to change one more diaper. A young couple who would like to flip a house. The friend who asks how to grocery shop on a budget or how to create healthy, wholesome meals. The twenty-something learning to navigate her way into adulthood. The one who wants tips on creating a beautiful and functional home. Others, like me, learning to navigate a new season in life.

Maybe it’s bigger than just my experiences helping others. Maybe we enrich each other’s lives by sitting around my virtual table, sharing food, and ideas and life. By finding courage to be vulnerable. And being surprised by the freedom and joy that vulnerability brings.

In Daring Greatly, Brene Brown says, “Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. ”

I would argue that it’s the birthplace of beauty too.

I am confident that this life is best lived in the company of others.  You’re always welcome around my table. So, pull up a chair and stay awhile.

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