A wee bit of joy

Soak it up.

Heavenly moments.

Making my version of Cuppa, Cuppa, Cuppa.

 

Cheese Sausage Balls

-Cup of Bisquick

-Cup of Sharp grated cheddar (that I grate myself. I hate pre-grated cheese with that strange little feel to it.)

-Cup of ground sausage from the Farmer’s Market (grocery store sausage is a lot more greasy and then when you get the cookie sheet out of the hot oven you risk a slosh or a burn.)

Mix and Bake. My oven only goes to 375 degrees without setting a fire or blowing a fuse.

Get it out when it looks a tiny bit burnt.

Cuppa, Cuppa, Cuppa was from Steel Magnolias.

 

 

Then to the apple carrot muffins from Epicurious that we love. The joy and miracle in making food for my children and hoping they will eat the fruit with the fat incased in warm cake- a muffin is a gift to behold. Spending a decade feeding and refeeding Addy has brought untold mental battles to cooking and baking. Chopping away my fear. In the mixing, the hope folds into the batter. Baking the love and prayer for nourishment right into each little muffin cup. May she eat. May her brain heal. May her heart beat. May her soul believe.

The sun streams in and the leaves do that magic where each leaf might be see through or opaque depending on each whiff of a cloud.

I discovered a new singer songwriter yesterday. By discovered, I mean that Bonnie Raitt’s Instagram page recommended her. And I am hooked. Buying a CD today on evil giant genius Amazon. My Subaru is from the year before technology hit the car. A CD suits me just fine. It comes with that thin square booklet of lyrics that will alight my soul and meet my pain with compassion. Grace will wash over me.

One lyric I heard Sarah Siskind sing was “I’m a shepherd not a soldier.” Oh God in the heavens and in the kitchens and in the Subarus and of the playgroundless children, please let me be a shepherd not a soldier.  I wish to be a shepherd. Let me light a path with mothering and grace and fortitude. Leave behind the ultimatums, yelling, begging, and righteousness. Do shepherds nap? I doubt it. I nap. A lot. Two days this week, I skipped my nap and I survived- maybe I can shepherd. If there was some co-shepherd who could fill in while I nap. My big kids help. They really do. But the parenting is all mine.

 

 

The music of Sarah Siskind is bluegrass and heart. It seems fitting that I am peeling carrots while I listen in a tiny kitchen. I throw Frida the long carrot skinny in the middle from my repeated scraping and she gobbles it. The joy of throwing my dog a scrap and her taking it straight to her blankey and being momentarily satisfied.

The back door is open. George Ficken,  Addy’s boyfriend, is fixing my Subaru air conditioner for ultimate listening conditions when my Sarah Siskind CD arrives.