Boys. Books. Brothers.
Boys. Books. Brothers.
I thought I’d shake things up a bit and share a recipe.
½ cup cornstarch
1 cup rice flour
¼ cup xylitol
¼ cup honey
¾ cup butter, softened
zest of one lemon
Mix cornstarch, rice flour, and xylitol.
Add butter, honey, and lemon zest.
Mix all together until a soft dough forms.
Shape into small balls and put onto a buttered baking sheet.
Flatten with a fork and bake for 20 – 25 minutes at 150℃ or 300℉, until golden at the edges.
Makes 16 shortbread biscuits.
Share with a much loved auntie on her birthday and laugh and laugh and laugh the whole afternoon long!
It had been a rough morning, the day of our weekly hike up the mountain reserve. We had all been sick, I got up late, the kids were in each other’s hair all morning.
It was about all I could manage to get everyone in the car, diesel in the tank, and a packet of fries from Golden Arches😬 for each (including the car guard), and drive the beautiful drive up into the reserve.
Get out at the bridge. No hiking this time. Just parking off. Right there.
And just like that, they are playing. Best of friends again. And I am breathing. And in love with them all again.
Step outside. It still is my magic cure-all.
I was nursing my last wee one the other day and thinking how quickly time passes, how short the distance from babe in arms to teenager, like the one sitting across the room from me.
But really, I know this babe still has years of being loved on ahead of him before he sits across the room like his big sister.
Years are a lot when you think of it in terms of good ol’ lovin’, folks.
It makes it easier to let the little guy grow up.
And the big girl too across the room too. All of them. The time for loving left.
So here’s to you, all you mamas.
And to our todays.
Pouring on the love.
A year ago, today, we said our goodbyes to Bowen Island.
Left our pumpkin cottage surrounded by gorgeous forest;
free range playground out the front door, ravens and deer included.
Left the island beaches with all their treasures.
Beach where I at long last got baptized after 20 years of being a believer.
[Precious, happy day.]
Left dear friends, a church family, a life.
When I finally sat down on the plane I cried a bucket full of tears.
So much loss.
But it was a gift, the years we had on the island.
Even as pastoring a church is not for the faint hearted (or thin skinned).
We sure grew a lot.
And our little family was blessed.
Wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Cederberg mountains, heart-mountains.
Land of red rock and chilly fresh amber water.
Sage brush, endless stillness, sky beyond-reason-blue.
Grateful for the soul food!
After a fabulous impromptu feast a while back I was wondering why I don’t do the simple things that make joy more often.
And then I baulk and find a million reasons in my head not to go when my husband suggests a drive and a run on the beach on a sunny Sunday.
I am so glad we did go.
(Duly retrieved from the waves by her Retriever.)
(Rolling down the steepest dune you can find – I remember the thrill!)
Seriously. Why don’t I do it more often?