A Great Day!

It's days like these -- and they don't come very often -- that you just know that God has sent a group of people into your life for a very special reason. The women of "Glad Tidings Primitives and Folk Art are just that! Even more than special!
We are a group of ladies who joined together on Ebay - first, because of our love for our Savior, and second, because of our love for everything primitive. A day never goes by when I don't thank the Lord for these wonderful, talented people who have walked into my life and taken over my heart!

Many of us have our own blogs, our own websites, and we all sell and buy on Ebay and other places. But we have come together and formed our own Blog -- a place where you can meet us ALL AT ONCE and IN ONE PLACE!

Please click the link below and check out this great group of ladies, go to their blogs and websites and ebay pages and I'm sure you will agree that these are just great crafters and artists. You will be glad you did!

A free Pattern!

Here is a free primitive stitchery pattern for all my blog readers. You can enlarge this pattern to fit an 8x10 or even an 11x14 frame opening size. This comes from a set of of 7 patterns available in my ebay store: Pattern Collection #26.

Right click on the pattern, click on "save picture as" and name it. Then, you can edit the size in your picture editing software, print it out and use as a pattern.
Enjoy!

Great friends and selling on Ebay!

Some of the most wonderful friends I've ever made have been in our Ebay community group, Glad Tidings Primitive and Folk Art. They have been such a blessing to me, and I thank the Lord every day for each and every one of them. I just don't know what I'd do without them, really.

I was listing this 8x10 on Ebay today, and I just couldn't help but think of the friendships I've made. Some are very casual, fleeting, here today and gone tomorrow. Some are distant memories of the past. Some, just pick up and take off from where you left them last. and some. . . .they just click, and you never knew what you did without them before you met them. They are pure miracles sent from God.
That is what this group of friends means to me!

There's a miracle called friendship that dwells within the heart
And you don't know how it happens or where it gets its start.
But the happiness it brings you always gives a special lift,
And you realize that friendship is God's most precious gift.


This 8x10 is available for sale from me on Ebay. Just click on the picture, and it will take you there!

BoterKoek!

One of my all time favorite. . . .cookies???. . . . has to be BoterKoek. This means Butter Cake in Dutch. But to me, it's more like a butter cookie bar. Crisp on the outside, chewy and soft on the inside. A little more dense than a brownie. Why they call it cake is beyond me. My sister made this yesterday and it is just too good . . .melt in your mouth good . . . .who care's if you get fat good . . . .!!!!!

12 servings 50 min 20 min prep

2/3 cup butter or margarine or half-and-half
1 cup sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons almond extract (I like 2 1/2 teaspoons in mine!)
1 egg, beaten (reserve 1 tsp)
1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
sliced almonds, for garnish (optional but not the same with it)

In medium bowl, mix together butter, sugar and almond extract.
Add beaten egg except for 1 teaspoon.
Sift flour and baking powder, and add to bowl, mixing with wet ingredients.
Put dough in greased 9 inch pie plate.
Mix the reserved 1 tsp of beaten egg with 1 tsp of water, and brush over dough.
Sprinkle with sliced almonds, if desired. (My Oma always used the almonds, it looks pretty and adds a nice touch!).
Bake at 350 degress for 25-30 minutes or until done (firm to the touch).
This is a dense cake (like a bar cookie or hard brownie), but should be soft on the inside and hard on the outside, but not too hard!

A Dutch Christmas!

As a child, I can never remember there NOT being a Sinterklaas (St. Nicholas) Day. Both of my parents were born in The Netherlands, as were all my relatives. It was their desire to carry on some of the traditions of the old country, giving all us children a taste of the Dutch ways.

It was so much fun, though a little scarey, too. Every December 5th, we prepared for the big event. The story goes that Sinterklaas came every year on a boat from Spain to Holland and gave nice gifts to good children, and those who had been bad, either got beaten with a switch or were left a piece of coal in their shoe. I always related it to "judgement day."

I remember always having new pajamas for the event, as this Sinterklaas always came in the evening. Along with him came a smaller black person called, Zwarte Peit. He carried the switches, just in case Sinterklaas needed to give someone a spanking. Zwarte Peit never said a word and we always thought that maybe he was a mute or something. Sinterklaas himself wore a long flowing red robe with a high red hat that had a cross on it. He looked like a priest. I remember my little brother being scared to death of him and starting to cry. The scariest part was THE BOOK!!!! You knew you couldn't lie about being bad or good, because Sinterklaas had a BIG book with our names in it, and he checked to see if we were telling the truth!

The tradition went on from there somewhat like our Santa Claus today -- telling this stately, serious man whether we had been good or not. If we had, Zwarte Peit took a gift out of a bag and handed it to us. Of course, we were always good!!!!

After this "ceremony," we always had goodies to eat, mostly ollie bollen, speculaas cookies (a hard spicey cookie), and other sweets along with hot chocolate.

When the "reading of the book" was over, we were told to put our shoe outside by the door. What a sight! 5 shoes lined up by the door, and Mom's and Dad's old wooden shoes. Shortly after Sinterklass left, we would go out to check our shoe. We would find and apple, or an orange, or some other little goodie in our shoe. Of course, we were supposed to be afraid of getting a piece of coal! We all believed that Sinterklaas had left them on his way out.

Those were wonderful times for our family. Memories that will never be forgotten. I'm so glad that my sister was able to salvage the 8 mm movies my mother had taken that last Sinterklaas Day before she died. More than 50 years have passed since that day, but it could have been just yesterday. . . .!

I think I'll make some ollie bollen tonight. And I think I'll find out once and for all if Sinterklaas is real. . . .

I'm going to put my wooden shoe out by the door!

Oliebollen - My Favorite Dutch Recipe!

Nothing brings back memories of wonderful childhood experiences like helping my Mother make Olie Bollen! These little dough balls were full of apples and raisins, fried to a golden brown, and drenched in powder sugar. I can still our little faces full of powder sugar -- but it was well worth it and we didn't care! Start a family tradition with these wonderful treats! They were traditionally served on New years in Dutch families!

OLIE BOLLEN

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2 pkg. yeast
3/4 c. warm water
6 c. milk, scalded
3 eggs, beaten
3/4 c. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. lemon juice or extract
6 c. flour or more
3 c. raisins
3 c. peeled and chopped apples

Soften yeast in warm water. To cooled milk, add the eggs, sugar, salt, and flavoring. Add yeast mixture and then gradually beat in 6 or more cups of flour and raisins and apples. Dough should be stiff.
Let rise until double in bulk (covered with dough cloth). Stir down and let rise again until double. Fry in deep fat at 375-400 degrees. (Use ice cream scoop to drop dough into hot oil.) Drain on absorbent paper. Dip or serve with powdered sugar. (Bollen will usually turn over by themselves while in hot oil.)

The Robins!

I can remember it like it was yesteday! My first day going to kindergarten. Mom had crocheted for me a new little red skirt. It had straps that went over the shoulder and buttoned in the back. I had a new little white blouse, white socks and new shoes. I felt so pretty.

Opoe and Mom took me on my first day. I was excited and Watchung School looked so large. The classroom was full of big windows and the room was large and bright with lots of tables and chairs. I can still remember lots of parents being there, all lined up along the wall. But I immediately let go of Mom's hand and headed for . . . . toys, and fun! My teacher, Miss Kline, was older, but I loved her.

One thing I will never forget about that year in kindergarten was centered around a little trip to the second floor of that school. We lined up, two by two, and walked through the hall and up the stairs. Then, Miss Kline told us to be very quiet and go to the window. There, on the window sil outside, was a perfect nest with a Robin sitting quietly upon it. She turned her head, saw us all there, and flew off. And I will never forget my surprise when I saw those four beautiful blue eggs sitting in that nest! We went often up those stairs to check on the Robin and her eggs. And one day, we saw the ugly little babies. And then, soon after, they were all gone except one. He was standing on the side of his nest, chirping franticly, fluttering his wings. We could all see Momma Robin in the tree a little ways away calling for her baby to come to her. Finally, after a few minutes, he did it!!! And he could fly!!! We all clapped and went back to our classroom.

I never forgot that. That memory was etched deeply on my heart and every time I saw a robin, I thought of kindergarten, my red skirt Mom had made for me, and that nest in the window.

Yesterday, the Robins came. When I opened my front door, there they were, happily eating the wild berries off my bushes and singing their cheerful song. They do not live in Florida year round, so I know they had come on a long journey from the North to find warmth, food and shelter for the winter months. Every year they come -- like clockwork. And somehow, they know the way. Somwhere, in what's left of my childish fantasies and imagination, I'd like to believe one of those Robins came from a nest built in a window at Watchung School.

If God can give directions to a Robin
And show him pathways through the endless skies,
Can He not show me where to place my footsteps,
And, as promised, guide me with His eyes?

"I will instruct thee, and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go; I will guide thee with mine eye." -- Psalm 32:8

Heaven!

Can you remember the very first time in your life when you came face to face with the fact that there was a Heaven? I think I was always taught there was a Heaven, that God loved me and died for me so that I could go there, and that it was a wonderful place. But as a very small child, those are vague, unimportant things that really don't make a big impact. . .until!

I can still remember our backyard. It was small, fenced in, with a detached garage in the back. Since we lived on a corner, the side wall of the garage lined the back of our backyard. We played a lot there. And I remember being very aware of the birds building their nests in the little birdhouses that were built in under the eaves. Back and forth they would go with pieces of grass to build a nest. Soon, it seemed the nesting was overdone as it was all hanging out of the holes. Then, those little birds were carrying food back and forth in what seemed like a frenzy.

One day, I can remember being in a panic, as one of the birds was lying on the ground. It was still. And though I had not faced death up until this time, somehow I knew it was dead. I can still remember my Mom and Dad helping us through that time. She gave us a shoe box and we gently put the little bird into box. My Dad explained that God must have needed a little bird in Heaven, so now it was very happy flying around Heaven and that God would feed it and take care of it. He then said a little prayer and he buried the bird.

And that was that!

Little did I know that in a year or two, I would face death again. During that time, I know I grew up a little more, learned more about God and Heaven and angels. But I had never known a person who died. I had never been to a funeral, and didn't know what one was. I can still remember the events of that awful night. I woke up the a frenzy of activity downstairs. My sister and I went down the steps. I heard people crying. Someone told me, "Your Mother went to Heaven. Now, go back to bed."

And that was that!

I can remember thinking that this must be something very "matter of fact." No one hugged me, or told me everything would be ok. I can't remember anyone ever saying they were sorry about what happened. My Sunday School teacher never mentioned my Mom or said she was praying for me and my family. My older brother and sister never mentioned her or said they would take care of me. We were rushed away to my Aunt's home until sometime after the funeral. When I came back, another Aunt and Uncle had moved in with their family, all Mom's things were gone, and a new life began with never a mention of her name.

And that was that!

It was a long time before I realized that this was NOT normal. I think I was well into adulthood before I became aware of the fact that people grieved and were hurt deeply when someone close died. Up until this time, I just thought it was a matter of fact thing. You just died and went to Heaven! Like the bird in the backyard. Like my mother. I never forgot her. I never grieved her death. I never missed her. I never cried. But deep within my soul, even as an 8-year-old child, there was an empty hole that is still there even today.

It's not easy to look into dark, empty holes in your soul. It's like standing on the edge of a deep, dark well and being afraid of falling into . . . . .what???? Once in a while, a tear would run down my cheek and fall into that dark hole, and I would realize it was much deeper than I had ever imagined, because I never heard the tear hit the bottom of the well!

The journeys of my life took me many places. On some of those pathways, I knew God was with me. On others, I hoped He was not! And on the rest, I wondered where He was. But I now know one thing -- He was always there. He saw that sparrow fall that day, and He saw me there as I picked it up. He saw me there, alone, when my Mom passed away, And though I did not realize it, He picked ME up.

He saw me then. . .And He sees me now. . . And He loves me just the same.

And that is that!

What's Important?

Isn't it funny that, as you get older, things you didn't think mattered all your life are now the things that just won't leave you alone. Memories of childhood that are seemingly unimportant seem to intrude into your thoughts and you start to think about people, places, and happenings that were soooooo insignificant in earlier years.

One of those memories for me takes me back to when I was five or six years old. I remember Opoe and Opa picking Mom up at the house and we went to town -- Dave's Yarn Shop, to be specific. I loved that place! It was a long, narrow store. The floors were polished wood and they were always shiny! On the walls on both sides were rows and rows of shelves, all sectioned off into squares. What I wouldn't give for a wall like that here in my home! Beautiful wood and again, all shiny and polished! Every one of those squares was full of yarn, all different colors, textures and weight. Towards the back of the store was the crochet yarn, needles, books of patterns, etc. As a child, it seemed to take my Mom and Grandmother forever to pick out whatever it was they needed. I wasn't interested, really. Just loved being in the store. I loved the smell!

Now, whenever I see a hand-knitted sweater with an intricate pattern on the yoke, I think of Dave's Yarn Shop and my Mother's wonderful ability to klickity-klack those needles while she talked a mile a minute in dutch. She would call me once in a while for a measuring, hold up the partially completed sweater, yank out a few rows or add a few, and on she would go.

I don't remember my Mother being a really personable, loving, intimate mother. I don't remember hugs, kisses, or sitting on her knee. I don't remember loving talks or any special moments. But I remember knitted sweaters, crocheted-edged shirts, handmade dresses, shorts, skirts, and tops, and knitted mittens and hats.

I wish I had had the opportunity to learn from Mom all that she knew how to do. To an 8-year-old, she could do everything. She played the piano, baked bread and rolls, baked Dutch desserts, sewed all our clothing, knitted, tatted, crocheted everything --- but I learned none of it. Suddenly, with no explanation or warning, she was gone forever. She never said good-by. She never said she loved me. She never told me everything would be alright. There was only one sentence: "Your mother went to Heaven." And that was it! No one ever mentioned her again. Her knitting needles disappeared. And I never got another sweater!

I wish I could knit.

Love Conquers All!

I just can't help it! I look into Buster's eyes, and he looks back at me. . .and we both know he's here to stay. . .no matter what! I tried so hard this week with him. We spent hours and hours walking, heeling, sit, stay, come, lay down, etc., etc. And he was doing so well. . .so I thought! Last night was obedience class, and it was a disaster from the moment we got there. He was way to happy to see his friends, way to happy to be playing and watching everyone else.

There they were, all the prissy, obedient dogs walking like they were in a first class show. And Buster???? No way was HE going to act like THAT! He barked, bucked, and did nothing -- absolutely nothing -- right. So in the end conclusion, it was all a failure, because I had not taught my dog to do something on command -- Buster only did it when he felt like it.

I left the class knowing I would not be back next week, and it made me feel so ashamed, embarrassed, and like a failure. Next week is the final test and I know we are no where near testing -- we aren't even past square one!

But still, I look at Buster, and Buster looks at me. . .and I sigh and wonder can I just love him the way he is? Is there a half way meeting point where we can live together in harmony? I love him dearly and he knows it. And I see in his eyes his love and devotion to me. Maybe somewhere in all of that, we will find peace and a way to live together that is agreeable to both.

I won't give up on the training. I need him to be able to walk on a leash as he is too big and strong to be pulling me down the street. But for now, I need to ease up on the tension this has put me under.

And so, we failed the class -- two losers who love each other but can't seem to find a way to peace between us. Maybe some day when Buster is old and more sedate, I'll look back on all this fuss and wonder why I took it all so seriously! Who really cares if he ate a loaf of rye bread last night????

Update on Buster (and ME!)

Could it possibly be that Buster is finally getting the message????
I couldn't believe it when I told him we were "going to school" that he got so excited and started looking for his collar and leash! He remembered from last week. After a few days of wondering if we would be together much longer, Buster went through the paces of heel, sit, down, stay, etc., just perfectly in the driveway. We walked round and round and round until my feet gave out. But I wondered how he would do in the class!

He was so excited to go in that door. His attitude was different from other weeks -- and it showed as he wanted so much to play with all the other dogs. His attention had shifted from ME to the dogs! So had all the others, so it was a little harder to keep his attention on the commands, etc.

But wouldn't you know, Buster could have won the "most improved since last week" award if they had given those out! Not hard to win, since last week was just a big disaster. I was proud of him, to say the least. I stayed after class and got a few extra pointers on Buster's personal home behavior which I am sure will help A LOT!

As much as I have said that I need to get rid of Buster and that he is not the dog for this household, somehow he has embedded himself so deep into my heart that I know I could never let him go. I think I have vowed to myself that this is one time in my life that I am NOT giving up on something (or someone!) and I will see it through.

I am so thankful for the encouragement and personal help I've received from these trainers! I truly believe God has led me there because without them, I think I would be without Buster, my heart would be breaking ---- and so would his!

And so we begin a new week together. There is nothing more uplifting to your heart and spirit than HOPE!

When You Almost Give Up!

I just about gave up on Buster this week. And I felt so badly, I couldn't even write about it. Monday was the training class, and he did so poorly that I was embarrassed to even be there. He seemed to be so irritated with his Gentle Leader collar and the trainer checked the fit at least 3 times to see what was so distracting to Buster. He would NOT follow any commands at all. Some of the other dogs were also having problems. But, she had warned us in the beginning that by week 3 or 4 we would see our dogs hit "plateaus" as they bucked the whole training thing and we would feel like we were back at week 1. Buster and I were there.

I came home feeling those tears buring in the back of my eyes -- wondering if I could really keep Buster the way he was. Sometimes he seems almost dangerous as he is now over 70 lbs of uncontrolled wild beast coming at me. And when I see him running into Patsy (who can hardly walk now because of arthritis), I wonder if it is wise to have him here at all. But my heart loves him.

And love always finds a way, doesn't it?!!!! All week long, I have walked and walked and walked, and yes, I think we have broken through the wall and found our way to a more obedient dog. He is listening better, seems to be atuned more to what pleases me, and is following the basic commands on the leash so much better. We have a few more weeks of school left, so we will see if we pass!!!!