Goodbye North Dakota

Oh, North Dakota. How I will miss you.  Yes, the time has come to move back to Texas. You have defined and refined and changed me forever. This adventure with you has enriched my life so much that I will probably forever be driving my southern friends crazy with, "when we were in North Dakota" stories.

We came for work in the boom towns of your Bakken Oil Fields. We got here in June when the crops were lush and green, and some of the roads getting here were closed because of the record breaking Mouse River Flood where 12,000 of your neighbors were washed out of their homes. Oil workers were living in tents in the parks and sleeping in Walmart parking lots. When we found housing for rent, it was crazy expensive.  Things have leveled out a little now. Your town now feels like my town. Our little town of 1250 (2010 Census Count) has new houses, apartments, and hotels for all us new people in town to lay our heads. Because of low oil prices, budgets are cut and some workers (like us) are going home - it they have one elsewhere.

We were here for your first man camps, your first traffic light, and your rail terminal. We saw in your little peaceful valley town, a new grocery store, a new swimming pool, a new convenience store, and new pastors. We celebrated your Fire Department's centennial - "100 years and still making house calls", they said. 

I am sad that we (the oil industry) have destroyed your rolling prairies. However your canola fields of brightest yellow, the purple flax blooms, wheat harvest, hay fields, sunflowers, and corn rows have amazed us. You have a short growing season and long days. In July your sun rises at five and is not completely gone until eleven. Your Fourth of July fireworks celebration get started at my bedtime!

You native North Dakota sons and daughters are so close to your roots - as in knowing that your grandparents were Scandinavian immigrants. I have loved the stories of your grandparents coming over on boats to settle on free land and learn a new language when they got here. Your folks homesteaded land, built houses, built churches, and grew families. Some of their homes are still around. Yes, I have noticed how you proudly hang on to the family farms. You farm their land, live on their land, and love their land.  I've wondered away lots of traveling hours thinking about how life must have been in those tiny homes, especially in winter.

Oh, yes. winter. Your first snowfall (usually October) is exciting and beautiful and breath taking. Then your last one seems like it will never come. You taught us to shovel the white fluff, warm the cars, walk like a penguin, and bundle up.You have taught me more than I ever wanted to know about coats, and gloves, and scarves. You have shown me how to be stylish and warm at the same time, but all I really ever wanted was a nice warm hoodie - nine months out of the year. You don't let the cold and snow stop you - not your work, not your church meetings, and certainly not school. I  learned that it doesn't really matter how far below zero your temperature is - it's just cold. You are amazing, tough, resilent people (even those of you who go south for the winter!)

When your spring thaw finally comes in mid-May, so do your robins and your flowers and your road construction. You say there are really only two seasons - winter and road construction. I believe it.  After a long hard winter - yards and flowers explode in beauty. I have certainly enjoyed the fruits of former owner's labor in my yard. You have shown me how to fully enjoy those few months of warm weather.

Then there's your food - lefse, lutefisk, knoephla, borscht, meatballs, and slush burgers. Some I love. Some I like. And some I leave untouched. You have inspired me and stretched me. Thank you for your recipes and your cooking classes!

Some report I read has said that you have more churches per capita than any other state. I don't know if that is accurate since the population explosion, but you have a lot of beautiful, historic churches in North Dakota. You in the Lutheran church on the next block have welcomed and loved me since my first Sunday. From you, I have learned the apostles' creed, about Ladies Circle Group,and hot dish dinners. . You precious ladies I've been in Bible studies and circle groups with gave me a wonderful going away bash - and you brought your husbands along. You Baptist and Assembly of God girls have loved me more than I deserved, too.  You've welcomed me into your Bible studies, even when I talked too much. Your community church services inspire me to believe that we are not all that much different. And thank you for tolerating me when I tried to sing in the church choir

More than anything you have taught me "North Dakota Nice". That's when you say things like, "Oh but we were so glad to have you in our choir", even though the girl can't carry a tune in a milk bucket - bless her southern heart. I'm sure you would never even think such a thought. You stop your car a block away when I am crossing the street. You have brought me homemade bread, juneberry jelly, chokecherry jam, pickled beets, and have taught me how to harvest rhubarb for pies. You gave us your extra snow blower and loaned me your sewing machine pedal when mine broke and you hardly knew me. You closed our garage door when we left it open, you raked the sticks out of the yard, you hauled off our broken tree limbs, and you invited us over for holiday meals.

My man and I will love you forever, and our time together will always be etched in our memories.

The LORD bless you and keep you.

The LORD make His face shine on you

and be gracious to you;

the LORD turn His face toward you

and give you peace.

(Numbers 6:24-26)

Taco Crisis

There has been a lot of news coverage lately about identity conflict.

I have decided that if loving tacos is any indication, 

then I have a serious identity conflict.

 In North Dakota, 

I almost had up the nerve to defy my husbands orders to not stop at the taco bus

 (yes, a big yellow school bus with a hand painted "TACO" sign),

 when it caught fire and burned. 

The locals recommend the Mexican Food Restaurant in Williston, 

but I usually say that Texans don't eat Mexican food north of Amarillo.

 However, one day we saw a hand painted sign from down the street. 

It just said,

"TACOS"

I stuck my head in the door, did the sniff test, then surveyed the non-gringo clientele.

 The owner said he was from Mexico and that he makes street tacos.

I love tacos -

corn tortilla, shredded beef, chicken, pork, or fish 

with guacamole, lettuce, fresh salsa, cilantro, and a little lime.

I luuuuuv tacos

and I speak enough Spanglish to get me in trouble.

My earliest memories of tacos were from Carlos' Little Mexico

 in my hometown Texas.

Then my mama's homemade tacos were next.

 Her recipe was delish:

one pound of browned ground beef

one can of Wolf Brand Chili

served in 

corn tortillas dipped in hot Crisco.

The blazing orange grease dripped off our elbows when we ate them.

Oh, they were good.

Of course there's not enough Rolaids in the state of Texas to get me to eat one now.

My next memory was hanging out in the chinaberry tree

 with Jimmy, the neighbor kid.  

The tree was right beside our farm workers' temporary hacienda behind my Daddy's shop. 

 I can almost still smell the frijoles, lard, tortillas, and kerosene cook stove.  

They came from Mexico legally to move irrigation pipe, hoe weeds, and pick cotton. 

This is Shorty, who was our trusted favorite playing with me. 

I have curlers in my hair - that means it was Saturday. 

We always washed and curled our hair on Saturday.

I wish I still had that car.

Years later, Shorty tried to come back to us,

 but was turned away at the border because he had T.B. (tuberculosis). 

My how things have changed at the border.

On our little 19 day trip through the Pacific Northwest, 

we came through a little town in Idaho that had a taco wagon on every corner.

 Really. 

Almost.

We imagined and theorized for an hour about how they all got there. 

We decided they must have come to work in the potato fields,

 but found tacos to be more lucrative.

Who knows?

Somehow menus written in Spanish give taco wagons the most credibility.

I have tried to perfect my own Mexican food cooking skills during my stay in North Dakota

 and have come up with the best 

Taco Seasoning recipe:

1 Tablespoon Chili Powder

1 Tablespoon Ground Cumin

1 Tablespoon Garlic Powder

1 Tablespoon Onion Powder

1/4 Tablespoon Crushed Red Pepper

Of course, I make it by the quart.

I love tacos.

If I have an identity conflict, 

then I must identify as 

a 

TACO.

~~~

Si!

Me encantan los tacos!

Everything Esther

She is everywhere I turn.  Last month she was at a ladies' retreat in West Texas. Monday she was in the news. Yesterday she was at school.  Today is her celebration day. She is going back to North Dakota with me.

Esther was a young Jewish orphan being raised by her cousin in Persia, where Jews had been taken as captives. She became queen through a beauty pageant and kept her ethnicity a secret - until she was made aware of a plot to kill all Jewish people. She called her people to fast before she revealed the plot to the King. She saved her people from destruction by the king's edict allowing them to defend themselves. The king had the Jews' enemy, Haman, hung on the very gallows meant for Esther's cousin, Mordecai. (Esther 1-10). Her bravery saved her people from death.

The Old Testament Book of Esther is the only book in the Bible that does not mention God.  But He is there.  He. Is. There.

Godly Girlfriends Retreats 2015 retreat theme is Esther. Her story was told beautifully through, song, dance and each of the speakers. She inspired us to rise above our circumstances, our pasts, and our pain to become the women God created us to be. We were reminded that as daughters of THE KING, we are royalty and are called "for such a time as this". To visit Godly Girlfriends Retreats, click HERE. While you are there, visit the blog for a few pictures of our weekend together. I am packing my bags with everything Esther to take back to North Dakota. Twenty-five Texas goldy girlfriends will join me there in May to share Esther's inspiration and the love of Jesus at another retreat. 

Three days ago, Benjamin Netanyahu, Prime Minister of Israel, referred to the story of Esther in his controversial speech to Congress. The connection? Ancient Persia is modern day Iran. Prime Minister Netanyahu sees Iran as a grave threat to the peace of Israel and the entire world. 

Today is March 5th. Every spring, Israel celebrates Esther's story during Purim. This year, Purim is celebrated from sunset March 4 to nightfall March 5.  Her story is read in synagogues from The Scroll of Esther - the megillah - in Hebrew. The celebration takes on a carnival atmosphere which includes Esther costumes, hissing at the name of Haman, traditional foods, and drinking wine.  In fact some drink until they can't tell the difference between the phrases, "cursed be Haman", and "blessed be Mordecai".  

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem:

 May those who love you be secure.

 (Psalm 122:6)

May you live to see

your children's children - 

peace be on Israel

(Psalm 128:6)

One Snowflake at a Time

It makes me smile - the sound of that snow thrower blower thingy running out there.  It is seven below zero. The real feel is seventeen below. I can't help it.  I just have to go look.  

The first time we lived in North Dakota, neighbor Smitty, advised us that we could not survive a winter without one.  We bought it across the border in Montana because there's no sale tax there. Then the first snow came in October before we were ready (as if anyone is ever ready) while the magic machine was still in it's box under a blue tarp. That first dreaded snow was measured in feet, not inches.  Three of them. 

Before we could uncrate it, south Louisiana called. Warm winter called. Palm Trees called. And we loaded the big box in the back of the truck, hooked up the trailer and headed south with a brief stop at the home improvement store to return our precious unused merchandise

Less than a year later, Louisiana ended with Mardi Gras, and North Dakota called again. In a new town, new neighbor Bruce offered a broken snow thrower blower thingy to my handyman. Handy man had it running before another snowflake could fall.

So there's my handyman out there, clearing the snow from around the house so that the basement will stay dry during spring thaw next June. He is cleaning neighbor Clarice's drive and sidewalk, blowing Gloria and Joe's walks, and making a path for the snowbunnies who cut the mustard across our yard on their way home from school. 

He starts on the northside neighbor's walk, but the mama sends the boys out with shovels to help before he is finished. He is cleaning up the neighborhood, one snowflake at a time. It must be that North Dakota Nice thing where everybody really does watch out for their neighbor. Maybe he just really likes his machine. Maybe both.

There's this crazy thing my crazy handy man likes to say:

"If the women don't find you handsome - they had better find you handy."  

"...and love your neighbor as yourself."

because Jesus said it.

E.A.T.

A plan, according to Merriam-Webster is "a set of actions that have been thought of as a way to do or achieve something" - for example a kitchen remodel.  I have been planning this set of actions for three years.  I have drawn it, clipped, posted it, and pinned it.  We have plans A, B, C, and D, which I will not bore you with.

Then we realized that the television crews from HGTV, DIY, or Kitchen Crashers were "no-shows".....and we rolled up our sleeves and did our own DIY on a Dime, except it was more like a penny - a shiny new copper penny!

When we moved into this old house, the kitchen had well built white cabinets, copper hardware, a dishwasher that was older than me, milk chocolate walls and ceiling, and acrylic craft painted countertops.  The countertops looked pretty good three years ago, but lately Mrs. Prather's pink has been peeking through. Early on, we repainted the walls and replaced the dishwasher.  Then we just decided to just live with it for a while.

After months of researching Pinterest, I ditched all those ideas of painting the cabinets in a weekend, and went with simple. Keep it simple. Keep the cabinets. Keep the hardware. Keep the countertops.  Keep the floor.  Keep the appliances (except for the dishwasher). The cabinets and hardware got a good scrubbing and touch-up paint on the cabinet's chips and scratches.  

I painted the countertops black with a Rust-Oleum product (according to directions) especially made for that project.  The faux tin paintable wallpaper on the backsplash looked worse than faux, so it came down almost as soon as it went up.  I think it was the installer, not the product.

By now, the man of the house decides he had better get involved and we moved on to the next plan . All we needed were 9 sheets of faux tin ceiling tiles, a man who understands a tape measure, and the right tool for the job..  

The instructions said it could be accomplished in a few hours.  It was more like all day, because there were four light and switch plates to cut around.  I'm so glad he helped. He's so smart. 

Keeping the copper hardware gave us a new purpose for thrift shopping. $15 for the whole box of copper stuff.   A bargain here, a find there, and we had every decoration we needed, and then some. 

I would have never chosen all that copper if it hadn't been for keeping the handles and hinges, but it's beginning to grow on me.  

Then I got the brilliant idea to glue pennies on cardboard letters from a craft store.  Brilliant.  Except that all the weight is on the front and it took some creative engineering (mostly E6000) to get them to stand up!  So as a word of warning - buy wood letters if you are glueing pennies.

The reminder to E.A.T. and the copper boiler rummage sale find, work perfectly on the garage sale oak hutch with it's fresh coat of black.  The brass handles turned copper with a little help from Rust-Oleum hammered copper spray paint. 

AND the second hand on the second hand bargain box clock is hopelessly broken.  It just hangs there at a the six.  I like it.  We E.A.T. breakfast at six.  We E.A.T. supper at six. 

 Other than that, I figure it's six o'clock somewhere and someone is E.A.T.ing!

And now (drum roll...) the moment you have been waiting for....you are waiting for this moment, aren't you?

BEFORE

AFTER

BEFORE

AFTER

Here is proof that you don't have to spend a fortune updating your old kitchen to make it look like a newer one.  And just maybe it will inspire someone to tackle their tacky kitchen with a little facelift.

You'll never see this kitchen remodel on the cheap in a magazine or on a how to site.  But if you'll come over for supper (at six) you can see it in person and we'll bore you with all our stories.  

Y'all Come!

(We'll E.A.T.)