How to Bottle Summer

 The title of this blog post is a little misleading. Because really, if you could bottle summer, kids across America would be buying out jars and sucking the universe dry. Picnics, lazy days, vacations, travel and sunshine. Who wouldn't want to save up a little of that to crack open on those dreary January days? After living through one winter in Alaska, I've learned that you must savor all things summer while you can.  

Around the clock sunshine, moderate temperatures, and amazing landscapes are just a part of why so many people flock to Alaska during the summer. But, it’s short lived and there is only a little while longer until the snow flies again. So, imagine my delight at learning that I can bottle up a little of this summer magic.

The ragged beauty of wildflowers is one of my favorite things about summer. The jeweled blues of the regal bluebonnets, wide fluffy clusters of queen anne’s lace, and even the bright yellow dandelion create the color of summer. Alaska is abundant with color. One of the most well known wildflowers here is the fireweed.  Fields are blanketed with the thick, pink flowers.  

It's a delight to see these flowers along the sides of the road. Even better is that they are edible, and right now it's jelly making time in Alaska. These little pink petals become sweet, fragrant goodness in a jar that will surely put a damper on this winter's blues.

This is new to me, since I haven't lived here long. So, my friend Deanna showed me the process. It turns out that this was really easy,fun and something great to do with kids. 

Start by picking the wildflowers. We got most of ours from our back yard. You'll need enough to fill two cups tightly packed with the blooms.  

Pluck the blooms from the stem being careful that you look them over as you will find a few bugs here and there and you don't want that in your jelly.

Once you've done that, you need to pour 2 1/2 cups of boiling water over the petals. Almost immediately you'll see the color drain out of the flowers. Let it cool for a bit, then cover the bowl and leave it in the refrigerator over night. 

When you're ready to begin making your jelly, strain the flowers and juice through some cheesecloth or another jelly straining bag. You just want to keep the juice. I thought I had messed up here because the juice was a dirty brownish color. However, here's where the kids will have a lot of fun.  Put the fireweed juice in a large stockpot and add 2 tablespoons of lemon juice. The color will change before your eyes to this really pretty electric pink. 

Add 3 1/4 cups of sugar and 1/2 teaspoon of butter to the mix and stir, heating the mixture to a full rolling boil.

Let the mixture boil for  one minute, then add 6 tablespoons of pectin. Stir, allowing all the pectin to dissolve and bringing the mixture back to a boil for one more minute, then remove from the heat.  Some locals swear by liquid pectin. I used the powdered pectin and it worked just fine. I'd say just use what you're most comfortable with. If it doesn't set, you'll be left with fireweed syrup which would be awesome too.

Fill warm, sanitized jars with the mixture and place in a water bath to seal. 

There you have it. A little Alaska summer in a jar!  Thank you to Deanna and all my local friends for sharing their tips and tricks.

Fireweed Jelly

Ingredients:

2 C. tightly packed flower blooms

2 1/2 C. water

2 Tblsp. lemon juice

3 1/4 C. sugar

1/2 tsp. butter

6 Tblsp. pectin (This amount may change depending on the type of pectin you are using.)

Directions:

Place only the blooms in a mixing bowl.  Bring water to a boil and pour over the blooms. Let cool, seal and place in the refrigerator overnight. Strain bloom mixture through a cheesecloth  keeping only the juice. Combine fireweed juice, lemon juice, sugar and butter in a stockpot and bring to a boil, stirring constantly. Allow the mix to boil for 1 minute. Mix in pectin bringing to a boil again for another minute. Remove from heat. Add jelly to warm, sanitized jars. Place jars in a water bath to allow them to seal. 

Writing with Muskox

Sometimes you have to get out of your own head and out of your idealized version of how things are supposed to go to get things done. Let’s take a look at the writer’s life for instance. Here’s how I picture it: a low burning fire, a light crackling sound, in a leather wing-backed chair with a mug of coffee. Right!  Not when you're the taxi driver for three very busy kids.

Here’s how it really is, at least for me. First of all, I’m writing a blog post about absolutely nothing because I simply have to get something out there since it’s been ever so long since I’ve done so. Am I sitting in a quaint little coffee shop with bohemian cohorts that are studiously typing away or sketching in little notebooks? No. Am I lounging on a rock overlooking a picturesque lake that will inspire Thoreau like descriptions winning me the admiration of all my writer friends? No. Well, where the heck are you? (I hear you asking this in my head)

I am parked beside a muskox farm, cramming my laptop between me and the steering wheel of my pickup truck waiting for my son at cross-country practice. Yea, that’s not really what I had in mind as the idyllic writer’s life. But, the more I travel and explore, I realize that the muse can come in all packages. So, I think I can appreciate this spot. This will be a new trend, I think, everyone will want to find their own muskox farm to write by.  

However, as I swat at the thousandth mosquito and roll up my window for the hundredth time, I am beginning to doubt myself. 

My husband sums it up best, “Ahh, the beauty of the muskox. Inspiring in stature and majestic composition as well as pleasing to the nose. Reminds one of a smelly platypus, if there is such a thing.” 

                                                                                      www.alaskawildlife.org

                                                                               Isn't this the sweetest face?

   

There really is no requirement for a “writing spot”. Wherever you can find to put your butt in the seat and put pen to paper is the ideal place. That’s the brilliance of writing. You can really do it just about anywhere. I’m thinking the shower might be difficult, but I’m sure there's someone out there who has done it.

My writing spot may not be the most charming, but having the time to sit down to a keyboard and dream is a blessing. So, wherever your inspiration comes from, whether it be under the lamplit haze of Guiness in a darkened pub, or out among the muskox-- write on dear friends, write on.

Drop That Shoe!

This is my dog Chewy. Well, this was her six months ago. Who could resist that little fluffy face? I certainly couldn't.  That's how she came to be a part of our family.  She came to us from the local animal shelter, so adorable and full of personality. I just didn't realize how much personality we were in for. No, I didn't name her for her chewing habit as one might think. She's actually named after Chewbaca from Star Wars.

Believe me, we weren't delusional in thinking that it was all going to be easy. We knew what we were in for when we brought home a puppy. We were prepared for whining, cleaning up messes and chewing. So, we brought home toys and watched an endless number of You Tube videos about training your pet.

Fairly quickly we realized that we must have a smart animal (now don't stop reading because of my arrogance here, because it's going to come back and bite me in a minute, literally).  In a little over a month, Chewy was crate trained, she could sit and stay on command and rarely did she have accidents in the house. We thought, "Hey, this puppy stuff is easier than we thought."

But then, as we were patting ourselves on the back and basking in our own glory, Chewy entered her teenage years. Now, this is me making up my own term for this phase in her life. I am not a dog expert and have no idea if she's actually a teenager or not, however it makes sense and so I'm going to go with it.

One day she went from taking command to complete defiance. No longer was anything in the house safe. Dog toys were ignored.  Things like a fresh copy of my writing, magazines, and throw pillows were destroyed with an awe-inspiring viscousness. We are always chasing after her, "Chewy's got another shoe!" We've learned the "double-team" technique to retrieve what she has stolen and we',ve blocked every entrance to stairs and bedrooms. I've had to go back to using the baby gates that I used when my kids were toddlers.

As I'm writing this, I've had to get up more than once to stick my hand down her throat to rescue a lego man. Gross, I know. She's chewed our couch, the headrest in our truck, countless toys and shoes. My kids could legitimately be able to say, "The dog ate my homework."  There are times that I think, "I can't do this. What was I thinking bringing a puppy into our already hectic life?" I've reassured myself that this behavior won't last forever.  Then I recall reading, Marley and Me: Life and Love with the World's Worst Dog by John Grogan. But Chewy's not that bad, is she?

The time she got her head stuck in a bucket.

No, Chewy is just Chewy and we love her, despite the aggravation. You don't stop loving your children when they misbehave and you don't stop loving your pets either.

The silver lining here is, she makes us laugh, she loves us unconditionally, and we wouldn't trade her for the world. I love the way that when I talk to her she rolls over for a belly rub, the way she leans into me with her body to say "Goodmorning," and the way she is always up for an adventure whether it's hiking, biking or just tossing a tennis ball in the yard. She never complains and she's always happy, even when I'm yelling at her to "Drop that Shoe!"

Chewy, the teenager.

Just When I Thought It Would Never End

The last day of school has come and gone. Dreams of swimming pools and lazy days in the afternoon sun dance in my head. But when I open my eyes and look out into my backyard, I see snow. It is melting- very, very slowly. The grass is brown and dry. The birch trees still swing naked branches. The reality is that I am enduring the longest winter of my life.

I knew moving to Fairbanks, Alaska would come with unique challenges. The biggest change that we knew we would have to make is getting acclimated to the environment. The first snowflakes began to fall in late September and they have remained until the end of May. We became accustomed to living in darkness, bracing ourselves against the stinging temperatures and learning to skate across parking lots. We anxiously anticipated each change, watching for just how far below zero we would see the scale drop.  It has been adventure.

When the days began to grow longer and the sun began to shine, my hopes filled for warmer days. But they didn't come. Mother Nature seduced me with rising temperatures only to have them plummet suddenly and fresh snow to blanket the ground. I have to admit that I have grown weary of this everlasting cold.

But, just when I thought it would never end, warmth appears on the horizon. On the last day of school, I was a silent observer watching kids enjoy the pleasures of summer. There was a picnic. The aroma of hot dogs on the grill wafted over volleyball games and flying frisbees. The cherry on the top had to be watching kids line up for a slip-n-slide right alongside a huge pile of snow. Yes, they were in their bathing suits and there was water involved.

The silver lining is that summer is on its way, even in Alaska winter does not last forever.

I Fell Off the Blogging Wagon and Hit My Head on Facebook

Dear friends,

I was hesitant to post this. In fact, I had posted it yesterday but deleted it after hearing of the devastation in Oklahoma. It just seemed frivolous and my heart didn't feel right.  After some consideration, I have chosen to post it anyway as it is meant to be for lighthearted entertainment.  Please know that my thoughts and prayers are with those of you in Oklahoma and my heart is broken for the losses that you have suffered.

Today I realized that it has been a month since I posted something on this blog. Why? No special reason. Just a little self-doubt and self-deprecation. 

Have you ever noticed that when you’re feeling blue, that everyone around you, or on Facebook, or (insert your favorite media here) seem to live a perfect life? With the click of a button I can follow the daily lives of dear friends on a minute-by-minute basis. It’s fun. There are new babies arriving, fluffy dogs doing funny things, and so many witty comments. But, sometimes the envy monster grabs me around the neck and throws me down.

 Now, I’m grown-up enough to know that the perfect life doesn’t exist. We all have our unique struggles and strife and we go to social media for entertainment, not to wallow in self-pity. So, how do we keep the green eye of jealousy from surfacing the next time a friend posts pictures of their tropical vacation when we’re stuck in the snow?

It all has to do with balance. If you carry a big enough load, eventually you will fall. There are so many things we try to carry in life. Family, work, school, church, and the list goes on and on.  Some people are great a managing these things. I see all your organized lists and perfectly scripted carpools. Me, I’m better at pinning organization tips on Pinterest than actually putting them into practice. Then I think to myself, why can’t I be like that person, I must be an utter failure. But, I’m not. My life is different from yours and your life is different from mine.  Granted, there is room for improvement and if I really want to change, I can change.

When you don’t allow yourself to see the positive things in your own life, that’s when you go to a concert where you watch kids play the violin. Then you realize that you can’t play the violin and don’t have time to learn it, so then you end up on the couch in your sweats watching reruns of House Hunters and thinking that if only you could afford a house in the Hawaiian Islands everything would be better. Or maybe not. That might just be me.

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

 Today I signed up to follow all my favorite blogs with Bloglovin. You should too. It's easy and all my favorites are in one place. Don't miss a single post. Oh, and be sure to add The Winged Pen to your favorites. Please and Thank you! If you need some more reasons to sign up with Bloglovin, read my friend Anna's post over at The Silent Isle.

Awakening the Joy of a Venomous Teenager- A Feel Good Story

If you give a girl a mallet, she'll want to beat a drum.  Let the girl beat the drum, and she'll want to find her rhythm. And when she finds her rhythm, the music will awaken her soul.

This girl, I'll call her Kelly, is the type of adolescent that might cause a teacher to run for the hills when they see her name on their roster. Defiant, attention-seeking, and not living up to her potential, Kelly frustrates even the most patient of educators. This is the type of student that you want so badly to reach because you know that if they would just lay their armor to the side for a few moments, they could achieve so much. But usually, Kelly pushes every one of your buttons until you give up and go home with your head hung low at another day of failed attempts.

I was sitting in a darkened theatre after one of these days waiting for a middle school band concert to begin. Three middle school bands had combined to promote the importance of music in schools. I came to listen to my son perform, but I would also see some of my students as well. Freshly showered 7th and 8th graders, wearing crisp white shirts and black slacks, began to file into the auditorium with their instruments glittering in the stage lights. Camera flashes blinded them momentarily but then they began waving to their families and elbowing each other in their giddiness at being the stars of the night. 

The last of them made their way up the stairs and that’s when I saw Kelly. Her face held no expression as she positioned herself next to the big base drum that stood at the back of the musicians and began to twirl her mallet lazily. Each band director of the different middle schools took a turn at directing. I paid little attention to Kelly after the concert began, preferring to play the part of doting parent.  That is until, her director, I’ll call him Mr. B, stepped up to the director’s podium. 

 Mr. B has a great relationship with students and is incredibly talented, so I wasn’t surprised at the smiles on the kids faces when he arrived. 

He held his baton in the air, instruments raised to position in unison, the audience’s breath held in anticipation. With a swift flick, the slow, mellow brass sound swirled through the auditorium. I was held in disbelief at the talent of these kids. Goosebumps raised on my arms and I thought back for a moment about when I was in band and what it felt like to expand your lungs to the breaking point for the beauty of sound. Each part taking its turn and blending in harmony. 

I scanned the company of players, my eyes catching on Kelly. She was smiling, her eyes bright in concentration, focused intently on Mr. B, beating the base drum in time with his direction. I was brought to the edge of my seat, blown away by her obvious joy. My grinch heart swelled three sizes bigger as the song played on and I felt hope return.

                                                                                    cadry'skitchen.com

Kids like Kelly are not hopeless. They are worthy of my efforts, of trying every single day to find whatever it is that reaches into their soul to release that spark buried deep down. I saw it. I saw the fire of passion and I will not forget it.

This is the song that was played that night performed by a different band. If you listen closely, you can hear the base drum. Listen and be filled with inspiration.

Hit the Road Snowman!

         

Dear Mr. Snowman,

            I need you off my lawn. It’s been six months since you’ve frozen yourself into place, staring out into the wild blue. I admit that it’s been fun at times.  The fat, lazy snowflakes drifting through birch trees were magical. Piles of soft fluff to sled through and icicles as tall as my children hanging from the eaves were exciting. It was a novelty, at first, to spend my days in complete darkness, for my kids to pretend to be miners and wear headlamps at the bus stop.

But now that your stay is dragging on and on, I’m seeing the true you.  It’s you that turned the roads into sheets of ice making my car slip and slide. It’s you that caused me to fall on my face in front of a middle school full of kids. It’s you that wakes me up to -12 degrees in April. It’s not right and I just can’t let it go on any longer!

We both knew this was only temporary when you first arrived back in October, but I had no idea that you’d still be hanging on in the middle of April.

It’s hard, I know, to say goodbye. But, the truth is, I’ve fallen for someone else. Someone who can give me green grass, blooming flowers and vegetables pulled straight from the Earth. His name is Spring. He lets me walk barefoot without fear of frostbite and stretch out in a hammock in the bright sun. I want to hear the birds twittering in the trees and leave my coat at home.  We both know that’s just not who you are.

            This might be harsh, but I won’t miss you. I know that you’ll be back soon. It’s only a short separation after all. It will do us good. By the time that you return, I’ll have temporarily forgotten all of your annoying habits and will be mesmerized by your magic all over again.   Let go.  It’s over!

Sincerely,

Sick of Winter

You Are My Sunshine

  

         I am humbled and grateful on this one-week anniversary of the existence of my blog to be offered the Sunshine Award by Anna at The Silent Isle.  Thank you, dear Anna, for inspiring me to be creative and courageous as I step into the wide, wide world of blogs.

        

“The Sunshine Award is an award given by bloggers to other bloggers. The receivers of the Sunshine Award are bloggers who positively and creatively inspire others in the blogsphere.”

            I feel myself slipping into the prepared acceptance speech that I will now pull from inside of my coat pocket.  I would like to thank the academy, my parents, and most of all God. Ok, I think that’s enough. But, truly, if you are reading this today, thank you for stopping by and taking a few minutes out of your day to read my words.  My hope is that over time my blog will be as entertaining for you to read as it is for me to write.

         The conditions of this award are for me to share 7 facts about myself and to nominate 7 other blogs. So here it goes, in no particular order of importance.

1.) Growing up, I wanted to be Snow White. No, I don’t mean that I wanted to be a princess. I actually wanted to be the lady dressed in the costume and walking around Disney World acting as the character. I couldn’t imagine a more fun occupation than spending your days in “the happiest place on Earth.”  By the way, that dream never came true. But, I have been to Disney and it was really as magical as I had imagined.

2.) I am a super fan girl nerd when it comes to Harry Potter, Twilight, Game of Thrones, The Hunger Games and some others. I wear the t-shirts, drink from the coffee mugs and listen to podcast discussions on my way to and from work everyday. I’m probably just a blip away from writing fan fiction, and I’m pretty sure some of you will stop reading at this point.

  

3.) Pizza is my absolute favorite food of all time. I have been thankful on my few trips to Europe that this food seems to be universal and one of the least expensive things to eat. My husband jokes about my “needing” pizza when I was pregnant. I do believe that all three of my kids should have been born with swarthy Italian mustaches based on the amount of pizza that I consumed while they were in the womb.

4.) My husband, Stephen, is a Captain in the U.S. Army. That makes me a very proud Army wife who has lived in six different states in the last 15 years. I’ve learned to use Army terms and phrases such as “Hooah”, “Roger”, and “Shut up and color”. I’ve also learned that if you’re not five minutes early, then you’re actually fifteen minutes late. Despite these things, I can’t say the Pledge of Allegiance or listen to the national anthem without tearing up.

5.) I once loaded 400 pounds of sand by myself into the back of my husband’s truck when he was deployed. It was needed to weigh down the back-end to stop sliding all over the ice in the New York winter. My then four-year-old helped me stack and arrange eight, fifty-pound bags. I felt like She-Ra once it was done.

6.) My favorite author is Edgar Allan Poe and my favorite holiday is Halloween. I love dark and creepy. However, I refuse to watch scary movies or go to haunted houses because I don’t like to be scared. Don’t worry, I don’t understand the contradiction either.

7.)Whenever I am at home with the audience of only my immediate family, I like to turn whatever I’m saying into song, think opera.  My kids really love this (sarcasm) when I wake them up in the morning.

        So, there you have it. More things about me than you ever needed to know. Now, on to the best part.

        I have had this blog in the works for over a year, but I just didn’t have the courage to make it live on the web. The bloggers that I will nominate today are all very talented writers that have inspired and encouraged me to take that step forward.  Take the time to check out their blogs, you won’t be disappointed.

Molly at Molly Elizabeth Lee  
Lisa at lisavpires 
Alicia at On the Road to Authorship 
Brooke at Brooke Bullman
*Kate at Nested
*Drema at The Grammar of Painting
*Amy at Addled

*These wonderful ladies have already been nominated for this award by others, but since I read them daily and they serve as inspiration to me, I think you should visit them too.

This Week I Am Just Cherry Flavored Jell-O

          This is something I have dreaded every year since I was in the fifth grade. No, it’s not the bi-annual teeth cleaning, or visits to the doctor, even though I do dread those things with a passion. But, this is something that even as an adult reduces me to a pile of quivering Jell-O. Wow, what is it that does this to me?

           Testing.

                                                 

                                                        www.nea.org

            As a kid in Texas it was the TAAS test, then the TASP test, and the CATS test. These tests were never as hard as I imagined they would be, but when adults began to emphasize the importance of sleep and eating breakfast, all of a sudden it became a bigger deal. I thought that going to bed on time and keeping my belly full was something that you should do anyway. So, on the day of testing I would double my breakfast and end up with a stomachache to go with the raging nervousness.

Now, as a teacher, the nervousness has tripled. Even though I am confident about the work that I do, when the week of the state test comes around, I find myself in clench mode. If you don’t know what clenching is, read my friend Kate’s blog, Nested.

     I have proctored a lot of different kinds of tests. At this point in my career, I’ve been a certified teacher in six states, because I’m also an Army wife.  Anybody who has given one of these tests knows how many detailed rules and regulations accompany them. Not to mention the pressure that hangs over you that the kids perform at the very best. Because, “if you’re not first you’re last”, right Ricky Bobby?

Yesterday, as I gave the test, I made a mistake. It was a minor one, but it was a mistake. I had to admit this mistake to the higher powers and reap the wrath. No, the integrity of the test wasn’t compromised, no child was left behind, and no child was prevented from doing their best. All in all, this mistake of mine was nothing. But as I walked away from school yesterday, I felt like my entire professional career was a sham. A little overdramatic? Yea, maybe, but that’s what I let myself be reduced to.

Later, as I was drowning my sorrows in strawberry shortcake, the food not the cartoon, I realized that this test does not define me. It didn’t define me as a kid and it doesn’t define me as a professional. I will measure my success by different standards, one that sees everyday evidence that students are  improving and gaining the skills they need to progress. This test is a benchmark. It is only one assessment tool. Like other tools in my toolbox, it doesn’t work alone.

The Easter Dress

Squeaky, new, white patent leather shoes, lacy white gloves and a new dress in the shade of mint green. That’s what I remember most about Easter.  I was so lucky as a kid to have a family of seamstresses and I could always look forward to a new dress on Easter Sunday, tailor made for me. 

My sister’s and I didn’t get an Easter basket delivered from the Easter Bunny. In fact, I didn’t even know about the Easter Bunny until I was in Junior High and realized that all these years, all the other kids had been getting gifts on Easter.  Of course, we always got plenty of candy eggs and trinkets, and a day filled in the sun hunting for the elusive “golden egg”.

Our Easter mornings involved being washed and curled, and finally getting to wear that new dress to church. The material was crisp, without any wrinkles or creases in the pleats, and the shoes, for a very short time were scuff free.

I never felt more beautiful than on Easter morning.  I walked a little taller in those shoes with tiny raised heels and sashayed a little bit more to let the skirt twirl back and forth.

 A lot of years, the dresses that my sisters and I had were made to match or coordinate in some way. By the time that I had gotten to Junior High this was so not cool and all I wanted was something from the store, something trendy with a “label”.

What I didn’t realize then was that it wasn’t the dress that made me feel beautiful. It was because I felt special.  The dresses were designed for us. Hours were spent getting them just right for us, the colors chosen just for us. It was all that love that made me feel special, not the dress, not really. 

Today, when it gets close to Easter, I think back to the traditions of my family and hope that my children will look as fondly on their memories as I do mine. I am not a seamstress. It’s something that I hope to learn someday, along with crocheting, quilting and all the crafty things I was just too cool to learn as a kid. But, even though my daughter won’t wake up this Easter to a tailor made dress for her,  I hope that I will find ways to make her feel special. I hope that she will feel beautiful simply because I love her.