Bone Marrow Soap

This soap making thing...my learning curve has tuned into more of a Tilt-O-Whirl ride with one of the really scary carnies at the control. You know the one I mean. Tattoos on each finger that spell out "wicked boy", Elvis hair from the Valium- crushed into- his- peanut- butter- sandwich days and of course the carnie would be wearing a Pink Floyd T-shirt but Floyd would be spelled "Floid" because the T-shirt was made by a friend of his. Yeah that is what my newest batch of soap looks like.

I tried the PVC pipe trick to make round bars. That part went OK.

Why thank you. I love the table too. Son Jason made it for me
for Christmas last year
 It seats about 30 as long as folks don't mind lap sitters.

 It was the coloring past that went AWOL. My intent was swirls. Instead I got this,

Can anyone tell me the number for 911 ?

Charming huh ? Like The bruised leg of a gangster that has been at the bottom of Lake Michigan for 3 months. It was suppossed to look beautiful and elegant like this

http://shop.beekman1802.com/images/1230395722606-2104052638.gif  (Oh I love those Beekman boys)

So the hardest part of this deal is...how to price it ? Or better yet what shall I name this batch of soap. "Ecchymotic Essence ?" or "Purple Repugnance ?" And shall I cut it across the grain or with the vein ? I've said it before and I'll say it again...(in a deep crop sharers voice) "No-body knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows the sorrrrrowwww. " Yeah, I hear ya, maybe I shouldn't have left that great paying night job.

Mission Accomplished

Finally, after a week of playing around with blog design and colors, font size and type, gadgets and gidgets, I believe I am satisfied (for now) with the final results. My hardest struggle was with the picture behind my blog title. (Scroll up) I played with several farm pictures I'd taken of our own place, our own critters but none of them felt exactly right. Then tonight when I came home from Springfield and I started making dinner for my own farmhand I noticed this old cookbook on my counter.

My mother-in-law Lois gave it to me and I loved it the minute I saw it.  How could I not ? The farm wife on the cover looks just like me ! That softly curling brown hair, her tender smile, that diminutive waist. The way she rings that bell with so much power causing men and boys to RUN to her. And how about that bow on her apron.? Pure perfection. She is one all together glamorous  farm wife. Yup. Dairy Barbie. That's me.

Is the picture copyrighted you ask ? I'm looking into that right now. The cookbook was published in 1945. Not sure if they even had laws back then. Certainly not laws about what a individual could and could not eat. I mean most of the recipes in it call for REAL BUTTER and RAW MILK, can you imagine ?!?! (Like this chick ever ate real butter. Much more likely she was smearing it all over her face to keep it wrinkle-free  while  she paid her neighbor Fat Georgia to do all the cooking 'cause anyone with half a brain in their head knows skinny farmwifes couldn't make an edible biscuit if their perfect little life wrapped up in the perfect little apron depended on it.) Did I just write that out loud ?

Leaping off the Lap of Luxury

Keith and I are not rich but we are not poor either. We are in fact smack dab in the middle of Middle Class. Very soon this will dramatically change as I leave the stable world of nursing for the unstable world of full time sustainable farming. In a matter of 3 days our joint income will drop by 60 %. WHAT DID YOU SAY ? Yes, it is true 60%. This will include my salary and all the benefits that came with my RN job. ARE YOU INSANE ? you might further inquire. Why yes, yes we are.  You'd have to be to give up the guarantee of good money and great benefits like free teeth cleaning, in exchange for no quarantee of any income what so ever. But thats us, just a couple of wild and crazy kids going for a Blues Brother joyride, seatbelts OFF.

Its been a dream of mine.

The dream of being totally self supporting. The dream of setting all our own hours all the time. (Except for picking up Allana at 2:30 and seeing Aunt Bernie at 4:00 and being at mass at 7:30 , other than THAT...)The dream to make a living the way we choose, by farming  and for me a little writing too. OK a lot of writing. Maybe in between the farming, or about the farming or while farming, not sure how to mash it all together yet. Actually, I have a pretty good idea how I will mash it together...with bangers. One can never go wrong with bangers and mash. Here is a great recipe  http://southernirish.com/bangers-and-mash.  But I digress.

It is all very exciting and very worrisome. Its so easy to have faith when your life is good, not so easy when you are faced with the unknown, but how will we ever know if we do not try ? We know we won't starve, we have enough burger alone to keep us going until 2013, but utility companies have never been ones for taking beef patties in exchange for electricity. Thus we will be cutting back WAY WAY back in all areas. Thats OK, neither Keith or I came from Daddy Warbucks. We were both raised by hard working lower class folks who knew how to make a jar of mayo and a pound of bulk bologna go along way.

So here we go. Prayers are appreciated.

Running on Empty

I've been in an accident. Yesterday afternnoon about 5 pm I ran head head on into a brick wall. I did not see it coming. There were no flashing warning lights. I had worked an extra shift last Wed night then my 12 hour weekend night shifts. I slept a little Sunday morning and gotten up about 1:30. Visited with two sons, and one daughter in law, checked on new baby pigs and then Keith and I went for a walk west of our house where this picture above was taken. That is when I hit the brick wall. Don't see it ? Look harder, its right there.

I very suddenly felt so bone weary I thought I would lie right down in the cow pasture in which we were standing and take a nap. I was Dorothy in the poppy field. Unable to resist the pull of heavy sleep. I turned to Keith , mumbled something about "goodnight", crawled back under the electric fence and stumbled upstairs back to bed. I slept 13 hours. This left Keith with all the evening chores. THIRTEEN HOURS ! What a waste of time.

What happened ? Well, the answer is simple. I work much harder than most women and I don't work near as hard as the majority. I juggle work and farm and a little grand kid care and some elder care. I handle paperwork and deadlines, family events and yardwork. I have even been known to go to church, on occasion.  I do laundry, dishes, make lots of  farm related phone calls to folks like the Illinois Department of Health and I fake a lot of meals but I'll be honest, I haven't dusted in weeks and the toilets are completely on their own.

I am woman hear me snore. THATS what happened yesterday.