Life with Music

I can’t imagine my life without music. In many ways, music has shaped the domestic life I know. In my family, music was mandatory. All the kids started with piano lessons at age five and then were given the option of switching instruments in fifth grade. Some might think a mandatory music standard is too strict, too limiting of a child’s freedom. But I am extremely grateful for it! Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of times in my childhood that I dreaded the thirty minute timer sitting on the piano, keeping me from going outside and playing with my friends. But the reward of being able to enjoy music like I do now – to play it, to write it, to sing it, to be in a band – wouldn’t have been possible without my family’s rule.

I recently had the privilege to sing backup at a concert by my friend, Mandy. It was a blast!

Guess who was there grooving to the tunes with me? That’s right – my family. The cool part is, if we wanted to, we could put our own band together.

Hope you’re enjoying the sounds of the season with the people you love.

Haskeland

I come from a traditional family: mom, dad, siblings and multiple pets (ok, maybe the pet part isn’t traditional). Each family is its own country, unique in its manner of speech, favorite foods, and pastimes. Even as a child I remember my curiosity about my friends’ families. Did they have mandatory piano lessons? Did they get to go to the library once a week? Did they stay around the dinner table long after dinner to discuss current events and swap stories? Did they have a cupboard dedicated to Little Debbie snacks?

Paul and I have been married for six and a half years. For the last few years we’ve discussed our desire to start a family of our own. We are the founders of a new country. A combination of our unique family traditions and values, with a few of our own ideas. I think about some of the things that are ours, that make us the family we are (even though we haven’t yet added a little one to the mix):

** We love our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He is our greatest treasure, the source of our love, a constant companion, and the ultimate model of forgiveness and grace.

** We camp whenever we can and love to be “in the wild.”

** We care about the earth and want to be good stewards, but it doesn’t feel like a “Haske” Christmas without a real tree.

** We are not trendy, but we are loyal to certain brands: like Heinz ketchup and Quilted Northern toilet paper.

** We are usually talking about the law, politics, current events, and books we're reading.

** We often end phone conversations with one word: “pieces.” In our country, that means you are loved (to pieces).

** Popcorn is the snack of choice when watching tv or a movie. It has to be made on the stove and sprinkled with excessive amounts of salt.

That's just a glimpse of our country. 

Pretty Things

My friends know that the running joke in my family is that if I could, I would change careers each week. Although I have never considered myself visually artistic, I love, love, love all things design and architecture related. The list of blogs I read consists primarily of those focused on interior and building design.

Not long ago, my dear friend Magdalena recommended this little gem of a book. 

The book’s thesis is one that I have often thought and felt: the beauty or lack of beauty in our surroundings affects how we feel. As humans, we have a deep connection with dwellings. As a young girl visiting the San Juan islands, where my mother spent many of her summers, I remember thinking that if I lived somewhere so beautiful I would never be sad.

It’s a simple thought, and not unequivocally true, yet it created a resistance in my mind to returning to Illinois.

My dad (an Iowa native, which should explain this sentiment) believes that miles and miles of flat land filled with cornfields is beautiful. I couldn’t imagine coming home to Illinois, especially to the Chicago suburbs, because they are so uninspiring to me. I wanted to live in Montana or on an island in Washington. Instead, I moved back home – to Illinois. So while the natural surroundings might not be beautiful. It doesn’t mean the interior of our living spaces can’t be. If it is true that beauty of our surroundings impact us emotionally and our naturally landscape doesn’t help pick us up, the Chicago area should have some of the most beautiful interiors. How’s that for logic? I wonder if psychologists will start prescribing improved interior design as a remedy to depression.

All that to say, if I could spend most of my time looking at beautiful things, I would.

Down on the Farm

My favorite daydream involves wide open spaces and lots of horses. If I knew enough about horses to make a living in the horse industry, I'd be there in a heartbeat. But growing up in a middle class family in the Chicago suburbs didn’t exactly foster this aspiration. It sure doesn’t stop me from dreaming. My farm would have lots of rolling hills. Not too many of those near Chicago. This baby corn row hill is from a  trip to Wisconsin. Notice the slight rise . . .

I get my fix of horses when I can these days. Despite pouring most of our time and resources into our new law practice – Haske & Haske, P.C. – I recently climbed back into the saddle. It felt wonderful. I smiled as much as the ten teenage girls running around the barn, chattering about their favorite mounts. It didn’t feel so good the next day, or even the week after. But really, how would my dream farmhouse be complete without plenty of these powerful beauties in the surrounding hills?

Oh, yes. And I would ride every day and have the strongest thighs of any woman alive. Bye, bye jello legs.

Family Time

This photo is so appropriate. My family heritage on my father’s side is mostly Dutch. My great-grandparents came from Holland and put their stake in the rich farmland of Northwest Iowa. Not only does my family grow lots of corn, but our last name means “rooster!” The photo would be even more appropriate if the popcorn was drenched in caramel because that’s what my sister-in-law and I made last night.

Growing up far from extended family made me think that’s how my life would be as an adult. But I live in the same town as my parents and brother and (never thought I would say this) love it! The spontaneous moments like last night, making caramel corn and watching football, are treasures. Now, more than ever, home means family to me.

Heart Longing

Unraveling my heart's connection with home is not an easy task. Is the knot bound up in childhood memories? Is it merely the sense of retreat and rest?

Is it all the books I poured over, the journeys they took me on that gives home as much a theme of adventure as it does protection?

Without any question the longing belongs to the people (and animals) I find there.

(My sleepy little girl, Reese)

There are other contributers to the constant feeding of this longing to be home, I'm sure.

Forget the tea - I want the pastry!

I drink tea, green tea to be specific, but mostly because it's healthier than the coffee I love. But what goes great with either of those beverages is a pastry. My favorite pastry, influenced by my English heritage no doubt, is the scone. The sweetness and crumbling density of it is, to me, one of the ultimate comforts. If my life revolved around cleaning bedrooms and baking my cravings into reality, this is what I would have made today:

And I would whipped up one of these to go with:



Mailing Perfection

I spent the morning in court. After my case was called, I filed a brief I had spent the last few days drafting. The law has cultivated in me a sharp-edged writing, to the point, exact, persuasive. No matter how satisfying an argument may be, the only writing that brings tears to my eyes arrives in the mail (old-fashioned, I know) from someone I love with a message just for me. 

That happened to me yesterday. My brother, Nate, sent me a letter, mostly filled with song lyrics from a shared favorite song, but ending with perfection. I miss you. I love you. 

(Nate and I doing some home demolishing of a '70s-style bar in my parent's basement.)

Today's daydream: a beautiful, hand-written, heart-felt note. If I were at home today, that would be my activity of choice. All I need is some beautiful stationary. Maybe something like this (from ohlouisedesigns on etsy.com):



Fresh from the Oven

I'm not hungry, or at least I wasn't hungry, until today's domestic daydream. My mouth is watering at the memory of a smell, the fresh-from-the-oven-made-at-home bread smell. If I wasn't at the office reading Illinois contempt of court case law, I would be home working on a yeasty concoction that would fill the entire house with that smell.

Back in my newly married days, I took on my mom's recipe for Apple Streusel Bread, which is when I took this picture. (I was so proud it looked like hers that I had to send it to her). As kids we called it the "apple ladder loaf" because of the criss-cross pattern on top. Mmmmm . . . the smell this makes.

In my dreams, I have time to make the dough from scratch, knead it and let it rise. But my mom was always practical. This beautiful bread starts with sweet dough from the freezer section at the grocery store. My little domestic heart was satisfied with peeling and cutting the apples to make the filling. The smell, my friend, is not diminshed with a little help from the local Jewel.