Favorite Things

 

Ever since Julie Andrews sang the infamous words “raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens”, we have had a fascination with favorite things. According to the song, we just need to remember such things and then we won’t “feel so bad.” Oprah took this concept a step further and hosted Favorite Things shows where the lucky participants received all of Oprah’s latest items of choice.

In the spirit of giving, I am going to pretend to give all of you readers my favorite things. Here is what you are going to receive in our land of make believe.

1) Stir Crazy Popcorn Popper— I’ve never been able to navigate a bag of microwave popcorn without burning the bag and let’s face it, nothing says stink like a burnt bag of popcorn. I refrained from giving you the new Deluxe model due to unfavorable reviews on Amazon. I’m going to stick with my tried and true undeluxe machine without all the bells and whistles. It will develop a crusty, melty patina after several years of use which will only add to its charm and flavor development. It will definitely make you feel not so bad when the munchies hit on a cold winter’s eve.

2) Heating Pad—Never mind the disclaimers on the package that “burns can occur on any setting” and “not to be used with pets or invalids”, I’m going to continue to live with my little square of risky behavior. I confess that it will probably take a 12-step program to wean me away from my heating pad dependency, however, there is just nothing as cozy as a fresh crossword puzzle, a sharp pencil and a warm heating pad. Cheap entertainment and no need for a leopard print Snuggie.

3) Penzeys spices—I should rue the day I received my first Penzeys catalog. But I don’t. I love the quality of their products. I also love the fact that their home base is in the Midwest rather than some exotic locale. Your gift package will include my favorite go-to group: Italian Herb Mix, Garlic Powder, Ground Pepper, Greek Seasoning and English Prime Rib Rub. And since we’re still in fantasy land, I’ll throw in a few vanilla beans for your next Crème Brulee and some Grey Sea Salt for whenever you need a bump up on the flav-o-meter.

4) P.D. James series of mystery novels—I’m usually reading non-fiction, but when I have a yen for something less didactic, I switch to mystery novels. The very British Ms. James is still penning books at the age of 92 and she knows how to spin a tale of intrigue without a lot of mushy romance and goopy sensationalism. And who doesn’t love a spot of tea and a plate of crumpets with their murders?

5) Turkish Terry Cloth Bathrobe—Nothing says luxury and relaxation like a plushy new robe. I have texture issues so I prefer the heft and weave of terry cloth. I would probably keep my robe on all day if it wasn’t socially unacceptable so I just wait for the sun to go down and then scramble for my evening wrap. No zippers, snaps or buttons allowed.

Merry Christmas to you all and I hope your schnitzels are served with noodles and your apples are baked into strudels. 

 

 

 

Forbidden

 

Over the years, I have logged my share of hours watching cooking shows. It began with the black and white version of Julia Child as the French Chef and has progressed to an endless palette of shows teaching us how to cook everything from artichokes to ziti. Despite my zeal for watching the shows, I must confess that the transfer into my kitchen is not always immediate or long lasting. I think part of the reason for this disconnect is that there are very few shows (as in none) that focus on real Midwestern cooking. There seem to be a few ingredients that are forbidden in the world of culinary masterpieces. Never mind that these ingredients have stood the test of time and are a cook’s best friend when time is in short supply. I must warn you that the following food items may be disturbing to some. Readers are advised to use discretion before going on.

1) Velveeta Cheese—Yes, there is something creepy about a brick of golden yellow cheese product that sits on unrefrigerated shelves in the grocery store. But, the creamy goodness that occurs when chunks of it are stirred into soups or dip is hard to beat. And to top it all off, there are dozens of uses for the sturdy little box after the cheese is long gone. Win, win in my book.

2) Cream of Anything soups—I’m sure Martha Stewart would have to use an Epi-Pen if she so much as whispered the name of a canned cream soup. Well, I’ll leave it up to Martha to stir up a fancy roux or béchamel sauce for her food binders. As for me, a can of cream of celery soup is just the ticket for whipping up a hearty hotdish on a cold winter’s night. And, yes, Martha would need another Epi-pen for saying the word hotdish.

3) Canned Salmon—Salmon is a very popular ingredient on cooking shows. I’ve learned how to select a fresh salmon by checking for clear eyes, smooth skin and the clean smell of the ocean. Land locked alert—not much for fresh salmon around here. Here’s my advice for selecting salmon—look for a can that is not dented and has a salmony looking fish on the label. Works every time and makes the best salmon loaf around.

4) Cool Whip—There is probably nothing related to the world of dairy in this product, but its versatility just can’t be beat. It doesn’t need whipping, it’s stable enough to withstand the rigors of warm jello, and it keeps in the freezer for…..ever, I think. It’s also quite tasty as a snack right out of the bowl. And, like Velveeta, there are infinite uses for the leftover container.

5) Lipton Onion Soup Mix—Long before we had ten shelves of herbs and spices to choose from in the grocery story, we had a lowly little box with a couple of packets of “onion soup mix.” I’m not sure how many cooks actually used it for making soup, but, boy-howdy, did folks ever use it in a variety of other dishes---meatloaf, hamburger, pot roast, dips--- just about anything that needed a flavor boost. I noticed that the humble box has received a makeover and is now called “Recipe Secrets”. I’m not sure who we are keeping the secrets from, but I’m all for anything that makes life easier.

So, whether you are using Gruyere, Gouda or Velveeta cheese, I hope your holiday cooking season is filled with good recipes and good company. Bon appétit.

 

 

 

 

Here is my recipe for Hearty Beef Stew. No fancy red wine, Turkish bay leaves or homemade beef stock necessary.

1 ½ lbs. stew meat

4-6 potatoes

1 ½ c. carrots

1 med. onion

2-3 stalks of celery

1 can tomato soup

1 can cream of mushroom soup

1 ½ cans of water

Salt and pepper to taste

Cut up vegetables and stir all ingredients together in a large pot. Bake at 275 degrees for 5 hours.

 

Madness

Well, I did it. I dipped my toe into the Black Friday pool of mayhem and madness. I had no intentions of doing so until I noticed a significant 3-digit savings on a futon I had been eyeing for our camping style basement. I still would not have succumbed to such folly if the store offering the special wasn’t just five blocks from my house and the opening time was my usual grocery shopping time of 6:00 am. Doable. I thought. What I discovered is that there are hidden rules involved with this type of commando shopping that are unbeknownst to me.

I got up at my usual time in the morning and had my usual cup of coffee. At the appointed time of 6:03, I left my house and arrived at the store.

6:04: The parking lot didn’t look too full so I felt I could leave the safety of my vehicle and enter the premises. I did so with the bravado of someone who might actually know what they are doing under these circumstances. Upon entering the store, however, it was evident that I was swimming with sharks and these sharks were swimming in packs. Staccato like code speak was being shouted out as carts whizzed by me with destinations clearly understood by the cart drivers. Eyes were glazed over from Black Friday shopping that started before the turkey was even out of the oven on Thursday. Speed walking was the norm. Carts were jostling by with driven ferocity.

6:06: I quickly ducked into the baby formula aisle when I realized I was in danger of being trampled by a cart on my tail. I found myself hyperventilating by the cans of Similac, hoping I could still make it a few more feet to the futon display. What I discovered was that the futon display had nothing to do with the speeding carts dogging me down the aisle. It was the pop stacked behind the futons that was causing all the ruckus. Apparently, pop was the hot item at this store and folks were busy stacking them on the futons as they rearranged their carts so they could stuff more of the sugar laced elixir into their carts.

6:07: I bravely stepped out of the formula aisle and made a few more steps toward the futons. Now I was surrounded by pop laden carts and wheezing shoppers trying to wield their goods to the checkout. I realized that purchasing a futon was going to involve manager intervention as it is not something that one just picks up and tucks neatly into a cart.

6:08: I abandoned the futon plan because, quite frankly, the shoppers around me were getting scary. But, I was still determined to make this a “shopping experience”, so I went for the discounted rolls of toilet paper (clearly, not as hot an item as the pop). I moved toward the checkout counters and saw that all the carts were now lined up to kingdom come, waiting to be checked out.

6:09: Put the Charmin down and head for the car.

6:10: Home again and drinking another cup of coffee or two.

While I was certainly not successful in my first attempt at Black Friday shopping, I did learn that it’s all about the timing. I went back later to check on the futon and found a much different scene. Although there were still folks wrestling cases of pop into their semi-trailers, most of them were moving on to their next port of call. I walked in and found a manager who was more than willing to give me a deal on the futon of my choice.

And I got my rolls of toilet paper.

Mission accomplished.

 

 

 

 

 

Fix-It

 

Between the two of us, my husband and I have a few skills that have helped us trot along in life. Give my husband a set of blueprints and he can build a house, a deck or just about anything made of wood. Give me a room full of twelve-year-olds and I can get them through a lesson on mitosis without loss of limb or life. We are both able to have semi-intelligent conversations about local and world events. We enjoy classic movies and an occasional musical or two. We like to read and are happy to share our opinions with anyone who asks (or doesn’t).

When it comes to all things mechanical, however, we are most assuredly the nitwit twins. My husband, of course, is a little more likely to take a crack at fixing whatever is broken. In defense of him, he is definitely more adept at hands on projects. As stated earlier, if there is wood involved, no problem. Moving metal parts are another story. I’ve watched him hover over an uncooperative engine with that “You’re not going to outsmart me” look in his eyes, only to be beaten by the sputtering and spattering of the world of combustion.

Recently, our furnace went out. Of course, it was Saturday morning when we noticed the drop in temperature. Of course, that means choosing between a very expensive service call or dressing up like Nanook of the North. Of course, we chose “fixing it” ourselves.

Over the years, we have developed a two pronged attack strategy for repairing things that are out of our league. Step one is to “Leave it set.” I knew this directive was coming my way so I went to the thermostat and turned off the furnace. By this time the house was quite frosty so I knew the loss of further heat was going to be minimal. After about a half hour, we turned the furnace back on, crossed our fingers, slurped another hot cup of coffee and waited for the magic to happen. The furnace made a groaning sound as it kicked in, but, alas, no warm air was projected from the registers.

Time for step two: Give it a good whack. I must confess that this step made me a bit nervous. Something about thumping away on an object that produces fire and heat seems risky to me. But desperate times call for desperate actions. I heard a few wallops on the furnace and lo and behold heat started flowing through the room. That’s the good news. The bad news is that as soon as the furnace reached the set room temperature, it shut off and did not start up again. So, you guessed it, we spent the weekend heating the house up to tropical proportions, letting it cool down, whacking the furnace and starting the cycle over again. It was a wear-your-layers kind of weekend.  And, yes, the furnace has been diagnosed as terminal so ka-ching, ka-ching, makes me want to keep whacking the beast.

All this makes me wonder if our fix-it strategy would work for me. I have many days when I’m quite out of sorts. So, if you see me sitting on my couch, thumping myself in the head, you’ll know I’m just striving for a re-set.

 

Inventions

I recently finished a book about the inventions of Clarence Birdseye. If you think you might have heard of his name, you are probably right. He was the man who introduced America to the possibilities of frozen foods. He was clearly a man before his time. The average American didn’t even own refrigerators, much less freezers that didn’t involve ice blocks and sawdust. He was a persevering soul with a longsuffering wife and he went to his grave still sketching inventions that he was sure would make the world a better place.

I’m not an inventor but I am grateful for the inventions that have enhanced my life. Here are a few of them:

1) Showers—When I’m forced to use a bathtub, I feel like I’m sitting in my own soup, watching my skin curdle. Not very refreshing in my estimation. I’m not sure if the shower was ever “invented” but someone had to follow up on how good it felt to stand under a waterfall as compared to sloshing around in a murky river. As my husband likes to say, “There’s nothing like a hot shower to wash the stink of the day away.”

2) Pencil sharpeners—Using a knife to whittle away at a nubbin of graphite embedded wood is one way to sharpen a pencil, but not very efficient. We now have crank sharpeners, mini-hand held sharpeners and electric sharpeners, all of which will probably be displayed in the Smithsonian Institute as relics of the pre-IPad generation. Until then, I’m happy to crank away.

3) Bunn coffeemakers—I love my Bunn. For those of us who have survived percolators, jars of instant coffee and the early models of Mr. Coffee, it is a blessing to use a coffeemaker that has your cup of java brewed before you are finished brushing your teeth. A coffee addict needs a buzz early and often.

4) Air Conditioners—This tundra girl never lets a summer day go by without thanking the Lord for the air conditioner. Having grown up in a house without such a convenience, I’m well aware of the toll that heat takes on one’s nerves and productivity. My mom was an expert in utilizing the “prairie air-conditioning system”--open all the windows in the evening and put a large box fan in the window to pull the cool air into the house. Then, promptly close all the windows in the morning to keep the sultry air of the day outside of the house. I can still see the feet of my sister and I as we stuck them into our bedroom window from our bed, trying to cool off enough to get a good night’s sleep.

5)  Curling irons—Believe it or not, folks, there was a time before curling irons were accessible to the general public. As someone with poker straight hair, I am grateful for the chance to add a little lift to my lifeless tresses. I remember a time when some women did their Saturday afternoon grocery shopping with a head covered with hair rollers.  Electric rollers and curling irons have pretty much eradicated that fashion statement. Probably a good thing.

6) Pasteurization—Thank you, Louis Pasteur, for your obsession with microbes. Pasteurization has made it possible for me not to worry about pathogens doing the backstroke in my dairy products. I’ve been up close and personal with a cow’s udder and I think it is best to leave the raw stuff to the baby cows.

I hope you are grateful, too, for all the inventions that make your life a bit more pleasant. And, thank you again, Mr. Birdseye, for making peas just as delightful in the winter as they are in their summer pods.

 

 

 

 

Splendor

 

For those of us who adore the season of fall, now is a glorious time of year. Not only do we finally get to enjoy a reprieve from the gripping jaws of heat and humidity, we are also treated to sights that can only be described as splendorous. I can’t help but be stunned by trees clothed in golden and crimson glory. As the long afternoon rays of sunshine catch the branches of dazzling leaves, one can only pause and bathe in the beauty of such created goodness.

I do not live in a state known for majestic mountains and dense forests. Our state does not have waterfalls found at breath taking heights or ocean waves lapping upon seashell studded shorelines. We do, however, have wide open spaces that offer panoramic views filled with as much as the eye can drink in. The longer I live here, the more privileged I feel to have been born and raised in the midst of such splendor. Here are a few sights that continue to amaze me.

1) The horizon—Several years ago I went to New York City and had a fabulous time experiencing the sensations of such a mega city. It didn’t take long, however, for me to feel claustrophobic and penned up like a caged rabbit. I remember thinking how sad it would be to never see a sunset or a sunrise. I can’t imagine only seeing clouds that graze the top of skyscrapers. Plains people are able to watch the passing of clouds and experience the weather that so often accompanies the different cloud formations. The horizon also provides an unshuttered view of magnificent sunrises and sunsets. The colors of such glory defy description.

2)  Storms—Those who know me well will be surprised to see this one on my list. I’m an anxiety ridden wreck when I hear the rumble of thunder or the howling of a gale force wind. Nevertheless, a prairie storm is certainly something to behold. With our landlocked wide open spaces we are subject to winds that would be classified as hurricane force in many coastal states. As our precious trees bend and sway in the path of a storm and crops flatten toward the ground, prayers are sent up for mercy from hail and the vortex of a sudden tornado. There is a helpless splendor about such furies of weather than can only be experienced on the plains.

3) Amber Waves of Grain—For some, this is just a phrase in a song. For others, it is a reality based on the sights and sounds of a fall harvest. I am awestruck by the tenacity and perseverance of farmers who defy the odds of weather, weeds and weevils so that the world can be fed. A combine gliding across rows of summer’s accumulations is a glad sight, indeed.

4) Night Sky—If you’ve never looked at the sky on a clear evening in a place unencumbered by the residual lights of city dwellings, you are missing one of life’s sweet pleasures. The velvety backdrop is awash with flickering stars, gleaming planets and streaks of galaxy denizens. Occasionally, a glittering meteor races across the sparkling canvas, rivaling the splendor of a 4^th of July display.

I certainly hope you are enjoying the fall season as much as I am. It matters not whether you are climbing the trails of mountaintops or sitting at your kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee. Splendor will always be in the eye of the beholder.

Enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

Classic

 

 

Some words just seem to have a soothing nature about them and I think the word classic is one of them. Classic is a timeless and non inflammatory way to speak of things that hearken to the past. Just try to label something as old or traditional and watch yourself spiral downward into the abyss of being put out to pasture. Classic seems a safer way to go.

Some of us remember the case of Coca Cola. After making an attempt to freshen its image with the introduction of a new and improved Coke, a backwash of outrage forced the company to turn its ship around midstream and reintroduce the old favorite. Wisely, the company did not call their product “Old Coke”; rather, they used the moniker “Coke Classic.” Once again all was well in the land of Sodaville.

Clothing also seems to rely on the adjective classic. Suits, tailored shirts, basic blue jeans and turtleneck sweaters have a timeless nature about them. Certainly, garish colors, pumpkin decals and wide lapels can catapult an outfit out of the classic status, but, for the most part, some clothing pieces will always be deemed classic and therefore, stylish. I prefer to call most of my clothing classic and not face the truth that the stuff is just plain old.

Over the past few years I have been on a quest for traditional recipes from my youth. Meatloaf is one example. After experimenting with numerous variations involving spices, meat combinations, sauces and bacon slices, I found myself longing for just plain classic meatloaf with catsup on the side. Exotic, no. Comforting, yes. Add a spoonful or two of mashed potatoes and peace reigneth at my dinner table.

Novels with the classic label are also found on many must read lists. Each year I try to read a classic novel or two just to see what all the hype is about. Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised and other times, not so much. East of Eden by John Steinbeck delighted me with its biblical analogies and lush prose. Eight hundred pages into Anna Karenina, however, and I was ready to meet the same demise as the angst ridden Anna. I gutted it out and made it to the final page and decided something was lost in the Russian to English translation. I guess I’m more of a Tom Sawyer kind of reader. I’ll leave the epic international dramas for other library patrons.

No doubt, I have entered the age zone of somewhere beyond young and middle aged. I, of course, would like to claim the title of classic, rather than just plain old. My wrinkles and arthritic shoulder are telling me otherwise. Maybe, like the classics, getting old is an acquired taste and should be celebrated in small doses. And, if it’s like meatloaf, a little catsup goes a long way.

 

 

 

 

Here is my Classic Meatloaf recipe. Great for cold fall evenings when it’s time to put on a little fat for the winter.

1 ½ pound ground beef

¾ c. old fashioned Quaker Oats
¾ c. chopped onion
½ c. catsup
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 Tbs. Worcestershire sauce
½ tsp. garlic powder
½ tsp. salt
½ tsp. pepper

Combine ingredients and put into loaf pan. Bake for 50-55 minutes at 350 degrees.

 

Call of Duty

 

 

My generation lost an icon last month. His name was Neil Armstrong and he was the first man to step foot on the moon. I vividly recall that warm day in July of 1969 when the radio reported that Mr. Armstrong had indeed reached that beautiful orb in the sky. I remember looking up at the moon that evening and trying to picture men walking about on something that seemed so far away and out of reach for mere earthlings. It was a moment I will never forget.

I am also impressed by the character of Mr. Armstrong. Despite his star-studded accomplishments, he seemed to prefer to stay under the radar if possible. He graciously interacted with his curious and adoring fans but maintained a humble demeanor. During one of his television interviews he stated, “Our lives should not be about one moment of fireworks. Rather, our lives should be based on the on-going ledger of daily living.” Another reporter wrote that despite Neil’s somewhat shy nature, he always “did his duty.”

Over the years I have been blessed to cross paths with folks who have answered the call of duty. Not the kind of duty filled with fanfare and marching off to regions unknown. Rather, the quiet, under the radar, I’m-here-to-serve kind of duty.

The council members of my childhood church come to mind.  Many of these men spent warm, sultry afternoons in classrooms, trying to teach lessons of faith and catechism to a rather tepid audience. The council members had day (and into the night) jobs. Yet, they took the time to stop what they were doing so they could honor their commitment to the youth of the church. Most of the elders had no background in teaching or pedagogical techniques. They answered the call of duty and did their best for us. I wish I had been more appreciative at the time. I am now filled with gratitude for their service.

I am also grateful for the men who stood at my uncle’s graveside this past summer. Despite it being a desperately hot and steamy day, a group of elderly veterans helped my family bury my uncle with a sense of military pride. My guess is that many of the men were suffering from aches and pains of their own. And yet, they answered the call to honor a fellow serviceman. My heart was thankful that morning for their humble commitment.

The moms and dads of the students at the school I attended as a youngster also come to mind. Our school was privately supported, which translated into countless hours of planning and working fundraisers, completing building projects, mowing lawns and on top of it all, writing out  tuition checks. Most of us didn’t have lake homes to help us create memories. What we did have were role models of folks who believed in faith based education and were willing to do whatever it took to make it happen.  

It is quite unlikely that any of us will accomplish something as great as stepping on the moon. It is very likely, however, that we will be given opportunities to serve others. May we all graciously answer our call to duty.

Houston, the Eagle has landed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kitty Cam

A recent news report shared the findings of critter cams placed around the necks of 50 domestic cats. Apparently, our little kitty friends are participating in perilous behaviors, unbeknownst to their owners. According to the report, free roaming felines participate in at least one risky behavior per week. The behaviors include eating and drinking foreign substances, crawling into small spaces, crossing busy roads and encountering other critters. Well, duh. They are cats. The shocking part of this report is that people are surprised by the results. Anyone who has owned a cat knows that cats set their own convoluted agendas and are only too happy to traipse through hill and dale when given a chance. The study also brought light to the fact that cats are predators and that the little “gifts” they bring home to their owners represent just a fourth of the carnage that they are participating in when they are prowling out and about in the neighborhood. For Pete’s sake, what do people think cats are doing with their nine lives? Licking the feet of their masters? Fat chance on that one unless your toes are bathed in eau de mousie. Cats are programmed to stalk and hunt. Take that away and you might have to check into Kitty Prozac for the remainder of their days.

Another result of the study is that cats can be unfaithful to their owners. Apparently, several of the cats studied were eating and sleeping at a variety of households. Which means that the “Have You Seen My Kitty” posters placed on light poles in hopes of locating a stray feline are really just a desperate attempt to locate a traitorous kitty who is enjoying a change from her usual Little Friskies in a blue bowl. Little kitty cat knows that she will return to a hero’s welcome when the time comes and maybe even a tuna treat or two as her joyful owner heaps love upon the prodigal Fluffy.

All this kitty cam voyeurism makes me wonder what would happen if someone secretly hooked us up with a people cam. Here are a few things that would probably be revealed in my cam footage.

1) The chocolate I eat in public is only a fourth of the chocolate I eat on my own. The location of my cache would also be disclosed. A lock and key might have to be used in the future.

2) Sometimes I park in spaces that are too small for me. My depth perception is weak and it is best if I park in a spot that is a kilometer or two away from the nearest vehicle.

3) I willingly interact with strange critters. They are called middle schoolers.

4) I indulge my need for variety in my diet by eating out occasionally. Sometimes food just tastes better when you’re out of the house.

For the most part, I think my cam footage would be a real snoozer. I also know that if I went missing, there would probably not be any “Have You Seen This Woman” posters on the light poles. I think my husband would just set out a little bowl of chocolate on the doorstep and hope for the best.

Olympics

Okay, so much for my blog sabbatical. In defense of myself, I went a week or two without writing a single word, but, fortunately or unfortunately, my brain wouldn’t stop humming. I’m going to blame it on the recent Olympics. All that pomp and circumstance reminded me that the Queen shouldn’t be the only one who gets a chance at being a Bond girl. All of us deserve a little recognition once in awhile. And here is how I think we could make it possible.

How about a Real Life Olympics? The kind where real people who know how to do real things get to strut their stuff. Possible categories include the following.

Moms

Qualifications: 2 hours of sleep, clothing with burp up residue and a tote bag the size of Texas.

Competition: Participants are dropped off at retail centers around the city and given a shopping list. Two pre-nap children are in tow and a gauntlet of toy and candy aisles are navigated until all shopping items are purchased. Points are deducted for tantrums, missing or damaged products and blow-out diapers. A tie-breaking event would involve a trip to the doctor for vaccinations.

Seniors

Qualifications: Over 55, at least two pre-existing conditions such as a knee replacement, shingles and bifocals that don’t work worth a darn.

Competition: Complete a full day’s work with the young pups. Points are deducted for complaining, telling the same story multiple times within an hour and sharing information about the latest doctor’s appointment. A tie-breaker would involve a new computer application.

Teachers

Qualifications: A teaching degree, at least 5 years of experience and a shelf full of workshop binders.

Competition:  Participants are given a topic such as the classification of mollusks. The setting is a classroom filled with middle school students on the day before a holiday. A series of obstacles are presented such as no pencils, SmartBoard bulbs burning out and an evacuation drill. Points are deducted for students not knowing the difference between a cephalopod and a bivalve. A tie-breaker would involve a copy machine.

Grocery Store Checkers

Qualifications: A name tag that shows at least 1 year of experience, khaki pants and a helpful smile.

Competition: A succession of shoppers is sent through the checkout station. Participants must remain cool and polite despite customers talking incessantly on their cell phones, catsup bottle being broken in the aisle and impish children. Points are deducted for teeth gritting and saying what one is really thinking. A tie-breaker would involve expired coupons.

I hate to admit it, but at one time or another I have belonged to each of the categories listed above. I think it’s safe to say that I wouldn’t have won any of the competitions unless the stakes were a little higher. A piece of metal hanging from a ribbon doesn’t really interest me. Throw in a lifetime supply of coffee and chocolate, however, and I’m feelin’ a little spark in my belly.

Go, team, go!

Swan Song

One year ago this week I posted my first blog entry. No one is more shocked than I am that I completed a year’s worth of entries. I honestly believed that I had about six stories in me and that would be the end of that. Each week I was sure that I was writing my last post. Each week, however, another idea popped into my head and my fingers started typing away.

When folks ask me why I started a blog, I have no definitive answer. It was certainly never on my bucket list and I knew next to nothing about the process of writing and posting stories in cyberspace. I guess I just needed to experience a new experience. The lessons I’ve learned from this process are numerous. Here are a few that come to mind.

1) Don’t wait until you are an expert to try something new. Obviously, I am not a professional writer and I know even less about the world of blogging. Since beginning my blog, however, I have learned how to begin and end a story in 500 words, more or less. I also learned that blogging is a fairly safe way to practice writing. The grammar rules are rather fluid and I have no worries of being red penned into submission. Practice hasn’t made me perfect, but it has made me more experienced.

2) Be surprised.  I wasn’t sure who would take the time to read my blog and I thought the only group that might possibly show any interest was the over fifty crowd, thus the name of my blog site. The over fifty crowd has now extended all the way down to folks in their 20’s.  My overall readership may be small, but I like to think that we are a mighty bunch.

3) Embrace beige. It doesn’t take long for my readers to realize that I live a dull life. I do not rappel down precipices, hike into wildernesses, swim with eels or jump out of moving objects. I teach, read, cook, clean (sometimes), drive to the grocery store and go to dentist appointments.  None of this makes for exciting blogging material. All of it, however, is enough for my kaleidoscope and I’m not ashamed to say it.

4) Clueless isn’t the same as hopeless. Before I began blogging, I did not even know where our camera was stored, much less how to use it. I am currently at a D minus in photography, but, as they say in my business, “she’s improving.” I even caught myself wishing I had my camera with me a few days ago as I gazed upon an interesting sight. Could that mean that I might actually upgrade to a new cell phone with digital capabilities? Clueless can also be dangerous.

4) Every party needs a few guests. I don’t believe in reincarnation, but if I did, I’m pretty sure I would have been the old lady that spent her day preparing the leg of dinosaur for the evening meal around the campfire. And once the last morsel was slurped up, I would be the one with a story to tell. Mumbling away in the cave alone all day is never as fun as sharing the day’s events with others. You, my dear readers, have made my blogging an interactive experience and for that I am grateful.

And now for the good or bad news. I have decided to take a sabbatical from my blog. I don’t know if it will last a week, a year or indefinitely. I just know that it’s time to hit the refresh button and see what happens.

Who knows. I might just take up scrapbooking instead. Choke. Maybe not.

I do promise, however, to let you know if a new adventure pops up on my radar so we can board the Happy Day Express together. Toot. Toot. 

The View

I have five windows on the south wall of my living room. When we first built our home, the windows let in lots of sunlight and we had an unobstructed view of the field across from our house. Since then, the little river birch tree that we planted in our front lawn has become a towering sentinel, reaching high above the roof of our house. The sunlight streaming into my living room is now more dappled than direct and our lawn has a little more shade than when it was first seeded. The field across the street has also seen growth. Rather than a wide open space, there are houses as far as the eye can see.

All this has created the view from my favorite reading spot in my living room. At a glance, I am able to use the stately birch tree as a weather station. I can determine whether the wind is blowing, how hard it is blowing and what direction the wind is coming from. The tree provides my book weary eyes with an ever changing seasonal display. Spring is filled with bulging buds and flying seeds. Summer is head on, in your face greenery. Fall spikes the lawn with a mosaic of yellow and rust foliage. Winter limbs create dark outlines that bend and shape shift with the blustery air currents.  No two moments are the same as I watch the action from my reading perch.

The birds also seem to enjoy our tree. My favorite tweeters are the White-breasted Nuthatches that like to creep along the craggy bark. They use their tweezer-like bills to glean insects as they quickly flit about in jerky movements along the tree’s trunk. The robins also like to be a part of the tree’s graceful protection. Many fat little robinettes start their flying lessons on a branch of the tall birch. Fortunately, the lawn is a soft landing pad for those that need a few more tutorials.

I must confess that lately I have been especially enamored by another animal in our tree. One afternoon this past spring I saw a roiling, boiling mass of fur moving along the side of the tree’s trunk. From a distance I was unable to identify the animal that was causing the ruckus. On closer inspection, I realized that I was not observing one animal, but rather, five animals. Four baby squirrels were scampering over, under and around their spunky mother as they moved in one roly-poly ball upwards on the tree. As they parted ways, the little ones continued to chase and twirl about as only squirrels can do, high above the ground.  Every day their circus antics provide me with new adventures. I know I shouldn’t get attached to the furry bird feeder bandits, but they are just too cute with their little Velcro hands. I find myself having conversations with them and encouraging them to watch for cars as they scamper across the street. I do not want to find squirrel paste by my driveway some morning and know that one of my mammal friends made a bad move.

My views throughout the day are not always as inspiring as the one from my living room couch. Other landscapes often need my attention such as my kitchen, my computer, my laundry room and my closets. I am glad, however, that whether I’m peeking into my oven to check on a batch of cookies or looking into my clothes dryer to monitor the dampness of my laundry, I always have a lovely view imprinted in my brain that allows me to escape for a few moments if need be.

Enjoy your views this week.

  

 

The Pool

On the way to my local library is a swimming pool. This time of year it is quite naturally filled with the squeaks and squeals of kids and families bobbing around in cool waters on a hot day. I am amazed at the design of so many of the pools in my city. They are really aqua-parks, complete with tube slides, lazy rivers and sand play areas. Brightly colored clown slides and animal structures make the pools fun places to be.

The pools of my neighborhood are a far cry from the swimming possibilities of my youth. My earliest memory of swimming is at a lake or the Missouri River. The lake was murky, mossy, fishy smelling and rife with leeches. The river was murky, mossy, fishy smelling and rife with currents that could carry you away in a second. The “beaches” harbored rattlesnakes and prickly, stubbly vegetation.

My first swimming lessons were conducted at the lake. As a child who made fretting a career, I was only too happy to conjure up a myriad of monsters in the lake to support all the reasons that I was sure to drown. During my lessons I was clingy, whiny, wide-eyed and hopeless. In defense of myself, I did go into the water and splash around in the beginning. I can still feel the oozy goo between my toes and the silt of mud coating my swimming suit. Every aquatic plant that brushed up against me resulted in a gasp of fear and soon my mantra became, “Do I have to do this?”  Our final test was to swim to a raft positioned out in the lake. The raft was probably not more than 50 feet away from the shore, but in my mind it was as far away as the Arctic Circle. Needless to say, I was less than successful in my attempt to pass the class. I don’t know who my swimming instructor was, but I am sure he either resigned or asked for a new group for his next round of teaching. I know his pay wasn’t worth the likes of me.

Later on in my youth, our small town built a swimming pool. Surely, the cool chlorinated water would inspire me to finally learn to swim. No rattlesnakes, no mud, no fish, no rogue currents. Well, once a fretter, always a fretter. Again, I tried to make a go of passing a swimming class. I was now a very big beginner, splashing around with little water bugs who had no fear of the unknown. I blew the required bubbles, floated the dead man’s float and believe it or not, I somehow managed to pass into an intermediate level. Frankly, I don’t know if I really passed the beginner’s class. I think my instructor felt so sorry for me that she thought this might boost my self-esteem and inspire me to keep on trying.

I did keep on trying. In college I was required to take a P.E. credit and swimming was one of the choices. I decided that it was do or die time. Last chance to overcome the monsters of the deep. I was blessed with a very patient instructor who I’m sure was shocked that someone my age could be so inept. She gave me pep talks. She worked with me individually. She gave me extra time. And, finally, she looked at me and in a sweet and sincere way said, “I’ve done all I can. I think you need to seek professional help.” Enough said. I hung up my bathing suit and made friends with the life vest.

I’m not afraid of pools anymore. In fact, I spent many happy hours watching my daughter from the edge of the kiddie pool when she was growing up. The difference is that I have re-focused my expectations and accepted the fact that I am and always will be a terra firma girl.

Hope you all find some fun ways to keep cool this summer, whether it be by land or by sea.

Here is a yummy dessert that is guaranteed to keep you cool.

Buster Bar Dessert

1 15.5 oz. pkg of regular Oreos

½ c. margarine, melted

½ gallon vanilla ice cream, softened

1 c. peanuts

Crush cookies and add margarine. Press into 9x13 pan. Spoon ice cream over crumbs. Sprinkle with peanuts. Place in freezer.

Topping:

2 c. powdered sugar

2/3 c. chocolate chips

½ c. margarine

1 12 oz. can evaporated milk

Combine ingredients in sauce pan and heat until chips melt. Bring to a boil and simmer for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Cool thoroughly. Pour over dessert and freeze until firm. Before serving allow to soften slightly

Feathers

It is said that birds of a feather flock together. I would like to adjust this adage and change it to: birds of a feather flock together, unless it’s a family reunion. This time of year the calendar seems to fill with family gatherings of one sort or another. The dynamics of such events are dictated by the birds that migrate in for the occasion. The following is a breakdown of the species that might attend any given function.

1) Geese: They are the loud, dominant ones. They like to fly in formation so they are often the planners of the event. If your V flying pattern is a little off, you’ll hear about it. Go with the flow or find another reunion.

2) Chickadees: These folks like to flit about and chat with as many kin as possible. They are sweet in a chirpy sort of way and always have a smile on their beaks. If you are shy, stick with the chickadees. They will nudge a conversation out of you and help you pass the time until you can go home.

3) Vultures: This group loves drama. They circle around until the edginess of flocking together cracks a few folks. Then it’s time to swoop in and stir the pot. Let the games begin.

4) Eagles: They like to watch from afar. They are often found by the food table so they can scan the flock and look for another eagle. They are content to keep their mingling to a minimum.

5) Cowbirds: They love reunions because they are fond of mooching off others. They are the ones who volunteer to bring a bag of chips or a jar of pickles and they are the first ones in line to take home any leftovers.

6) Warblers: You’ll know when they arrive because they start chirping immediately and don’t take a breath until the last cake crumb is eaten. They can be entertaining but are best taken in small doses. It’s recommended that they flutter throughout the flock so they don’t wear out their welcome too quickly.

7) Bluebirds: They are the perpetual optimists. 105 degrees heat index at the park, no problem. Drink more lemonade. Aunt Sally forgot the potato salad, no problem. Eat more chips. No air-conditioning in the gathering hall, no problem. Bring fans. Bickering amongst the flock members, no problem. Pretend you’re another bird.

8)  Ducks: They are the jigsaw puzzle pieces that are in the wrong box. They try to fit in but their social skills are a bit weak. The flock usually shares the responsibility of keeping them entertained.  Like the warblers, they are best taken in small doses.

There might be fewer feathers ruffled if birds could gather with just their own species, however, healthy ecosystems thrive on diversity. So, if you find yourself seated next to a warbler at your next reunion, I won’t be offended if you move to a different seat. There is usually a chair open by the ducks.

Play

My young niece occasionally spent time at my house this past year. My home does not have video games, fancy toys or a backyard full of play equipment. That didn’t seem to matter, however, as long as my candy bowl was well-stocked and the world of make-believe was at her fingertips. Her favorite activity was to play “office.” She would pull up a hassock toward an end table by my couch. The table was supplied with the following accouterments: a cup filled with pens, pencils and markers; post-it pads in different colors and sizes; a calculator; paper; a colored pencil set and, of course, snacks. It was never discussed but it was clear that my niece was the CEO and I was the administrative assistant. My job was to answer to the beck and call of a busy six-year-old company executive. My paycheck was the chance to make time stop for awhile and just play.

The world of make-believe was a dominant part of my growing up years. The absence of a computer, video games, TV, sports (thank goodness for me on that one) and fancy toys meant that my siblings and I were often compelled to invent our own entertainment. One of my personal favorites was playing “plane crash.” This rather macabre re-enactment involved lining my sisters up on the couch with their dolls and pillows. I was the stewardess, barking out the orders for our flight and our inevitable crash. When the point of crisis was imminent, I was the one with all the rescuing advice involving the protection of the babies and huddling up with the pillows. I’m sure a psychologist would have a field day analyzing this game, but, I thought it was fun, in a creepy sort of way.

We also played church. My sisters were lined up on the couch with their dolls, a songbook and a Bible. I, of course, was the preacher and the organist. My propensity toward being the bossy one in charge started young, obviously.  I don’t think the church game ever lasted very long due to my lackluster preaching and my rudimentary attempts at playing a few hymns.

Another favorite activity was playing dress-up. My cousins and my sisters had grand fun digging into my grandmother’s dress-up bin. We planned elaborate style shows in our gauzy, drapey, oversized fashion designs. We clip-clopped our way down imaginary runways in our teetering high heels and strutted our claim to stylish fame. Hours of time passed with the contents of one bin of used clothing. Cheap fun.

Occasionally, my sisters and I would set up a bakery. This involved two basic ingredients: dirt and water. We would mix the ingredients to just the right consistency and make mud cakes of all shapes and sizes. Little sticks and grass pieces served as decorations on our masterpieces. We would climb atop our dad’s feed grinder (a piece of farm equipment that had a flat top) and let our cakes bake in the sun until they were dry and ready to serve. Business was a little slow for our finished products, but enough fun was had in the process that all was well.

One product that we actually did have a market for was our hobo toast. We would take a large empty can and build a small fire under the open end of the can. When the can was hot we would take a piece of buttered bread that had a small hole cut out of its center and place it on the surface of the can. An egg was poured into the center of the bread and in a few minutes the whole concoction was flipped and ready for serving. I think we even enticed our brothers into this activity due to the food factor.

I hope you all have memories of make-believe worlds that filled your childhood. I would love to hear about some of them if you have a few moments to share your thoughts. Playing is always more fun with a friend.

    

Tips

When I was growing up, a very popular feature in our newspaper was a column called Heloise. A pleasant and wise looking woman named Heloise dispensed a fount of tips and tricks to make life easier around the house. (I think some newspapers still carry this column, now authored by the daughter of said matriarch). Back in the 50’s and 60’s, many women were still managing their households as a full time job and were grateful for guidance on how to streamline their challenging and often mundane daily tasks. Frugality was also a hallmark of the exchange of ideas, particularly when most households were balancing their budgets on one income.

It seems that there are always “wonder products” that pop up at any given time. One that was very popular in the Heloise columns of my youth was nylon net. It was a mesh like material made of strong nylon strands that seemed to be the answer to many cleaning and craft demands. One could buy yards of the stuff at most purveyors of dry goods. It came in different colors which added to its range of possibilities. Crafters would make nylon net scrubbies in various shapes and sizes. Most everyone had a cache of the wonder cleaning scrublings ready for action in their kitchens.

Panty hose was another common household go-to product. Women actually wore hosiery back then so there was a never-ending supply of nylons gone bad. The nylon material made it possible for them to be used as scrubbing and polishing tools when a finer touch was needed. Crafters created draft stopping “snakes” that could be placed at the base of a closed door in an attempt to keep the cold winter winds from sneaking into the house. Another panty hose suggestion was to gather up slivers of used soap bars, stuff them into a portion of the hose and create a soap-on-a-rope. Can you say, “Pathogen hangout”? Not recommending that one.

I’m not sure what Heloise is recommending these days, but I do have a couple of products that seem to be my go-to lifesavers. One is Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser. They named this invention correctly as it is truly a magical cleaning product. It works on everything from a grease splotched oven top to a gunky tub. I’m not Ms. Spick and Span so any product that can help me clean up the sludge of overdue house pollution is my new BFF.

Bleach is my other cleaning comrade. I love bleach. I have tried a myriad of cleaning products. Some make me wheeze. Some smell like flowers. Some have nozzles that drip and ooze. Many of them just plain stink. Bleach, however, smells like clean. All it takes is a sink full of bleach-laden water and the battle cry has gone out against the bacteria kingdom. Bleach is cheap. Bleach is easy to store. Bleach is a lovely product.

Not to worry. I have no intentions of beginning a household tips blog. If I did, however, it would have to include one more venerated product: duct tape.

Don’t get me started.