Moving On!

 Time for new beginnings. Check out my website for blog posts and more! 

notafraidofbeige.com

Beginning

Ten years ago I had the urge to write. At the time, I did not know why or how or where. I just knew I had to start. I stared at my computer and began typing out a sad little story about a shiny object in a parking lot. Mercifully, I spared you the results of that moment. I decided to try my hand at blogging even though I had read very few blogs and I had NO idea what I was doing (not sure that has changed much). I am an old-school girl and prefer my linguistic fixes in hard copy, please. Blogging was a new frontier for me so I began by researching my way through recipe blogs, political blogs, angry blogs, cutesy blogs, mommy blogs and blogs about blogs, wondering whether such nonsense was a good fit for me. For better or worse, I wrote my first piece and hit the post button, believing it might be a one-and-done moment.  Three hundred posts later I can honestly state that my first post was not my last. 

I cringe a bit as I look through my posts over the years. I want to re-write, edit, delete and question my sanity for some of them. Some were sad. Some were happy. Most often, they were somewhere in between. I cannot say I had an express goal for my blog but I did have a few promises I tried to keep for each piece. 

1) Limit the rant.--I have read enough social media writing to know that rants are popular. Name a topic and I am sure you can find a post that skewers it, from both sides. While this can be entertaining at times, I prefer moments with less sandpaper. Certainly, my posts are not opinion-free, but, I attempt to keep the screaming to a minimum.

2) Ditch the ads.--My blog is not a business, therefore, I have the luxury of keeping it ad-free. I am sure all of us have experienced the frustration of reading an on-line post that is so fraught with pop-ups and big-brother ads that one is forced to abandon ship before finishing the post. My brain is unable to chase too many squirrels at one time so ad-free it must be. 

3) Keep it real.--I do not live a life of dazzling Instagrammable moments. In fact, I am often reminded that I live a life of JOMO, joy of missing out. I am not afraid of experiencing the everyday and it doesn't bother me to ignore the world of social media influencers. I will never be the one who lives a life of wild abandonment and I am okay with that. 

It is time to reveal my final promise to you, drum roll please. I will not be writing any more blog posts on this site. At the nudging of my sweet daughter who often gently reminds me that it is time for a much needed refresh, I am moving my material to a new website. Gone, for now, will be my wonky photos but I am adding a variety of content for a wider range of reading options. I have been posting my recent blogs on both sites as I worked toward transition. 

And, as usual, I have no particular end game in mind. I am going to trust the process and see where it takes me. Thank you for being a part of my last ten years of posting. I hope you will check out my new website and continue to stop by whenever you need a dose of beige. 

Here is the link to my new site, notafraidofbeige.com

Photo from my first blog post.
Case in point for abandoning my photography efforts.

The Chase

My sister-in-law and I have a tradition of dining out once a week during the summer months. It began when I was teaching full time and summer was our opportunity to catch up with each other. We often adopted a theme for our summer escapades such as all ethnic restaurants or we selected eateries located in a certain area of the city. We have experienced hits and misses but without a doubt, all our choices have been an adventure. We lost a whole summer last year due to the wicked C-19. We are now vaxxed and ready to bust out of exile.

Our theme this summer is a stretch for us. We are not looking for brick and mortar establishments, rather, we are chasing the wheels. Food trucks to be precise. Although food trucks have been popular for quite some time in many regions, their trendiness is slowly gaining traction in our area. One truck serving tacos to the night crowd outside bars several years ago has grown to dozens of trucks roaming the streets, festivals and parking lots of our city. 

There is a learning curve with following food trucks. The biggest challenge is inherent in the nature of the beast. Trucks are mobile and finding their location on any given day is quite literally a moving target. Many of the food trucks in our area rely on Facebook postings. This can pose a bit of a hurdle for me as I long ago bailed out on this social media platform for a number of reasons. I am able to view Facebook postings without logging in but it comes with a maize of pop-ups and blocks and getting kicked off during longer sessions. Fortunately, I found a one-stop-shop FB group for many of our local trucks so that has become my guide for now. I am learning to check the postings frequently as they can change on a moment's notice. 

Our first food truck visit came about because I saw one on a street corner as I was running errands. Further research noted that this truck is somewhat stationary so it was an easy one to track down. Their specialty is Mexican cuisine so it was tacos for my sister-in-law and nachos for me. They had a couple of picnic tables with a canopy so our dining experience was comfortable and tasty. A good start to our food truck research.

We are learning a few things as we continue our chase. 

1) Carry a beverage of choice.--Often the drink options are limited so we tote our own water to accompany our meals. I do not like soda so I like to be prepared just in case.

2) Make a seating plan.--Many food trucks have few or no options for seating. I am not comfortable sitting on sidewalks or curbs. Eating in the car feels claustrophobic so that option is out. We now identify parks near the food truck and settle ourselves into a picnic shelter for our dining experience. We are discovering new parks in the process which makes it win-win.

3) Bring a roll of paper towels.--I am a messy eater and I often forget to pick up enough napkins to have respectable dining in the outdoors. We use the paper towels as placemats, napkins and clean up rags. 

We are early into our food truck chase but we are committed to experiencing as many as we can this summer. It is time to give back to the folks who fought hard to stay in business this past year and I am only too happy to get out of the kitchen on a hot day.

 

 

On Location

I am writing this post on location, Memorial Day weekend.  It is 49 degrees, breezy and cloudy. I would like to report I am near a crackling campfire with a beautiful lake view as I wait for a marshmallow to be toasted to the perfect golden hue for an ooey gooey smores bar. In reality, my freezing fingers are tapping away on my keyboard in my garage, waiting for the possible arrival of customers at our rummage sale, day three. My coffee mug continues to get icy cold and the coffee cake is long gone. It is difficult to write with mittens on so I do brief warm-ups in my coat pocket. My co-conspirators in this project are not available yet so it is just me and my computer until the action begins. 

I do not remember the last time we had a garage sale but I know it was many moons ago. The stars aligned this year and we decided to take the plunge again. My husband and I are in varying stages of retirement as are my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. The goal for all of us is to organize, downsize and generally distance ourselves from the stuff we no longer need. The I-might-need-this-someday items are ready to see their last days with us. Time for a sale.

So, a date was set. The garage was cleaned. Boxes of treasures were unpacked and priced. The cash box was dusted off. Neon poster paper was purchased. Signs were made. Display tables were assembled using sawhorses and old doors. Items were arranged to maximize their value. Coffee cups were refilled. And finally it was go-time, no turning back.

Many lessons can be learned from rummage sales. The first is that there is something for everyone. The once popular scrapbooks we had for sale remained in a dormant state until the second day of our sale. A sweet little girl immediately saw the two scrapbooks and picked them with a sense of loving purpose. When she asked her dad if she could have them, he agreed. I saw the girl's creative gears begin to spin and I have no doubt she will have hours of fun with them. 

Another lesson is that sentimental attachments can be stronger than the practical need to purge. My husband had a set of plastic horses from his youth. The horses had little snap-on saddles and different cowboys for the horses. He had hours of fun with them and just looking at them brought back a flood of good memories. Obviously, Trigger and Silver are no longer needed in our household so the wise thing to do was to add them to our display tables. With hesitation, he put a fairly robust price on the set and I am sure he was secretly hoping they wouldn't sell. On the second day, two adorable little boys with big brown eyes picked up the horses and were given the greenlight by their dad. My husband watched as the young lads made the purchase and excitedly ran to their car. Both of us knew the horses would ride again and that is how it should be. 

The final lesson for me was simply this. Many people are nice. We had interesting conversations with a wide variety of folks. We re-connected with our neighbors and met a few new ones. We poured a cup of coffee for a couple of long time friends who stopped by and we enjoyed catching up. And, despite the rain, cold, wind and clouds, each customer proclaimed a love for treasure hunting. 

Speaking of customers, they are beginning to arrive. Time to refill my coffee cup and switch into sales mode. I still have hopes my harvest gold Bundt pan will find a new home.

Bundt pan update: It is still for sale.

 

Anticipation

Planting tender garden flora in the springtime is always a game of Russian Roulette in the upper plains. Our finicky temperatures can be down right hot for a spell, luring us into an early planting session. Days later, the weatherman starts squawking about freezing temperatures during the evening hours. The seed babies under the ground usually fare quite well as long as they haven't poked their heads above the soil level. The seedlings, however, need temperate conditions to get their little bodies acclimated to their new environment. 

My husband is a master gardener and I give no advice other than suggestions for the vegetables I want to work with for the upcoming season. He has a favorite greenhouse that is about a forty minute drive from our house. I usually do not go with him because my ability to focus on all that greenery is rather short-lived. This year I decided to accompany him in desperation for an outing. After a year of isolation, it is time to take baby steps back into reality. The drive to the greenhouse is through the countryside so the scenery is always pleasant. 

My plan at the greenhouse is straightforward. Follow my husband around just long enough to look interested. Upon reaching the herbs I make a few suggestions as I check out the different types available and enjoy sniffing their different fragrances. After that burst of interest, I usually notice my husband getting lost in what I call his "garden zen". He has his nose buried in the plants, carefully selecting just the right seedlings for a hardy start to our garden. Soon enough, it is time for my exit and I head to our vehicle where I am prepared for an hour or two of waiting. It was a beautiful day so I rolled down my windows to take advantage of a comfortable breeze. I was prepared with plenty of reading material, a bottle of water and a few snacks. 

There is also a fair amount of people watching for entertainment as well. My favorite was the older gentleman who was stationed by the entrance of the greenhouse. His job was to make sure the plant carts were ready for the shoppers. This job seemed to be perfect for him. Nothing too physical but plenty of human interaction. I heard him say he was 89 years old and I found myself hoping I might be fortunate enough to have my wits about me at that age. My guess is that his job was flexible enough for him to come and go as he wished. Not a bad gig.

One characteristic all the shoppers seemed to share was a general sense of joy and anticipation. I do not always witness this in other retail settings. I may personally experience some joy as I put a bag of Cheetos in my grocery cart, but as a general rule, my shopping is often a git-'er-done experience. It was refreshing to see so many folks excited about their purchases. 

The amazing element in the whole greenhouse process is the risk factor. If I buy a can of beans, I have a high likelihood of enjoying them with a meal at some point. A bean plant, however, is facing a number of challenges before ever producing a single bean. Hail, drought, soil, insects, fungus, rabbits and birds are just a few characters in the on-going drama of gardening. But, any gardener or, in my case, harvester can tell you that the final show is work the risk. I am already salivating over the first plate of fresh beans and sliced red tomatoes. 

Happy gardening!

 

Things that Suck

My vacuum cleaner died last week. This should not be newsworthy but it was the first vacuum I have ever liked. And it was less than a year old. It was also from a well-respected company in the world of vacuum choices.  Let me be clear. I hate to vacuum. I have said many times that if I die and wake up in a room with a vacuum cleaner and a dust rag, I know where I went for the after life. I have used many vacuum cleaners over the course of my cleaning life. Shop Vacs, Kirbies, Hoovers, Eurekas, Dustbusters, Orecks, and Bissells to name a few. There were canisters, uprights, handhelds, bagless and bags for styles. All of them had their issues and a few had glimmers of hope. 

One of the worst vacuums I used was at a great-aunt's house when I was a teenager. She had hired me to help her clean her house due to a health issue. I didn't have the heart to tell her she should probably spend her money on someone who knew what they were doing. She patiently showed me how to operate her Rainbow canister vacuum, circa 1970. It was supposed to be state-of-the-art, cutting edge technology. Yipes, what a horrendous beast. The canister pan at the base had to be filled with water and great care was needed while one moved around the room with the sloshing pan. Once the canister's water was sufficiently full of collected debris, the sludge water had to be disposed of and the process began again. Poke my eyes out, it was a good thing that cleaning gig was short-lived. 

Another vacuum nemesis was a cast-off machine we received from a family member. The vacuum should have come with a disclaimer: Do not use if you are unable to lift fifty pounds of dead weight. It was an unwieldy monster and it made the job of cleaning even more distasteful. At the time, this brand of vacuum was considered a premier cleaning device but I was less than impressed with its capabilities, not to mention the back ache caused by lugging it around. Needless to say, we never purchased one of our own and sold the clunker at a garage sale, deeply discounted.  

One little picker-upper that I found manageable for small jobs was the ubiquitous little Hokey carpet sweeper, no cords or charging needed. It isn't meant for major cleaning jobs but it does the trick when cleaning up after church potlucks and Sunday School craft projects. I am always fascinated with its ease and efficacy. And the price is right. 

In some weird way, I can also appreciate a Shop Vac. It can take whatever is thrown its way. Messy construction job sites, no problem. Long overdue car cleanup, bring it on. Basement flooding, job is done. Its durability is spot on and its ability to juxtaposition water and electricity is a modern marvel. We will always have one (or two) at the ready in our garage.

Finally, back to the vacuum that just died. Due to its young age and the fact that I actually registered the vacuum on the company's website at the time of its purchase, I thought it would be a slam dunk for a quick follow up. Without naming names, it is to-date the worst customer service I have received. I have yet to speak with a human being and the e-mail response I received said they would not be able to handle my request at this time "due to high customer volume." A series of "troubleshooting texts" was less than helpful and the end result may or may not be a new part. It is difficult to resist the obvious. Their vacuum isn't sucking but their customer service is another story. 

Time to buy a Hokey. No batteries, cords or heavy lifting needed. 

One of several inherited vacuums,
also headed to the next garage sale.

The Wave

Sporting events are know for lots of energy and activities that promote spectator involvement. One such activity came on the scene several decades ago and occasionally happens today. It is called The Wave. Spectators begin a stand-up-and-wave action that, if done correctly, creates a wave-like action with all the stadium attendees. The genesis story of this particular activity is murky but it is believed to have begun at soccer games in Mexico. The U.S. picked up on it and it became a bit of a sensation in the 80's. I do not attend enough sporting events to be an expert on the subject but I can say I have participated in a few during my lifetime. 

I currently participate in my own version of The Wave. During the exile period of the wicked C-19, I found myself occasionally waving as a form of affirmation or acknowledgement. Gratefully, the isolation is easing to a degree but I am still waving at entities that make me smile.

We live near an elementary school as well as a bus stop for middle-schoolers which means we have several buses drive by our house each school day. Every time I see a bus go by my living room window, I give the bus a big wave. I doubt any of the passengers ever see me, but I love the feeling of sending good wishes their way as they embark on another day of education and as they return home, ready for a snack and some decompression time. As a former educator, I am so grateful for the dedicated professionals who work at helping each student have a good day at school. You deserve a wave.

The library I frequent is across the street from one of our city's swimming pools. The pool was eerily quiet last summer due to you-know-what. At the beginning of this year I began waving at the empty pool each time I made a trip to the library. I long for the day when the noise of laughing and splashing return. Lifeguards are saints as they enforce safety rules, endure the glare of relentless sunshine and encourage reluctant children during swim class. Our city is opening the pools this summer and they are in need of more lifeguards. I wave as a sign of support and good wishes for a full deck of employees. They deserve a wave. 

The final wave might surprise those of you who know me. Our backyard neighbors have two Golden Labrador dogs. They are in kennels for the majority of day with occasional romps in their yard so they can do their business. I am certainly not a dog lover but their kennel enclosures make them safe canines for me. When I open or close the window in our bedroom, the dogs often lift their heads and look my way. In some weird way I felt a kinship with them during the past year as I, too, was spending lots of time within an enclosure. I started waving at them whenever they looked my way as a moment of solidarity we could share together. I am not sure the dogs deserved a wave but it made me smile, so, good enough. 

I remember lots of waving in the small town I grew up in. There were few strangers in our world and it was nice to acknowledge others in a positive way. I am going to continue my waving as it always gives me a mood boost. Find someone or something to wave at this week and enjoy the moment! 

 

Butcher Shop

During the first years of my married life, I worked in a meat department at a grocery store in our small town. It certainly was not my dream job but it definitely taught me a lot about the world of butchery. As with most grocery store meat departments, we were not responsible for the front end process of dispatching animals. Our job was to break down and package the meat sent our way from other entities. The butcher I worked for was quite the character and he never failed to dredge up a story or two for anyone available to listen, which was most often me. I could hold my own in the story department so we were never void of conversation.

My primary job responsibilities were packaging and cleaning up. The butcher broke down quarters of beef or pork and I packaged, weighed, sealed and labeled everything for the meat case. Sometimes I helped grind beef for our hamburger packages. The grinder was enormous and a miserable beast to clean. I wrestled big clunky parts of that grinder in my stainless steel sink, often counting the minutes until the last part was finished. Another task I had was packaging on liver day. A cow's liver is rather massive and it has to be sliced into smaller portions. I used a large 2-pronged fork to spear the individual pieces and place them into smaller round containers. The containers were weighed and labeled for sale. I am not a huge fan of eating liver but I did take home a container on occasion and fry up a batch of liver and onions. The price was right and my generation was always reminded by our parents, "Eat your liver. It is good for you." 

I left that job when my daughter was born. The pay was not worth hiring a babysitter and I wanted to stay home with her as long as possible. I enjoyed my time in the meat department, but I knew it was not a career for me. Circumstances made it possible for me to eventually finish my teaching degree and finally begin many years in the classroom. A career I loved. 

Circumstances intervened again and my husband and I recently found ourselves working in a meat department of sorts. Due to the craziness of the wicked C-19, my sister and her husband faced a surplus of hogs with no place to sell them when the packing plants were shut down. In an attempt to save at least a few of them for a valuable cause, family members joined in the effort to butcher, package and label the pork for personal use. To be clear, my sister and her husband did the majority of the heavy lifting. The rest of us followed orders to the best of our abilities. 

Despite my time working in a meat department, I had no experience in the actual breaking down of the meat portions. My cooking experience gave me more direction because I know what cuts and sizes I can efficiently manage. I also know how to work with knives. That being said, I was the only one who cut myself during our first round. Pro tip: duct tape works better than bandaids for sealing off a wound.

Fortunately, the pork production crisis has eased in recent months. Even so, my sister and her husband found that they wanted to continue dabbling in the process. We were invited again last week to join in another round and we didn't hesitate to accept the offer. The thought of fresh pork chops on the grill was too tempting to pass up. 

Within 24 hours we were back on the road for our return trip home with all fingers intact and no need for  duct tape. And our coolers were full of porky possibilities. Mission accomplished. 

3 Dishes

I listen to many hours of podcasts while I endure my exercise routine in the morning. I enjoy podcasts covering everything from murders in National Parks to the history of Oreo and Hydrox cookies. My favorite podcasts often deal with food related topics. The host of one food podcast often asks her guests to chose five dishes that describe their food journey in life. The responses are not particularly profound but they are always very personal. Here is my list of dishes that represent the underpinnings of my food pathway. For the sake of brevity, I chose three and it certainly was not an easy task due to my fascination with all things food. 

1) Comfort casserole--I have referred to this dish before in my blogging posts and it still remains a part of my food heritage. The ingredients are simply ground beef, carrots, potatoes and a can of tomato soup. Variations could be a few peas or corn tossed in as well. My mom often served this casserole for our Sunday meal after church. It was something she could prepare the night before and put into the oven on a timed baked setting Sunday morning. The warm and hearty meal would be ready for nine starving family members after we changed from our church clothes to our everyday clothes. Casseroles continue to be a part of my food repertoire, especially when I was teaching full time. I have not changed the ingredients of the comfort casserole other than adding a little dash of chipotle powder for a bit of smoky heat. Casseroles always equal comfort in my book.

2) Mini frozen cooked shrimp--Full disclosure that I have not purchased this product in over twenty years but I can identify it as part of my food history. In the small town where my husband and I lived when we were first married, the only grocery store in town had a limited inventory. In an attempt to put together a snack tray with something different than carrot and celery sticks I found the little bags of frozen shrimp were available and easy to add to the tray. I often got questions from the local store clerk as to how I was using the shrimp. Saltwater seafood was exotic in our little town. Now I have access to a dizzying array of choices for snack trays, especially with the popularity of charcuterie boards. I may not be using the little shrimpies any more but I still love to try new things for my snack trays. 

3) Lamb--Despite the fact that my state is listed as a robust producer of sheep, I never tasted lamb until well into adulthood. My family raised chickens, hogs and cattle so our dining table featured those meats. My first bite of lamb happened at a restaurant where a family friend was the manager and recommended the lamb on the menu. I was immediately hooked and since then lamb is a part of my meal rotation. We love marinated lamb chops on the grill, lamb burgers with tzatziki sauce and of course, slow braised lamb stew. It may not be the protein of my youth but it certainly has a place on my dinner table now. 

I am looking forward to many new foods, yet to be explored. But, I will always appreciate the culinary path taken along the way. 

Here is your homework assignment for the week: Identify three dishes that represent your food pathway. You all have an A+ in advance from me! 

The Cucumber

My husband is one of the fortunate ones to be eligible for an immunization as protection from the evil monster that lives among us. As we drove to the skin piercing site I had a mix of emotions ranging from elation to trepidation to relief to pure awe at the wonders of science. Not surprisingly, the site was buzzing with activity with lots of folks coming and going from the building. We found a parking spot and he entered the building while I waited in our vehicle. He texted me when the shot was complete and he was seated in the waiting area with a sticker to let him know when his required 15 minutes of observation was finished. 

Shortly after his text, I heard a wail of sirens and I hoped the noise would soon fade into the distance. Not to be. An ambulance roared into our parking lot and a nurse standing by the entrance was waving it down. Soon a fire and rescue vehicle came blaring in the lot with a police car following close behind. The entry ramp is now lined with people trying to maintain a social distance protocol while the ambulance personnel prepare to enter the building.

Meanwhile I am frantically texting my husband to see if he is all right. A little back story before I continue. My husband struggled a little with the authorization form. One question asked about serious reactions to food or bees. Technically he is supposed to carry an Epi-pen due to an incident with an outraged rogue wasp that flew into his pickup while he was driving home one day. The wasp took a dive for his temple and a little while later we were in acute care. He has always felt this was a one-off incident and was unwilling to say that his reaction was serious. And he didn't want to wait in the observation area at the immunization clinic for 30 minutes rather than 15 so he checked no on the bee sting question.

Of course, my mind is going wild as I see the ambulance arrive and I immediately texted him, asking if he was okay. For whatever reason, he decided to respond in a way that could be interpreted as masking a serious issue. My imagination needs little goading and we are not in the habit of texting cutesie things to each other so I am now craning my neck to see who is being carried out on the gurney. 

Just when I was ready to head toward the action, I saw my husband nonchalantly walking out of the building. He walked past all the action with nary a second glance. When I asked him what happened he calmly said some lady was passed out in the entryway. He said he just stepped around her and made his way out. He hadn't heard the sirens or seen anything out of the ordinary prior to exiting the building so my texts had fallen upon less frantic ears.

For a brief moment I felt I might need to ask the ambulance for a two-for-one special as I took some deep breaths and tried to calm myself. In true cucumber style, my husband patiently listened to my woes and then started the vehicle. Enough drama for one day. Here's hoping round two is a little less exciting. 

 

Trinity

Many cuisines have ingredients that are the backbone of their cooking. For instance, Cajun cooking leans heavily upon a "holy trinity" of bell peppers, onions and celery.  Spanish cuisine often uses sofrito, a combination of finely chopped onions, garlic, bell peppers and tomatoes. The French employ a mirepoix of diced onions, celery and carrots in many of their dishes. Middle Eastern cooking relies on spice blends such as turmeric, cumin and coriander. I am not sure if my Dutch heritage had a go-to combination of ingredients. My ancestors arrived in the upper plains over a century ago and I suspect they were more concerned about survival than finding the perfect flavor combinations for the food they put on the table. Working with what you have is probably the hallmark of the best cooks. 

Long before the farm to table movement became trendy, many home cooks were doing just that. The family farm I grew up on was providing us with milk from the family cow, no extra charge for the flavor enhancements from the cow's diet. Our chickens were giving us enough eggs for baking and cooking. My mother sold the excess eggs to the local creamery to supplement her "grocery money." Our bountiful garden pumped out enough produce for fresh eating in the summer and jars and jars of canned vegetables for the winter. I often tired of the work involved with our large garden (sorry about the whining, Mom) but I never grew weary of eating vegetables. Our cows and pigs gave us delicious meals and of course, bacon, a pig's greatest gift to mankind. 

My own cooking is far removed from my ancestors who first arrived on the stark prairie landscape. Easy access to grocery stores and on-line purveyors makes it possible to procure just about any ingredient one desires.  I recently ordered gochugaru so I can explore fermenting kimchi. This would boggle the minds of my Dutch grandparents and perhaps elicit a shaking of their heads as they muttered something about the downfall of the young 'uns.  

Despite my desire to explore different cuisines I am still a product of my past. My comfort food meals often involve a manifestation of potatoes, carrots and onions, easy ingredients to keep on hand and extremely versatile. My "holy trinity" is definitely carrots, onions and celery. Depending on the dish I am preparing, a few sweet peppers might be tossed into the mix. Standard seasonings are salt and pepper, of course, with a smidge of this and that added for flavor interest. And don't forget the mustard. Everything from whole-grain mustard to Dijon to the good old-fashioned neon yellow stuff can be found in my refrigerator. 

As I write this post, a pot of vegetable beef soup is simmering on the stove. A week of below zero temperatures provided the inspiration for a bowl of this cold weather elixir. There is nothing fancy in the soup. The beef bones are simmered with carrot, onion, celery, peppercorns, salt and a bay leaf. The broth is strained and chunks of beef are added with tomatoes, tomato sauce, thyme, oregano and more salt and pepper. And, of course, my trinity of carrots, onions and celery is needed. Barley is a final addition and voila, hearty vegetable beef soup. 

If you are looking for a super simple, but tasty trinity, might I suggest a combination of popcorn, broken potato chips and a few cheetos for a pop of color. Goodness gracious, that is an enchanting trinity.  

 

V day

Valentine's Day is a holiday that is often loathed or loved. Regardless of your point of view, this year's celebration will most likely look a bit differently due to the wretched you-know-what. One year ago, many of us were completely unaware of the chaos and ugliness that would soon enter our daily living. My husband and I were out of town enjoying a dinner theater, a place packed with people and a stage filled with singing and dancing. Just the thought of such a venue makes me shiver right now. It also fills me with sadness as we will break our decades old tradition of getting away for a few days in February. Certainly, there are worse things to feel bad about but it is a loss nonetheless. 

Truthfully, we all know deep down that showing how much we care about someone else should not be based on a day designated by the commercial powers that be. We are bombarded with images of roses, chocolates, jewelry and lovers besotted with one another. Comparing ourselves to such contrived business is foolish at best. How and when we choose to honor those who are important to us is in our control. 

Blessedly, my childhood days were free of so many of the pressures of today's world. Media was little more than a television with snowy images and a couple of channels. Magazines in our household were usually our church periodical and my dad's farm magazine. Rest assured, there wasn't a lot of Valentine's information being touted in either of those publications. The closest we got to a valentine was an occasional box of conversation hearts, taste optional. Be True.

Despite our apparent lack of Valentine observations I never doubted my parents' love for each other. I do not recall a bouquet of flowers or boxes of chocolates being shared but I always knew that they had each other's backs. Seven boisterous children and a growing farm business demanded a shared team approach. Love was often expressed in action rather than things. Occasionally Dad would surprise my mom with a gift, often appliance related. This may seem like the most unromantic gift possible but I was always in awe of how Dad knew exactly what would make Mom's life better. And nothing says love like a new 18-cubic-foot freezer. 

There is no perfect moment or ideal gift in the game of appreciation. Give yourself enough grace to do what makes sense to you. Hallmark will continue to sell cards and gifts, with or without you. Chocolate covered strawberries will be just as tasty in July as in February. Flowers are available any day of the week. 

Take a moment to appreciate those who are important to you. A pot of homemade soup can speak volumes of care for someone else. Cleaning out the basement storeroom can be just as powerful. And, of course, a new freezer is always a home run.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Battle

Shoveling snow is an art form in the upper plains. Our equipment and techniques are based on years of battling the elements. We have learned how to read the consistency of the snowfall and choose our weapon(s) and strategy accordingly. A soft fluffy snow may only need a quick shoveling with basic equipment. Wet, pre-cement snow will need heavy duty shovels and a course of action designed to save fragile back muscles. A snow plow's windrow in the driveway can mean another skirmish with the white stuff, cussing optional.  

Our neighborhood represents many of the game plans used in snow removal. Ready Randy is usually the first one out of the gate, ready to tackle the latest snow project. His garage door will slowly open and he will appear dressed for battle with his armor and weapon of choice. He is responsible for his driveway and a small section of sidewalk. He takes this task seriously and wants it done well and soon. Steady Stan is a bit more calculating. He usually waits until he is sure the last flake has descended. His large corner lot means he has quite a bit of snow to tackle. Often, that calls for a machine, the snowblower. Stan has a heavy duty blower so he is able to methodically and decisively take care of his property. 

Nancy and Ned Newlywed are still finding their way in property caretaking. The first snowfall caught them with barely a shovel, a car left in the driveway (another place to collect drifts) and recreational outerwear. Subsequent snowfalls have resulted in a couple of shovels, an unobstructed driveway and boots with tread. Serious Stu is a veteran snow mover and is ready for anything with his big gun, the riding snowblower. He is able to make quick work of his corner lot and he occasionally is gracious enough to take care of our sidewalk as well. Loosey-Goosey Larry has more of a git-er-done strategy as he is known to clear his corner lot with just a shovel and his attire is a pair of shorts, no hat and some klompy boot situation. 

My husband and I often take a divide and conquer approach. Our baby lot does not have a lot of snow coverage but we are also responsible for our neighbor's large corner lot (they compensate us adequately so no need to feel sorry for us, most days). My husband loves his snowblower and likes to wait until everything "settles down" before making a game plan. I am a little more jumpy and anxious to get the neighbor's driveway finished. I do not run the snowblower so I am only useful if the snow is a reasonable depth and it is not too moisture laden. I also do not own coveralls so if the windchill is below zero I am inept. In other words, I am a Goldilocks snow mover.  

Our latest snowfall was of the light and fluffy variety but it came with a sneak attack. I had completed the shoveling on the neighbor's driveway and sidewalks when my husband said that it looked like we might get another shot of snow. Grrr. He wisely waited and sure enough, another dump happened just as night was beginning to fall which is early this time of year. My husband owns headlamps and his snowblower is equipped with lights but I do not shovel in the dark unless it is an emergency. We decided the snow would still be there in the morning and we would join Ready Russ in another round of shoveling. 

All in a day's work. 

                                                                    

Shot

The ugly words of recent months such as "unprecedented", "mandate", "quarantine", "community spread", "asymptomatic" and the creepiest one of all "C-19" (I refuse to use its full name) are ever so slowly being eclipsed by the phrase "light at the end of the tunnel." That light is none other than a stick in the arm, a.k.a. vaccination. There is much ado concerning the process of dispensing the vaccine but I suspect that will work itself out as time marches along. Our community is currently working through level 1C. The really good news is that willing participants in senior centers have received their first round of the vaccine. My mother with dementia has been on lockdown in an assisted living facility since last March. A blessing of her dementia riddled mind is that she doesn't fully comprehend the gravity of the pandemic but she knows she is unable to see her children and grandchildren as freely as before. 

When I talked with her about receiving the new vaccine, she said, "I will give them my arm or my butt or whatever they want if it means I can get vaccinated." She didn't need to read the literature provided or watch the videos from health officials to understand the power of vaccines. In her 92 years she has seen enough death and suffering from diseases such as polio and tuberculosis to know that vaccines change lives.

My childhood included its share of diseases no longer prevalent at this time. Measles and mumps were still common and unpleasant, not to mention potentially deadly. We all experienced chicken pox and many of us had it at the same time due to its contagious nature. My mother told us not to scratch so much or we could develop long-term scarring. Easier said than done! We slathered ourselves full of calamine lotion in an attempt to mitigate the situation. I think we only succeeded in making ourselves look like a pack of pink panthers. My mother was a saint to deal with all our whining and discomfort. 

My parents never questioned vaccines even when many of them were in nascent stages of development. I remember an incident where I was told to eat a sugar cube laced with a pinkish liquid, no questions asked. It was the first oral polio vaccine being made available en masse. As kids, we were aware of the horror of "iron lungs" and children crippled for life. We gobbled down the sugar cube with all its fringe benefits. We were also on the tail end of the need for a smallpox vaccine. The nasty scab it produced left a scar many of us still sport today. 

The day my mother received her first C-19 vaccine was a day of rejoicing for me. When I asked her if she remembered getting her shot she quite naturally did not remember but she said, "Let me check for a band-aid on my arm. Yep, I've got a band-aid." Bingo! Round one in the books.

My subgroup for receiving the vaccine is last on the list so I will be queuing up with college kids when the time comes. I will be there with rings on my fingers and bells on my toes. And I won't even ask for a sugar cube chaser. 

Comfort

My husband and I often watch reruns of MASH while we enjoy our evening meal. It is true, we are on a slippery slope toward being a TV tray couple. Be that as it may, we rarely tire of the antics of the 4077 gang and it always seems better with dinner and dessert.

Recently, during a commercial break, I made the comment, "I think I should get a comfort monkey."

Silence.

More silence.

My husband finally looked at me and asked, "What are you talking about?" I could see in his eyes that he was hoping the drug commercials would soon be over so we could return to the show rather than explore the current non sequitur conversation. 

Not willing to be stopped, I clarified my comment. "I feel I am going to suffer from a form of PTSD if and when we get through this C-19 stuff and I may need some kind of animal to keep me company when I go out and about. It would be like those folks who have little dogs or iguanas or some type of animal to calm them down." 

More silence.

Finally, my husband, a man of precise and carefully chosen words, said, "I feel like an animal would cause you more stress."

Wiser words were never spoken. 

The truth of the matter is I have a complicated relationship with most animals, despite my upbringing on a farm. I am terrified of dogs. Chickens have a psychotic dark side. Cattle are best viewed behind fences. Mice make me shudder. Raccoons are shifty. Monkeys have scary hands. Pigs have grunty appetites. And opossums, don't get me started.

I like cats, perhaps due to their aloofness and independent nature. Birds always make me smile, albeit an ostrich might give me pause. Bugs, spiders and snakes are neutral for me, unless venom or constriction is involved. 

Clearly, my list of acceptable animals would likely not make very good in-public-comfort animals as most of them have issues with social skills. And my husband is correct in that any animal would give me stress as I am not one who enjoys the care and maintenance of indoor litter boxes, cages, and food bowls. I will have to adopt different ways to cope with the aftermath of the past year.  

2020 was a devil of a year and its ramifications are not over yet. Without a doubt many of us will be in need of comfort as we continue to move forward in 2021. I will not be using a comfort monkey but I plan on using my tried and true techniques.

For starters, a stack of library books gives me joy. The fermentation projects fizzing away on my counter give my gut microbiotica a happy treat. A bubbling pot of soup can calm the edgiest of days. Phone calls with friends and family help shift perspectives when gray clouds gather. A DVD workout reminds me to keep active, albeit begrudgingly. And there is nothing like another episode of MASH to point out that problems are a part of living.

Cheers to a New Year! May you find what comforts you.   

A Christmas gift from my husband
included, Sven, a comfort reindeer.