Jobs

Unless you were born a trust fund baby, it is likely that you have climbed upon the hamster wheel of currency acquisition and experienced a number of employment opportunities throughout your life. I certainly was not born with a wad of cash in my back pocket so the need for good old-fashioned work has always been a part of my existence.  Not surprisingly, my first jobs were agrarian related. Many chores were just part of belonging to a farm family and monetary compensation was not to be expected. A few jobs had a carrot of cash dangling at the end of them, heavy on the work, light on the cash.

One job that always struck terror within my soul was the call to “chase pigs.” For whatever reason there were times when the swine needed to be moved from point A to point B. One does not herd pigs, they are chased. However docile a pig might seem, they carry an evil gene that can turn on you in a moment’s notice. My ineptness as a pig chaser was soon evident as I ran for the nearest point of sanctuary at the slightest provocation from my piggy friends. At some point, my father quit asking for my “help” and thought it best that I stay in the house and bake cookies instead.

A job that came with a bit of compensation was tying bales. This task required a bit of on-the-job training and was not for the faint of heart. The farm’s baling equipment left a loose end of twine on each bale. Our task was to loop the loose end into a knot with the adjacent line of twine, thus securing the bale for later retrieval. My siblings and I would gather at one edge of the field in the early morning hours in an attempt to escape the scorching heat of the day. Blisters from pulling on the twine were somewhat abated by wearing stuffy gloves. Unprotected ankles were scraped up as we trudged our way through the field of stubble. My fair skin was a canvas for sunburn and needless to say, I was not a big fan of this duty. The pennies we received per bale helped lessen the sting somewhat and I learned about perseverance and calamine lotion.

One task I never complained about was the opportunity to rock and read to my younger siblings. There always seemed to be a little munchkin whose attention needed to be diverted for awhile. I loved reading books and was only too happy to do so for as long as it took for a wee one to nod off or forget about the next tantrum. One favorite book was Walter, the Lazy Mouse. It was about a mouse who wanted to play rather than do his share of household tasks. One day he arrived back home, only to find an empty nest because his little mousie family had moved away while he was out frolicking about. I don’t remember how it ended but I do remember that Walter was a somber reminder to stay industrious and mind your mother.  Another beloved book (and perhaps less traumatizing) was Pockets. Each page revealed another surprise that could be found in the hidden recesses of a variety of pockets. The climax happened on the final page when Daddy’s pocket revealed “candy for all of us!”

Life on the farm was a great way to grow up but I clearly did not have the fortitude and constitution to follow that career path. Suffice it to say, I am better suited for rocking and reading books. Not much pay for such things, but both are an option for alleviating the next tantrum.

Spring

In my part of the country, the seasonal change of spring is marked by a date on the calendar rather than the warming breezes of a new season. Longingly I have been checking my garden for a few sprigs of chives that might bravely peek their heads out of the cold pack of ground. No chives yet and I am sure they wisely know that winter might not be through with us yet. And, boy howdy, how right they are. This week we were slammed with a ferocious storm that virtually shut down our entire region. Even by our standards, this one was a doozy. Thunder clapped and lightning snapped as sleet sliced through the air. Skeletal trees were covered with an ice coating that made everyone shudder in sympathy. Wind howled and played the ice covered branches like out-of-tune xylophones. Chunks of trees and ice shards fell like shrapnel on houses, cars and streets. Walking was a hazardous endeavor with ice under foot and falling debris and sleet from above. Snow blanketed the wreckage with a deceiving quilt of white. Power lines snapped, crackled and popped as they struggled to stay in place. Thousands were without electricity as brave linesmen battled to restore the broken lines.

Once again I was amazed at the resiliency of most folks in this area. Not once did I see a fist raised toward the sky, the government or the power companies as folks battled the elements. The TV crews aired many stories of disaster and each interviewee told a story with essentially the same three elements: 1) This is what happened. 2) This is how we are facing the challenge and 3) It could have been worse.

One woman told about the loss of a huge tree in her back yard. With tears in her eyes she shared how many memories the tree held for her family over the years. She also shared that her husband was struggling, not because he just had back surgery, but because he couldn't help his neighbors clean up the debris. And then the punch line. “It could have been worse.”

A young man told about a large tree that gouged a gaping hole in his apartment building and knocked down nearby power lines. After checking on the well being of his neighbors he shared, “We’ll get this mess cleaned up and do what we can. At least the tree didn't rip the whole building in half and we are all safe.”

The emergency management team was activated and the spokesperson declared with confidence, “We are a state that knows how to handle this kind of disaster. We are prepared to meet the challenges of mother nature and will do what it takes to keep our citizens safe.” No weeping, wailing or hand wringing from this team. Pull up your boots and head into the wind.

A news reporter stood outside in the driving rain/sleet/snow and gave his latest weather update. “Roads are closed. Street crews are doing what they can to clear emergency routes. Travel is not advised unless absolutely necessary. And only one half of my body is coated with ice.”  That’s the spirit, young man. No namby pambies allowed. Citizens of this state know that the weather can change within minutes. We are not strangers to tornadoes, blizzards, ice, sleet, wind and wild temperature swings. We accept it and we prepare for it.

So, as I grieved the loss of huge chunks of our beloved front yard trees and grumbled about the addition of more school days at the end of a very long semester, I reminded myself that my flashlights were filled with fresh batteries, my cupboard had plenty of food and my thermos was always ready to go with hot coffee.

It could have been worse.

Here is a dessert that tastes like spring, even when the weather outside is frightful.

Strawberry Cream Dessert

Crust:

2 1/4 c. graham cracker crumbs

1/4 c. sugar

1/2 c. margarine, melted

Press into 9x13 pan.

8 oz. cream cheese, softened

1 c. powdered sugar

16 oz. frozen whipped topping, thawed

1 pkg (3 oz.) strawberry gelatin

1/2 c. boiling water

1 c. strawberry yogurt

Beat cream cheese and powdered sugar until smooth. Add 1 cup whipped topping. Spread over crust.

Dissolve gelatin in boiling water. Let cool for 10 minutes. Add yogurt and 2 cups whipped topping. Pour over cream cheese layer. Refrigerate for one hour.

Top with remaining whipped topping.

Must Haves

The fashion world often recommends a list of “must haves” for every woman of style. The list usually includes items such as a basic black dress, a pencil skirt, a crisp white shirt and a jacket with a pop of color. I’m going to go on record by saying that my social calendar never demands a black dress, my hips will never jimmy into a pencil skirt, crisp and white lasts only until the first washing and the only pops of color on my jackets are a few coffee stains. A woman of style I am not.

I do, however, have a few other must haves. Since my time in the grocery store outnumbers my time in a clothing store at a ratio of 1,000:1, I’ll focus on the kitchen.

1) Mustard—I have at least 4 kinds. Dijon is the standard pick when I want to add just a little kick to my food. Whole grain mustard is my choice when I want a texture boost. Honey mustard is a nice addition to turkey or ham sandwiches. And last, but not least, is the big squirt bottle of the neon yellow stuff that is perfect for a color and taste boost to just about anything.

2) Cream—yes, I said cream. A little goes a long way when it comes to a finishing touch on, well, just about anything. I grew up on the stuff and I can’t seem to let it go. That blue milk will never do the trick in my book.

3) Onions, carrots and celery—the trinity of taste. There is something calming about chopping up a pile of vegetables and dropping them into whatever is on the menu for the day. Beats swallowing a multi-vitamin.

4) Cheerios—little O’s of go power. I eat them by the handfuls. I should probably have one of those cute little Cheerio snack containers that all the kids have, but I prefer to just shove them in my mouth, leaving a trail of oaties in my wake.

5) Saltines—plain, no sea salt or whole grain fanciness. There isn’t anything that doesn’t go with a saltine. It’s a platter for sweet or savory and is just the right size, even though one is never enough.

6) Chocolate Chips—by the handful or by the bag, good either way. Nothing says love like a batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and I like to be prepared for a bake-a-thon when the mood hits.

7) Kitchen scissors—take these away and I’ve lost my right hand. Bags never seem to open along the “tear here” mark so I need back up.

8) Coffee—at the ready at all times. I’m not above reheating a leftover cup from the day before (addictions aren’t always pretty) but I prefer a freshly brewed pot.

9) Cheese—the eighth wonder of the world. Cheddar and parmesan are the base of all goodness. Feta, havarti, gouda and goat cheese fill in the gaps. There’s a reason we are told to say “cheese” when we have our picture taken. Who can be sad when cheese is on the mind?

I may not have a closet full of pencil skirts and crisp white shirts, but my coffee pot is always bubbling away. And if you are craving a ham sandwich, I’m sure I can rustle that up for you, too. Your choice of mustard.

Here’s a yummy mustard dip that would taste good on a napkin.  I prefer it with pretzels or veggies.

1 1/2 c. mayo

3/4 c. sugar (yes, that is the right amount)

6 Tbs. yellow mustard (from the big squeeze bottle)

1 Tbs. vegetable oil

Garlic powder and dill weed, to taste

March

March is the horse latitudes of teaching. It is the time of year when the winds of progress stall out and there seems to be no end in sight as we bob along in the ocean of academic endeavors. Something or someone might need to be thrown overboard before our voyage can continue toward landfall. Oh, March, how you try my patience!

It is the time of year when I would love a dollar for every time a student looks at me and tells me his uncompleted assignment is “on my desk at home.” This coming from a student who hasn’t picked up a pencil most of the year during class work time. I am now supposed to believe that said student was overcome with self-discipline when he arrived at home. I’m also supposed to believe that the student somehow ignored the siren song of video games and chose to work at his fictitious desk so he could complete his assignments. Just give me another dollar for every time I dug through a student’s binder, miraculously finding a missing assignment, only to hear, “Hmm, I wonder how that got in there?”  Sigh.

It is the time of year when teachers can collapse into despair (or violence) when the copy machine flashes “paper jam” again. It always happens when one is in a hurry and there is a writhing snake of students on their way to one’s classroom. Choices are made in the heat of the moment and some of them are not pretty. Usually, plan B is launched and the copier is left to scream its message of doom to the next teacher who is in frantic need of a few copies. More chocolate, please.

It is the time of year when developing a new seating chart takes the wisdom of Solomon. Bucky can’t sit next to Sissy because they will talk all the way through class. Sissy can’t sit next Lucy because they are “not getting along.” Bucky can’t be across the table from Juno because Juno has a crush on Bucky and they will be making googly eyes at each other. (This lasts until the next text message in middle school). Zippy has to sit at a table by himself due to “attention issues”.  Juno is passive aggressive so she can’t be placed near the gentle students or she will rein quiet terror in the lives of others. Hard decisions are made. Sometimes it is best to seat non-workers with non-workers so that at least one of them is forced to do something during the next lab. “Special” seats are set up for those who can’t play nice in the sandbox. And, dare I say it, sometimes it’s time for a choose-your-own-partner activity so that the sweet ones can enjoy productivity together and the not so sweet can self-combust on their own.

It is also the time of year when I notice that my “babies” are growing up. They come to me with a fairly low reading on the mature-o-meter. As the year progresses, many of them start sliding over a few notches on the maturity scale. I see a student who doesn’t like to read, grab the sports section of the newspaper I put on the counter behind his desk. He actually turns the page because he wants to find out about his favorite sports team and not just because he knows he is supposed to turn a page every once in awhile so I think he might be reading.

I also get to see a student come bounding into my room with a picture she took of a hawk that had landed in her backyard. She needed help identifying the bird and wanted to use one of my field guides. Other students gather around the photo and spontaneously start sharing their backyard bird stories. Sweet music to my ears.

Yes, dear March, you try my patience. But, I know that the prevailing winds of refreshment are on their way. And they are called Summer.

Dutch

If you have an e-mail address, chances are you've received a forward that starts with the phrase, “You know you are ………. if you……….”.  Rest easy. I am not going to start a new one called “You know you are Dutch if……”  Many of us are several generations away from our immigrant ancestors, yet we continue to maintain certain hidden rules. I am one hundred percent Dutch with the fair skin and blond hair to go with that pedigree. My ancestors were extremely conservative and placed a high priority on faith, family and frugality. Here are a few signs that you might be amongst my people. (You've been warned.)

Check a Dutch kitchen cupboard and you will most likely find a bottle of almond extract. We like all things almond. A favorite treat is called Bunket. It is a flaky pastry filled with an almond paste. It goes great with a strong cup of coffee and the crusty crumbs on your shirt taste just as good an hour later.

Check our stash of greeting cards. Chances are you won’t find any fancy dancy Hallmarky cards. We are not too keen on spending $5.99 for a card when something a little less pricey can carry the same sentiment. It’s more likely that we have a box of all occasion cards with flowery pictures and to-the-point greetings. Better yet, our box was purchased from the church’s ladies aid society, making it a win-win deal.

Most Dutch households have a stand alone freezer. Bigger bargains can be purchased if you have the freezer space. We also like to cook and bake. Without a freezer, there would be waste and that is just not acceptable. We procure our meat through locker plants so we don’t have to pay $30.00 or more for a steak dinner. Vegetables from our gardens nestle in by the protein in the freezer so we are prepared for a life without menus.

We borrow our books from the library at church or the downtown place. Spending money on something that is a one time read through is incongruent with our budget beliefs. There is always a chance that a new book will be a bust so being able to return it with no strings attached is a sweet thing. Borrowing books is also a way to spur one on to finish a book before the bell of the due date tolls.

Dutch folks are happiest when they've saved a penny or two. This includes the two for one meal deals, discount store bargains and closeout sales. Buying something for full price is tantamount to using good china for an everyday meal. It’s just not done. And, heaven forbid, we are forced into buying something at its full retail cost.That is a secret that goes to the grave with us.   

My people like to use stuff until it wears out…completely out. Most of us don’t need the latest, everyone-has-it item. Shoe polish, patches, sewing kits and duct tape fix most things. We don’t worry about what the neighbors think unless they think we might be rich.

The older I get, the more I know that it’s impossible to fight genetics. We may think that we are different from our grandparents but when it comes right down to it, we eat and drink the same almond pastries and cups of coffee as they did. My advice is to celebrate who you are and enjoy the crumbs on your shirt. 

Treasures

Recently, my husband came into the house from the garage and announced, “Well, this is it.” He was tenderly clutching a small cellophane package and had a look of somber resolution on his face. He then proceeded toward the kitchen table and settled in with his morning cup of coffee. When I asked him what the occasion was, he replied, “This is my last Hostess streusel cake and I’m going to eat it today.” Knowing how long it’s been since Hostess went out of business, I asked him about the expiration date on his treasured lump of sugary goodness. He gave me a puzzled look and said, “Streusel cakes never get old.” He’s probably right about that, given the list of ingredients and preservatives listed on the box. I decided to leave him alone so he could enjoy the moment in peace. Just a man and his streusel cake.

All this pomp and circumstance reminded me that I, too, have treasures that I cling to. But, unlike my husband, I often don’t enjoy them because they seem too precious to be used. For instance, I have a small (very small) cache of saffron in my cupboard. Saffron is a spice that comes from the dried stigmas of the crocus plant. Needless to say, it is an expensive seasoning. All that value has made me afraid to use it and it is probably way past its time of viability due to my hesitancy.

Another flavoring I have in my cupboard is a vial of 3 whole vanilla beans. They are not as expensive as saffron, but my Dutchness makes it difficult for me to purchase them very often. Because my crème brulee recipe cries out for vanilla, I respectfully sacrifice a bean for the punch of flavor it provides. I am never sorry I used the bean after I taste the final dessert, but you can be sure, I don’t take the use of the bean lightly.

One of the wedding gifts we received many years ago was a set of cups with matching serving plates. These, of course, seemed too fancy for everyday use so they stayed safely tucked away in a cupboard, awaiting just the right moment and just the right company for their service. Well, the right moment and the right company never seemed to arrive and I finally gave the set away so someone else could use them, rather than just the dust bunnies.  

Over the years, I have received other gifts such as fancy towels, pretty serving bowls and elegant stationery. Sad to say, most of them were not enjoyed to their fullest extent as I parsimoniously determined the best time for their utilization. The everyday always seemed to demand less finery and “just the right moment” never seemed to arrive often enough to really enjoy a little goodness.

At my age, it makes no sense to be stingy with the pleasantries of life. Come to think of it, miserliness is probably not the best policy at any age. So, my advice to you is to unleash the treasures chained up in your closets. Unlike streusel cakes, some of them might have an expiration date and it’s time to enjoy the moments.

Victory

I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro. Not really. But that is how I feel every time I go into the ring with a new piece of technology and win a round. Most of my technological accomplishments would be nothing more than flipping a pancake for the average twelve year old. For me, any victory with a gidgy gadget is worth a celebratory moment.

It all started with the slow death of my printer. I should have suspected that I was in for a terminal experience when the only color it would print was a dirty pink. Yet, I continued to have hope. Maybe I had used the wrong color cartridge. Two expensive cartridges later, not the problem. Maybe I could just print in black and white and call it good. Every other page was spitting out in a grayish ink color, not going to work. Maybe I could use my husband’s fix-it method. Hit it a few times and let it rest. Working even less after that intervention. After months of unrequited love, it was time to say goodbye. I unplugged it and moved it to the what-am-I-going-to-do-with-this pile. Buying a new printer means new cables, cords, ink cartridges and instructions that are clear only to the techno wizards of the world.

Alas, I finally broke down one day and impulsively bought the first printer I saw in a store that is not known for its technology department. I should have heeded the warning signs that were written all over the experience. First, the box looked a bit shabby and had more tape holding it together than carton. Secondly, the contents looked like a re-packaging event had occurred. And finally, the fourth step in the set-up wizard involved inserting ink cartridges into an area that involved some exertion on my part. After turning the power on, an ominous message scrolled across the display screen: Cartridge jam, remove foam.

I’m not going to go into the sour details of what happened next. Let me just say that there was never any foam in the printer and I had my own re-packaging event with the beast.

Technology: 1    Me: 0

After recovering from that loss, I worked up the nerve to buy another printer. This time I went to a store with an official printer department. Maybe it was the smell of all that packaging, but I decided I should probably buy a router, too. The helpful young lad assured me that I could EASILY hook up a router as it was as simple as connecting it to ...... I was already four vocabulary words behind him, but I felt a surge of hopefulness and purchased the router and a new printer.

The router box was smallest so I made the decision to connect it first. The task involved crawling around behind my computer desk, trying to decipher the spaghetti plate of cords and cables, and making a mental note to dust someday in the future.

The EASY start-up wizard started spitting out instructions that were senseless to me. What is an Ethernet cable??? What gadget is my modem?? Where do I go to poke my eyes out??

After an hour of plugging any cable I could find into any port that would accept it, the impossible happened. A connection was made.

Technology: 0   Me: 1

My office looks like a war zone, but the ugly beast of failure has been tamed. Well, at least for now. I still have a printer that needs to meet me at O.K. corral.

Wish me luck!