To-Do

It is back to school crunch time for students and teachers. My to-do list seems to grow longer by the minute despite my attempts to cross off accomplished tasks. It is also difficult to finish jobs when unforeseen circumstances set up speed bumps along the way. One day last week was particularly fraught with dead ends.

First on my list was a car wash. My vehicle was in desperate need of a cleansing, inside and out. The birds had baptized the exterior with a Picasso-like painting and the interior was sprinkled with the remnants of several 240 mile trips to and from my mother's house in preparation for the sale of her house. Added to the mix was Cheeto dust, Cheez-It crumbs, empty water bottles and one very large cedar chest. Definitely, time for a purge. As I approached the car wash, I noticed that it seemed a little slow. Yeah, no long wait. Then I read the sign: Closed for the week due to the installation of new equipment. Drat. Move on to item two on the list.

I needed a bag load of items from the drug store such as toothbrush, vitamins, shampoo, deodorant, the essentials for good hygiene and health. Unlike the car wash, the drug store parking lot was packed so no chance of it being closed. The extra service vehicles, however, should have been a red flag. Upon entering the store, it was evident that a water crisis had recently occurred. There were missing ceiling tiles, whirring fans and swishing mops everywhere. Many sections of the store were cordoned off by yellow caution tape. I attempted to weave my way through the maze but it became apparent that the majority of the items on my shopping list were located in the do-not-enter zones. I left the store with two items from my list. Not good.

On to the office supply store for printer ink. After years of staring blankly at rows and rows of ink cartridges, wondering which mystery box matches my computer, I finally problem solved my way to a solution. I have a picture on my phone of my printer and the ink box I need. Brilliant for my old lady brain. Duh, if you are under forty.

Pride goeth before a fall. As I hustled toward the store I realized that my phone was sitting on the file cabinet at home. My low-tech brain does not view my phone as an appendage so this is a common occurrence. Time was dwindling so I took a chance on purchasing an ink cartridge that looked vaguely familiar. No surprise that the only thing correct in the purchase was the brand name. Grrr. Add another trip to the to-do list.

At this point I added one last item to my to-do list: stop chasing. I tucked my crinkled list into my purse and called on a friend for what should have been on the top of my to-do list: spend time with people I love. I was able to accomplish that task and my to-do list woes faded away.

I hope your to-do list includes something joyful and relaxing this Labor Day weekend. All work and no play gives one a bad case of the grumpies.

Luscious

We all have moments when only one descriptor will suffice. The ragged hangnail dangling on my index finger is gruesome. The giant orange sun sinking below the horizon is stunning. The toddler riding along in a little red wagon is charming. The grease spot eternally clinging to my shirt is annoying. The cardinal singing from the treetop is refreshing.  The black and blue spot turning green on my knee is creepy. The incessant heat and humidity of summer is revolting. The zucchini plant churning out monstrous squash is fascinating.

And there are moments of lusciousness. Here are a few of mine.

1) Cool fronts--I am not a fan of sultry weather. I can achingly feel the dollars slip out the door as my air conditioner desperately attempts to squeegee the heat and humidity out of the air.  A cool front unloads sweet Canadian air into our midst, giving us the opportunity to open up our windows and breathe freshened air. Lusciously divine.

2) Peaches--I have eaten my share of sad, fibrous peaches which makes it all the better when I bite into a truly good one. The juice drizzles down my chin and arm as I slurp the sweetness from the silky fruit. The sticky aftermath just asks for more. Cobblers, crisps and pies are given new life and bedazzlement. Luscious ambrosia.

3) Socks--My feet enjoyed a great deal of freedom this summer but the time is quickly approaching when they will require a veil of protection. I have plenty of run-of-the-mill functional socks that dutifully give my feet a place to go before a shoe is donned. The socks that give me pleasure however are the cushy, well formed, non-slipping, cozy kind. They are weekend socks that pair nicely with a cup of coffee and a new novel. They are prized for their Goldilocks status--not too tight and not too loose. Snuggly lusciousness.

4) Bleach--Sad, but true. I love bleach. It is a cheap and effective cleaner and few germs stand a chance against it. I am certainly not a clean-a-holic but I cannot resist the power of bleach. I do not want the lemon scented, ocean breeze scented or fresh linen scented brands. I want the hard stuff and I respect what it can do for me and the grubbiness in my life. Luscious sanitation.

5) Autumn trees--They take my breath away. The cornucopia of colors splash the environment with delight. Blood red, lemon yellow, dusty tangerine, mottled green, rusty brown, grassy chartreuse and rich burgundy flutter in the breeze. Add a cool front to the mix and I am woozy with glee. Luscious kaleidoscope.

6) Cheese--I am not ashamed to say that I am addicted to the stuff. I love it in all shapes and sizes. It is tasty sliced, chunked, shredded, creamed or melted. It can be mild, sharp, peppery or tangy. It pairs well with sweet or savory. And nothing says finger licking good like a bag of puffs coated with fluorescent orange cheese dust. Luscious contentment.

I hope you experience a little lusciousness this week. Enjoy.

The Dream

The start of a new school year means many things. Shopping carts fill up with notebooks, pencils, art supplies and locker organizers. Clothing racks get a workout as new duds for school are perused and purchased. Squirmy toes are stuffed into shoes abandoned since last spring. Calendars fill up with tighter schedules. Swimming suits are given a final dip before being tucked into the bottom drawer. Frantic vacations are taken as the clock winds down.

Teachers also hop on the bus of increased activity. Posters are released from dark drawers and given wall space. Lesson plans are forged and polished. Books are counted and organized. Supplies are inventoried and distributed. Meetings portend the back to school frenzy. A sense of urgency wells up in the souls of all involved.

School cannot begin, however, until teachers experience The Dream. The Dream takes on many variations but the theme is always the same. I AM NOT READY! A typical dream scenario for me is a classroom full of restless, edgy students waiting for my arrival. The clock mercilessly creeps its way to the official start time of the day. I run at heart pounding speeds through a labyrinth of hallways like a rat in a maze. Each door I open leads me into the classroom of another teacher. I can't catch my breath but...I. do. not. give. up. Panic besets me as I round another corner only to see the principal. The mind games set in. Perhaps he is on his way to my room because he has been alerted to my tardiness. Maybe I should just catch up to him and confess my inadequacies once and for all. Run, check a door, run, check a door. The insanity takes its toll. Thoughts of a job loss take over. All the hallways start to look the same. It is no use. I am toast. My legs give out and I slip to the floor in an agonizing nod to a complete surrender. And then I notice the final assault. I forgot to put on my skirt.

Of course, I wake up at this point in the dream with my heart beating at fearful speeds. My mind takes a quick assessment of the situation. Is there a room full of students waiting for me? Not yet. Do I have lesson plans ready to go? Getting close. Is my classroom organized for the first day? Almost. Are my supplies purchased and organized? Yes. Do I know what I am going to wear on the first day? The skirt is ready.

I have learned a few things in my 27 years of teaching. The opening bell on the first day of school will happen whether I feel prepared or not. The butterflies in my stomach will take flight with the butterflies my students are experiencing. There will always be one more lesson plan to write and one more copy to be made. The computer will go all glitchy on me just when I need it most.

And the coffee will always be on so I can chase the dreams and cobwebs out of my head.

Jello

Pecan Praline Cheesecake. No problem. Herbed Focaccia Bread. Bring it on. Creme Brulee. With my eyes closed. Jello......Pause..... Read the box again. Breathe deeply. Boil the water. Stir the grainy crystals around. Add more water. Chill. Cross fingers.

It is true. I am afraid of Jello. The process of morphing hot liquid into a globular mass is baffling and I do not always want to be a part of the mystery. I know I should trust the collagen of boiled hooves to work their magic but I prefer less creepiness in my cooking. Fortunately, Jello is not on my radar of food cravings so I am able to avoid the little square boxes for the most part.

Jello does hold a few fond memories, however. Recently, my mother moved to an assisted living facility so my four sisters and I sorted through my mother's unneeded household goods. Along the way, we stumbled upon many treasures, especially in the kitchen. My mother fed seven cheeping children and a hungry husband for many years without a single fast food option or pizza takeout menu. Everything was from scratch and shortcuts were rare. We found evidence of her diligence as we pulled the old bean snipper out of her cupboard.  We used to french cut garden beans one by one, a task that was fun for the first ten beans, less so for the next eight hundred. Her vast array of baking tools are a testament to the many delicious treats we enjoyed throughout the years. I have no doubt that her cookie sheets alone delivered thousands of dozens of chocolate cookies to hungry little and big mouths.

The well-stocked cupboard of recipes gave us pause as we thumbed our way through culinary memories. The book that brought a shriek of delight was a small, hard covered book called, The New Joys of Jello. We recalled the jello salads that were standards in the 60's, 70's and 80's. Orange jello with fruit cocktail, strawberry jello with bananas, lime jello with pineapple, poke and pour jello cake, lemon jello with grated carrots (super yuck!!). One by one we admitted that our jello days were over. It was cathartic to know that my sisters, too, have moved on to new dietary delights.

Despite my release from Jello, I could not resist keeping the one dish that my mom always used for Jello. It is a vintage covered glass refrigerator dish with vegetable details on the lid. It was perfect for one box of jello with fruit add-ins. There was also room for real whipped cream topping when a little extra fanciness was called for. The dish is beautiful and somehow it has survived forty plus years of family life. I felt the need to continue its legacy of providing food for others.

I have no plans to ever put a jello salad in my charming new covered dish but it will be called into service once again. Less than 24 hours after its arrival in my kitchen it was proudly holding a garden pasta salad for my family. No need for saran wrap or foil, the glass lid fits snugly on the dish. I do think the original purpose of the dish was vegetable oriented as is evident in the corn, carrot and tomato detailing on the lid. It is time for the dish to return to its roots.

Now if I could just figure out a way to make it dishwasher and microwave safe, I would have the perfect dish.

 
 

Mason

My 87-year-old mother and I recently attended a graduation open house for my niece. As we enjoyed our ice cream sundaes, we discussed how quickly the grandchildren were growing up and how exciting it is when each one leaves the nest and begins a new future. My mother has twenty grandchildren with high school graduations under their belts, three to go.

We slurped down the last bite of our sundaes and our attention soon switched to the tasteful table decorations, a stack of three school books tied together with twine, topped by a Mason jar filled with a few fresh flowers. I am a Pinterest virgin so I am always in awe of those who know how to add an aesthetic touch to a setting. My idea of decorating is keeping everything in drawers and cupboards so I have less to dust. God bless those who rise above such laziness.

My mom was most interested in the Mason jar. She knows nothing about Pinterest's obsession with jars but she does know the utilitarian purpose of a jar (thank you, Mr. John Mason, circa 1858).  She sighed and remarked, "I canned a lot of food in jars like that." Her elderly friend at the table nodded her white-haired head and commented, "It was a lot of work."

Suddenly, the cute little jar with flowers took on a whole new meaning. Somewhere between the 1950's and the Pinterest era, the jar went from a symbol of diligence and preservation to an icon of cutesy quaintness. For my mother, it is still a reminder of the frantic frenzy brought on each summer by the relentless need to transport garden vegetables and seasonal fruit into neat rows of clear jars filled with green beans, red tomatoes, golden peaches and mahogany cherries. Our already warm kitchen was often heated up a few more degrees with blanching water burbling away on the stove and a mysteriously dangerous pressure cooker rattling away like Mt. St. Helens.  The tools of the trade were scattered throughout the kitchen, a metal funnel, lids with rubber seals, metal lid bands, a canning jar lifter thingy and lots of kitchen towels. Add to the mix a bunch of little helper hands and it is a day of industrious duty and moments of insanity. My mother was either very patient or oblivious to our shenanigans because I never remember her shooing us out of her way when she was canning. My guess is that our patience waned first and we slowly bowed out of the process and let the expert complete the task on her own.

Early in my married life I attempted canning, but commitment and relatively inexpensive canned goods at the grocery store sabotaged any long term efforts. One by one, my Mason jars became receptacles for objects other than beans and beets. Nothing cutesy, mind you, strictly pragmatic.

I suppose this is the part where I should call upon my readers to share charming little Mason jar ideas. Feel free to do so but I am afraid I won't be able to pass your ideas along to Pinterest. Unless you think a jar of paper clips has decorative potential.

Simply

We moved my mother to an assisted living facility this week. Room by room, closet by closet, drawer by drawer, we sorted everything in her home into three categories: Keep, Give Away, Dump.  No small task. Eighty-seven years of memories and accumulated possessions had to pass through a very small sieve called Room #7. Fortunately, my mother is not a saver and is also a very organized person. Nevertheless, a multitude of decisions had to be made.

Sometimes the decisions were easy. Her stack of forty Taste of Home magazines quickly went into the big black trash bag. We both confessed we love reading magazine recipes but never really get around to executing most of them. The assemblage of VCR tapes, cassette tapes and unidentified CDs were also given the heave-ho along with the aging electronic equipment that may or may not work anymore. Frankly, she never really figured out how to use any of it after Dad passed away despite our attempts to write out step-by-step tutorials for her. The TV and the remote went into the Keep category. The monstrous entertainment center was classified as Give Away. The jumbo speakers she was using as end tables by her couch went to techno heaven and the political DVDs followed closely behind.

The euphoria of easy classification was not the case for every possession. When we opened her office closet, our eyes settled on the shelves with the photographs. We both released an audible sigh and looked at each other with pained expressions. She did a brilliant job of organizing her photos into labeled albums and converting boxes and boxes of slides to CDs. Yet, sentimental is hard to classify as Keep, Give Away or Dump, especially when space is at a premium. We decided to do an off-site Keep. They are now safely tucked away in my basement awaiting a slow drizzle into mom's space. Hopefully, her organized albums will shame me into attacking my jumble of haphazard photos, negatives and camera detritus from the pre-digital era. Not holding my breath. Advance apologies to my daughter.

Many possessions inspired a memory or two. The large painting of a soaring eagle ignited a sparkle in mom's eyes as she told the story of how Dad loved eagles and the picture was an obvious choice for both of them when they needed something new above their couch. The little brown teapot I had never noticed before was a gift to her parents on their 50th anniversary. The scrapbook from the Lewis and Clark bus tour we took together several years ago brought out a shared glow of fond experiences. The box of specialty teas reminded us of the fun we had selecting a favorite tea and the ensuing laughter and conversation. The sets of Bible commentaries brought out her passion for teaching Bible studies throughout the years. We laughed when we recalled that "naughty class of Sunday School boys" she was asked to teach. She got them to behave which was a good thing because one of them became my husband.

Despite the challenges of making a monumental move, my mother maintained a positive attitude throughout the process. She kept saying there were only three temporal things she needed to make her happy. Her easy chair, a stack of crossword puzzle books and a bird feeder to watch from her window. Gratefully, we were able to make that happen. Life should always be so simple.

Dads

Father's Day is lurking around the corner and the purveyors of all things manly are ready to serve up the goods. Grilling tools, team logo caps, number one dad mugs and power tools promise to please the dads in our lives. Hallmark card verses range from the wacky to the sentimental to the musical. Grocery stores have plenty of steaks and burgers ready for backyard picnic gatherings.

Dads are indeed special. I witnessed two events within the past few weeks that reminded me of the unique flavor fathers add to a family unit. One happened on Mother's Day. I was hustling into the grocery store to pick up a few last minute items when I saw a young dad juggling a bouquet of flowers and a box of donuts. Trotting a few tiny steps behind his daddy was a little guy who knew they were about to cross the traffic lane in the parking lot. He looked up at his dad and realized there were no hands left for his safety tether. Without missing a beat, his dad quickly commanded, "Grab my pocket and stay close to me."  The boy immediately tucked his little hand into his daddy's pocket and they safely maneuvered their way to their vehicle. A mom in a similar situation would probably have the young tyke in the shopping cart so the child and the purchased items are all contained in one moving cage. Both methods achieve the same goal, safe transportation. The dad method had the element of risky trust in its execution, but dads know how to pull that off.

The second event also happened in the grocery store. (Yes, my social life revolves around grocery shopping.) A young mom was wrestling an oversized cart filled with two little girls and a few groceries. It was late afternoon and clearly, the girls had reached their patience limit, mom included. Suddenly, a gentleman came toward them, pushing an empty cart at a fairly good clip and nudged into the girls' cart. I expected to witness a mini-drama when I heard both girls giggling and squealing with delight, "Daddy!" Only a father can get away with playing bumper cars with a shopping cart. I watched the tension ease away from one exasperated mother as two little girls reached out for their dad. Dad took over so mom could shop in peace.

Not all of us have a dad for Father's Day. My own father passed away several years ago and I still have flashbacks of moments spent together. There were six siblings in competition for his attention but we never for a second doubted his love and loyalty to each one of us. He worked incredibly hard and faced health and business challenges without complaint to his children. His faith in God was evident in all he did and his motto each day (especially after receiving open heart surgery) was, "God has blessed me with another new day on earth."

Thank a dad this month, whether your own or the guy playing bumper carts at the grocery store. Fathers can make little kids giggle while moms are reminding them to "be careful."  Dads know how to walk on the wild side and still cross the street safely.

Thanks, Dad.