Timeline

Cookbooks are like snapshots on a timeline. My cookbook collection gives me the chance to peer into my past and experience my culinary trek through time. Some cookbooks are in pristine condition due to infrequent use and some are falling apart due to the ravages of repeated use and sticky fingers. My cookbooks are not organized in any particular order but if I had to classify them into categories, it would look like this:

1) Standards--My classic Betty Crocker cookbook was my first "real" cookbook (not sure of the copyright date due to lost pages). Someone wisely gave it to me as a bridal shower gift and I can safely say I used it more than any other gift I received. It had everything from dips to cakes to "variety meats" to cooking tips. I loved paging through it for recipe ideas and it was a trusted friend for many years. I have since upgraded my standard cookbooks, but if I ever need to cook tripe or glazed beef tongue, I know where to go.

2) Brand Names--Recipes sell products and there is nothing better than a cookbook devoted to a brand or ingredient to encourage experimental cooking. Case in point, the Jello cookbook. My readers know  I have a love/hate (mostly hate) relationship with the jiggly goo. Alas, my Jello cookbook did not stay in my collection nor did my Philadelphia Cream Cheese cookbook. My Pillsbury Bake-Off cookbook, however, has literally been used to death. Most of its 511 pages are pulled away from the binding so I carefully extract the page I need when it is time for Chocolate Chip Pecan Pie or Cinnamon Coffee Cake Loaf. Baked goods always make me smile.

3) Travel--Gift shops are tourist gold mines. I have little use for chotskies and doo-dahs, but I love books. Browsing and perusing is such fun and occasionally, I purchase a place specific cookbook. My Naniboujou Lodge cookbook always takes to me back to beautiful Lake Superior. It is filled with historical information and the stories of those who are still committed to preserving a slice of history.The lodge's dining hall is adorned with stunning art designs and their bread pudding was the impetus for purchasing the cookbook.  A different body of water inspired another cookbook acquisition for me, namely, the Atlantic Ocean. My knowledge of beach life could fit on a thumbtack, but I love seafood. The cookbook, Beach Cuisine, written by a home economics teacher from that area is now one of my favorites. Recipes like St. Helena Shrimp Scampi and Stumpy Point Stuffed Summer Squash remind me of a place far from my landlocked home.


4) Ladies-next-door--These are the day to day workhorse cookbooks produced by church groups and civic organizations with titles such as "Heavenly Dishes" and "Community Favorites." My first such cookbook was published by the supporters of the high school I attended. A rush of fond memories wraps me up like a warm blanket every time I read the names of the ladies who submitted their favorite recipes for the cookbook. Many of the ladies have since gone on to their eternal home but their legacy lives on through their commitment to providing good food and loving homes. This is evident in one of the recipes in the cookbook called Dried Beef and Cream Cheese Wraps: Take pieces of dried beef and spread with softened cream cheese. Then wrap around a green onion. Men love them.

Perhaps cookbooks are falling out of favor due to the overwhelming abundance of recipes available on the internet today. But I am grateful for my stained-up, loose-paged, dog-eared collection of cookbooks. They are my scrapbooks of joy.

Obsessed

With my social media fast still raging on, I find myself preoccupied with other forms of entertainment. My latest obsession involves bird web cams.  Yes, I know, web cams can technically be classified as a type of social media, but I assure you, the birds are not tweeting (excuse the pun) or instagraming the life they want us to see. They are just being birds, ruffled feathers and all. They eat. They poop. They squeak and they squawk. And they lay eggs with the hope of at least one chick surviving. It is gritty life and death drama moving in slow motion.

My favorite bird cam is located in Missoula, Montana. It features a pair of ospreys named Louis and Iris. I have followed this cam off and on for a few years so I feel they are my friends (no request required). Iris already lost one mate, Stanley. Ospreys are monogamous so we know Stanley met his demise one winter during their migration southward. Fortunately, Louis took over and he is an excellent provider, which is a good thing as Iris just laid her third egg.

Louis and Iris bicker like any married pair. Whenever Louis attempts to bring large sticks to their nest Iris becomes very opinionated about their placement in her nest and Louis usually is not the winner. Iris also prefers to be the one to incubate their eggs, but she occasionally gives Louis a chance to hunker down gently on their orbs of parenthood. Compromise is the glue of most relationships.

What Louis does best is fish. An osprey's diet consists mainly of live fish. There is a river near their nest so Louis is often gone fishing for Iris. It is an interesting sight to see Louis fly into the nest with a squirming fish. Iris likes to bite off the head of the fish first, going for the tasty bits right away, I guess. She gobbles up her meal and either takes a short break from egg duty or gets right back to her nesting.

I am getting very attached to my osprey friends. Too attached, perhaps. From my years of growing up on a farm, I know the cruel blows life in the natural world can wield. Last year, all three of Iris and Louis's offspring died of starvation. The river nearby rose to flood levels and made it all but impossible for safe fishing for the bird pair. This year, the river is again rising and the same fate could be ahead. And that is why I find authentic bird cams so fascinating. No one is attempting to paint a pretty picture for the viewers. I am not subjected to perfect lives and exotic vacations. Instead, the camera posts the triumph of a well caught fish as well as the potential for heartbreaking tragedy.

I am rooting my avian friends, no matter how this year's chick raising chapter ends. In the meantime, I will continue to enjoy watching them carry out their daily duties. One stick and one fish at a time.

Not a bad motto for life.

Snail

Living in the upper plains prepares one for weather diversity and adversity. On the fifth anniversary of one of the worst ice storms recorded for our city, we received an arctic punch that had even the hardiest of folks mumbling and grumbling. It started with thunder and lightning. A crack of lightning in our neighborhood struck a pole nearby, causing electricity issues for some. Then the heavens opened with a rain and ice mix. Not exactly snow. Not exactly hail. We will call it snail.

The snail continued on and off for hours, causing a pebbly-like build up on the streets. Add large vehicles driving over said surface. Sprinkle on more snail. Turn on sixty-mile-an-hour wind gusts. Warm it up just enough to partially melt the snail. Keep the snail going through the night so sleep is impossible with the ping-pinging on the windows. Change the snail to full on snow until twelve inches is received. Whip the wind into a frenzy so tree branches are waving good bye. Coat everything with more snow icing. Shut down the interestate highways in two directions. And voila, you have yourself a spring storm, Dakota style.

After two days of being pummeled by the weather, a peek out the window revealed the aftermath. Snow gathered in heaps wherever there was an obstacle in its path. Small branches awaited gathering up. Snow on the streets threatened to swallow up unprepared vehicles. Little rabbit tracks made their way to bushes, indicating the chance for small critters to nibble on the tops of vegetation, rather than the understory. The chug-chug of snow blowers geared up with earnest battle cries, fully determined to shave down the mountains of white stuff.

My long-suffering husband takes care of our driveway and the neighbor's larger corner lot and driveway. Sitting on my ample behind, watching him chip away at operation snow removal seemed beyond lazy, even for me. So I picked up a shovel (the smallest one, I am weak) and hacked away on our deck. To be completely honest, I was probably more concerned about the birds than my husband. We had packed up the feeders before the storm for fear of losing them to the wind and ice. During the storm, I watched the little juncos and sparrows flit about looking for any tidbit left behind. It was like my trip to the store in the wee hours of day two of the storm. The shelves were barren. Time to live off the land and whatever was left in my fridge and freezer. My vision of chicken soup quickly morphed into a pot of beef stew instead. The milk was parsed out sparingly. And the oranges rolling around in my crisper drawer held off scurvy. We lived to see another day.

It is said that you never have to shovel sunshine (smugly stated by those living in warmer climes). I would add that shovels are tools reserved for optimistic realists. We know that April snail brings May flowers. Maybe.

Ode

April is National Poetry Month. I know from experience that poetry is wickedly difficult to compose. Good poetry demands a parsimonious touch with words that my stream of consciousness has never allowed with any success. Therefore, I will not subject you to any poetry penned by my hand.

Many folks seem to have a love/hate relationship with poetry. The little ditties of our youth such as Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and Rock-a-Bye Baby are etched into our brains until death do us part. But who of us could name more than a handful of poets, much less recite a poem more than ten lines long? I am guilty as charged.

Surprisingly, I do have a favorite poet and his name is Badger Clark. He was the first poet laureate of South Dakota (1937). He preferred the title "poet lariat" due to his love of all things cowboy. I am not exactly sure when my fascination began with Badger. My best guess is that it happened during a vacation of my youth. My mom was a teacher and my dad had an insatiable appetite for learning so no outing was complete without some sort of educational "event." One year, a trip to the Black Hills included a stop at Badge Hole, the cabin where Badger spent almost 30 years reading and writing. My childhood memory is a bit weak but I remember Badger's signature tall boots lined up along the wall and his many shelves of books. I don't think I read any of his poetry immediately after our visit but his name stuck in my brain.

Fast forward many years later and I had a desire to read a poem or two by Badger. My public library had a nice collection so I checked his books out. I was smitten. His ability to describe his love of nature and the lost art of being a cowboy kept me coming back for one more reading. I am not one who rereads a lot of books but Badger Clark is the exception.

My husband and I had the pleasure of visiting Badger Hole many years after my first visit. My adult eyes soaked up the view of his cabin nestled in the beautiful pine trees. The volunteer attendant at the cabin enthusiastically shared Badger's story as we marveled at his multiple pairs of tall boots and his vast collection of books. It was impossible for me to leave without purchasing a few of his books after gushing away about my love for his poetry. I am quite sure the sweet attendant with the distinctive southern accent knew I was a true believer and not just an out of state looky-loo. As we left the cabin, my husband remarked that I could probably take over the attendant's job someday and I had to admit that would be a dream job for me. We also agreed that a paycheck would sweeten the pot and that was never going to happen.

At risk of imprisonment for copyright infringement, let me leave you with a few lines from Badger Clark's poem, "The Bad Lands".

No fresh green things in the Bad Lands bide;
   It is all stark red and gray,
And strewn with bones that had lived and died
   Ere the first man saw the day.
When the sharp crests dream in the sunset gleam
   And the bat through the canyon veers,
You will sometimes catch, if you listen long
The tones of the Bad Lands' mystic song,
   A song of a million years. 

Fasting

The almighty juggernaut, Facebook, has come under fire of late. I am not smart enough to understand the intricacies of their alleged misconduct. I know it has something to do with the manipulation of data. I know that all of this has an Orwellian flavor to it. I know we have to be idiots to believe the mission of Facebook is solely for the purpose of connecting people with people.

All that said, I am on a Facebook fast. After a bit of reflection, I realized that I have been allowing FB to add layers of perceived demand in my life. Such as:

If I "like" one friend's post, do I need to "like" everyone's posts?

If I "hide" friends' postings, will they find out?

If I never post, will I be considered a lurker? (Too late for me.)

Do I have to post a birthday greeting for everyone?

Do I have to confirm every friend request?

What will I miss if I stay away from Facebook?

All of the above are self-imposed challenges for me. Nevertheless, I am allowing such nonsense to become annoying. I am also spending too much time on FB, scrolling through pages of posts that may or may not be necessary. I am spending too much time descending into rabbit holes of snoopiness. Some of it has been entertaining, but a big portion of it has not been very edifying. FB allows me to be a Peeping Tom without the fuss of hiding in bushes near a picture window.

In addition, I find it awkward to have meaningful conversations with folks who post everything but their booger production on FB. Favorite conversation starters such as "How are your kids doing?" and "Have you been traveling lately?" become silly when I have read and seen pictures of everything on their FB posts. It is like asking someone a personal question when you just finished reading their diary.

Social media is the darling of our fast paced world because it is a quick way to keep up with the world around us. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. But, you get what you pay for. Because I am old, I know that there was a time when I could look up something in a World Book encyclopedia and no one knew what topic I was interested in but me, myself and I. Today, if I google a topic, all my devices are suddenly flashing ads related to my topic of interest, age and political affiliation.

My Facebook fast has been good for me so far. I am turning the pages of real books rather than mindlessly scrolling through computer screen pages. I am watching birds outside my window now that spring is luring them back (sorry, about the recent snows, little birdies). I am enjoying the freshness of conversations with others.

I have no end game in mind. I could go back to FB tomorrow or never. My fast is not about shaming others to do the same. It is a personal decision to be more mindful of my own actions. I want "face" and "book" to be two separate terms.

Hope you can enjoy a cup of coffee with a friend this week. Or send an old-fashioned card to someone you care about. Or belly laugh with someone you love. No data disclaimer required.

One Another

There are many challenges in the world of teaching in a middle school. Students can become ornery, sassy, apathetic or defiant on any given day and at any given hour. Their mood swings are notorious. Girls are often embroiled in whispers of drama and relationship angst. Boys become fascinated with girls but are unsure of how to deal with them. Add to the mix a cocktail of hormones swirling around in their bodies and it is truly the perfect storm.

As they struggle to morph into adults, teens test the waters of maturity. Recent student protests featured in the news focus on this murky process. Administrators across the nation are grappling with ways to allow students the freedom to take a stand without compromising school policies. The fervor of youth can be a tidal wave without boundaries if left unchecked.

I am not smart enough to have the answers to this problem. I do know, however, that there are a lot of good kids who are doing the one thing that will probably make the greatest difference in schools. There are kids who are watching out for one another. There are kids who care.

This lesson was brought home to me by a couple of incidents that occurred at the end of the day outside my classroom. Leah, a young lady who is often hypersensitive to the remarks of others, was once again visibly upset as she pulled her backpack out of her locker. Three other girls were gathered around her, ready to assist. The young ladies represented different races, social classes and degrees of edginess. But all three were united in their genuine concern for Leah. They asked her what was wrong. Leah said she had her feelings hurt by the remarks of another student. Without missing a beat the three girls gave Leah a group hug and continued with words of support. Girl One comforted Leah by telling her she was going to be all right. Girl Two validated Leah's feelings by assuring her that some students are just plain rude.

Leah basked in the support of the three girls, none of whom are her closest friends. When they asked her if she was going to be okay, Leah nodded her head and said she was feeling better. As the girls started to leave, Girl Three said, "I promise I will pray for you, Leah."

Two days later, Leah was once again in a state of turmoil at the end of the day. This time two boys came running into my room and said they were worried about Leah and that I should check on her. Mind you, neither boy is known for his stellar behavior in the classroom, but they cared enough to find an adult who could help. As I counseled Leah, another girl passed by and said, "You've got this, Leah. You can be a superwoman."

Most likely, Leah will continue to struggle with self-esteem issues as she navigates middle school roads. Most likely, there will be more rude remarks made to others in school settings. And, most likely there will be students who are too wounded to act appropriately.

Blessedly, there are students who want to do the right thing. They are learning the powerful lesson of caring for one another. It is a superpower, for sure.

Misfortune

Sooner or later, a thief is bound to strike in such a way that the victim's sense of security is sliced open and left raw. It was my turn to be the victim. No, I wasn't robbed at gunpoint in a parking lot. Nor was my home burglarized. The thugs in my case were not brave enough to show their faces or leave a set of fingerprints. They carried out their malfeasance through the nameless, cowardly world of cyberspace.

A few days ago, my bank called to alert me of suspicious charges made on my bank debit card. I immediately checked my account and was shocked to see three pending charges that were not made by anyone in my household. I quickly deactivated my debit card so I could prevent further bleeding. My emotions swirled in fear, anger and disgust. Fortunately, the debits were under fifty dollars but the sense of personal violation knows no dollar amount. And I did not appreciate the inconvenience of getting a new debit card and filing a claim on the unauthorized account charges.

Early Saturday morning, I started the damage control process with a phone call to my bank. My call was taken by a chirpy young lady named Melissa. She sweetly asked how my day was going and I answered with, "Just fine. Waiting for a storm here." She responded, "Oh, you mean thunder?" I laughed and said, "No. We have snow coming our way." She gasped a little and said, "I live in Texas so I don't know much about that. We have bipolar weather right now. Warm one day and cool the next." We both agreed that weather makes life interesting.

Melissa cheerfully helped me navigate the waters of fraud. She skillfully closed out my debit card and issued me a new one. She gave me a verification number for the next step of filing a claim against the unauthorized charges and transferred me to the claims department.

A kind woman named Belinda answered my call. She seemed a little weary around the edges as she asked the tough questions inherent in a claims department.

"Have you ever given your card to anyone else?" No.

"Has anyone in your household used your card number to purchase something on line?" No

"Are you sure the charges you are refuting were not made by anyone in your household?" I burst out laughing on this one. I said, "Maam, the charges were for iTunes. Trust me when I say there is no one in this house who knows how to access such a thing, much less pay for whatever it is they are selling."

She graciously finished her questioning and took care of the charges for me. I thanked her for all her help and wished her a good day.

The experience taught me a few lessons. First, there are nasty folks in the world who spend more time being bad than good. Second, there are kind folks in the world who watch out for us and help us mop up trouble. And finally, I am glad I only know how to order CDs for my music. It made things a little easier this go around.