Early Settlers

Missouri River near Leavenworth.

Have you ever thought about the incredible journey that the early settlers made crossing the United States into uncharted territory and settling into hostile lands to make a new home?  I think about it when I read the Little House on the Prairie books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.  I specifically remember reading Laura's descriptions of crossing rivers.  There were no bridges across the rivers at that time.  Instead, the family would drive their wagon into the river.  If the ford was low enough, the horses would pull the wagon across.  If the river was high, the wagon would float, the horses would swim, pulling the wagon behind them, and then they would hope and pray that they would land safely on the other side.

I'm standing in Kansas.  That's Missouri on the other side.

 That came back to me as I was standing on the banks of the Missouri River when we were roaming about Kansas with our middle child.  We were very close to the crossing that Lewis and Clark used in their journey to explore the Louisiana Purchase.  The river was moving swiftly - and it was deep.  Much deeper than it was when we drove by in the winter. 

I was struck by something very akin to terror as I thought about the prospect of driving a wagon full of all my worldly possessions - and my family - into a swiftly moving river and hoping that we'd come out safely on the other side.  I do know there was a river crossing in this area- I just don't know exactly where the crossing was.  Just a little north of here are very high bluffs - so I know that was not the crossing.  This area is where the river widened out - and as you can maybe tell from the pictures, the river bank leads down nicely to the river.  The park on the Kansas side has a fence along the river, and it is near the railroad station, and you can see the footings in the river for an old bridge.  My guess is that there was a ford somewhere near this area. 

I still can't begin to imagine attempting to cross this river in a wagon.  Or on the back of a horse as it swims across the river.  I'm so very, very, very glad that we have bridges.  That beautiful blue bridge across the river in the top picture!

The park in Leavenworth by the Train Station.

You Go, Girl!

This is a Throwback Thursday post to 2010.  I originally posted it on my old blog - Mom's View.  I reposted it on here on December 10, 2015.

A couple of weeks ago, I was subbing in a special education classroom.  One of the little guys in the class has shown a troubling tendency to run.  

A runner in school is a bad thing.  These kids run away from the source of their frustration and anger.  Believe me when I say I sympathize with them.  I do understand the need to flee and get away from it all.  The problem is, kids who are prone to running will run out of the building.  They run blind- with no destination in mind, and no purpose other than to escape the school.  The danger of them getting lost or hit by a car is very real.

This little guy had run for the doors by the teacher parking lot before, but he had never left the building.  I can hear you thinking "Then why don't they just lock those doors shut?"  Well, the doors are locked from the outside- so that some random person can't just walk into the school.  However, according to the fire marshal, those doors must remain unlocked from the inside so that the kids can get out in the event of fire.

Anyway, I was in the hall with this stubborn little guy and two other teachers when he decided to make a break for it.  He ran to the far end of the building, hit the doors and kept on running.

I caught him in the parking lot.

Here's the best part.  The other two teachers I was standing with are both 20 years younger than I am.  I got there first, and I got there a good 15 seconds ahead of them.  Even better, they were wheezing and out of breath.  I was just standing there, hugging little one and telling him the story of the Three Little Bears. 

Hmmn.... 40 something year old, overweight, out of shape woman totally beats the 20 something teachers doing the 100 yard dash.

When I got back into the school, one of the volunteers who'd been sitting in the hall reading with a child when everything happened looked at me and smiled.  "You go, girlfriend!  You totally rock!  Beating those young things out the door!  Who-HOOO!" 

Now THAT's a priceless feeling!

The Fuzz Factor

I originally wrote this piece from Tiger's viewpoint after a memorable morning.  I was attempting to get the kids out of the house and off to school when this happened.  Even though it's been close to ten years since this happened, I can still remember the mouse scurrying along the kitchen baseboard, and Tiger watching us with great disappointment.  And I can still see Oldest Son sitting on the floor, having a very serious discussion with the cat about people food.   He never did teach us to hunt! 

I had a great day in the yard this morning. 

I love fall.  You see, the small grey mice are scurrying around, looking for new, warmer places to spend the winter.  I just love playing with the mice.  This morning, I had one for breakfast.  Mmmm....yummy mice.

I was out early this morning.  For some reason, my humans let me out early today.  After I had my breakfast, it hit me that my humans did not know how to hunt.

The oldest boy human should be able to hunt for himself now, and yet he spends his time looking for prey in the noisy white box in the kitchen.  What kind of parents are those two grown humans anyway?  They should be teaching their young humans to forage for themselves!!

Anyway, since I was up and about early this morning, I decided it was time to boy human #1 to hunt.  I thought I would do it just like my mother did for me.  I would cripple the mouse, and then bring it to him so that he could kill it off.  Fortunately, the mice are frantically scurrying around now, looking for food, so it was easy to find another mouse to offer to the oldest boy human.

I knew my humans were up, I could see them stalking the giant white box for food.  I caught my mouse and brought it over to the door.  Keeping the mouse safely tucked into my mouth, I began scratching at the kitchen door to be let in. 

Perfect!  Boy #1 opened the door for me!  I bounded in and dropped the mouse at his feet.

Ungrateful humans!  The mother jumped onto the kitchen chair.  Boy #2 began laughing so hard tears were coming out of his eyes.  Boy #1 looked like he didn't know what to do.  He picked up my mouse by the tail and tossed it back outside!  That was a great breakfast!  Freshly caught mouse, and he just tossed it aside like a used catnip mouse.  I scolded him with my whiskers back, and he sat down with me and tried to explain something about "mouse is not people food." 

I switched my tail at him and went back outside.  Fortunately, I was able to find my mouse quickly, and I sat down to enjoy my second breakfast.

How can I be expected to teach my humans how to hunt if they don't take me seriously?

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Middle child is taking his GRE's this afternoon.  The testing center he chose is located in Columbia, Maryland.  We used to live in Columbia when the kids were little.  So, I dropped him off at the testing center, and I've been taking a trip down memory lane.

I drove by the old house.  I was VERY disappointed to see that the new owners of the house cut down the "Climbing Tree" - a gorgeous flowering crab apple tree that was perfect for little kids to climb up into.  Our very own jungle gym, supplied by nature.  Every spring, that tree provided us with the most gorgeous flowers, and I'd leave the windows upstairs open at night so that the scent could waft over us.  I have pictures of the youngest child laying on a blanket under that tree, surrounded by flower petals.  In the fall, that tree provided the most gorgeous color, and all summer long, it provided shade and privacy to a house that was located JUST TOO CLOSE to the parking pad for the neighborhood!

It was cold, but I still got a short walk in down by the lake.  I need to go back when it's warmer.  That lake is beautiful, even when it's cold outside!  Alas, my coat was not warm enough for me to brave being outside for more than a few minutes.  The memories I have of taking the kids for walks around that lake.  The picnics.  The races they'd run.  Sledding down the hill in the winter.  OH, and the time the boys were racing their bikes around the lake, lost control of their bikes and took a header into the water!

I visited the library.  (More on that tomorrow.)

I stopped by what used to be a gorgeous patch of woods, but is now an office development.  That makes me so very sad. 

It's funny.   I worked not too far from here up until July, but I never really spent time roaming around the old haunts until today.  I'm glad I did.  Places that seem larger than life in my mind are still warm, wonderful places that I would gladly go visit again. 

But the one thing that hasn't changed is the people.  I'm currently sitting in a coffee shop, enjoying people watching, attempting to edit something I recently wrote and need to publish, and working on my Blog.  (What can I say?  I have a short attention span.  I multi-task well.)   There's a group of young people, home from college at a large table not too far from me.  They're playing board games, and having a marvelous time.  People are walking by, stopping, and hugging them.  They're also seeing people and shouting out to them.   Old neighbors, teachers,  friends of their parents, and high school friends.  While this is no longer my home, I love knowing that even in the middle of a city as big as Columbia, there are things that make this place home for other people.

When you come down to it, that is what makes memories special, isn't it?  The people and the places that populate that memory. 

Blue Hair

 This post originally appeared in my now defunct "Mom's View" blog in 2013.  I moved it to this blog at the request of my kids, who wanted to have all of the various posts that accompanied their high school years in one place. Enjoy!

My 16 year old daughter dyes her hair.  I'm not thrilled with it, but if this is her form of rebellion, I can live with it.  Dyeing her hair is so much better than many other ways she could choose to rebel.  (Drinking, drugs, sex, etc.)

Usually, she dyes that beautiful head of brown hair red.

I came home to a different experience Thursday night.

Her hair was blue.

She had bought a bottle of blue hair dye at the store, and attempted to dye the red/brown mass blue.

Do you remember the story in Anne of Green Gables, where Anne attempted to dye the mass of red hair black, and it turned green?  This story reminds me of Anne's attempt to dye her hair.

Not only is her hair this hideous color of blue-green, so is her scalp.  And her hands.  Her neck.  Her ears.  Her nose.  Her forehead.  Her fingers are really blue, and her cuticles are just freaky.

Of course, she chose to do this on a Thursday night.  Do you see the problem yet?  She still had to go to school yesterday.  The good news is that hand sanitizer does remove some of the dye.  The bad news is, she's still a ghastly shade of blue.

Fortunately, she has a good sense of humor.  She went to school with a scarf around her neck to hide the dye on her neck.  She left her hair down so it would cover her ears.  Her face and hands are still a ghastly shade of blue, though.

When questioned about the blue, (as any normal person would), she told people one of three things:

1) I've been feeling a little blue lately.

2) I'm releasing my inner smurf.

3) I decided to go Avatar.  Didn't  you get the memo?

I honestly can't imagine what her day was like.  I offered the option of staying home, but she decided to go to school.

I'm proud of her.  It's not everyone who can pull off the blue look and hold their head up in school for the entire day!

On Being a Cookie Mom

I was roaming through old posts this morning when I found this wonderful reminder of life the way it was!  It was originally published on Sept. 18, 2013.

I've been a Girl Scout Cookie mom on and off over the last ten years. 

Ten years ago, I was a new arrival in this town, and I had been talked into the job of cookie mom by my daughter's girl scout leader.  I didn't know many people here, but I did think this would be a great way to meet some new people.

I wasn't really sure what the job entailed, but I was reassured that I would be able to attend training for new cookie moms.

When I showed up at the training session, all of the seats were taken.  I found a spot on the floor, pulled out a notebook and began taking notes.

Ten minutes into the meeting, I felt a little tickle on my foot and looked down to see that a mouse had climbed up onto my shoe and had his front paws on my knee.  He was looking up at me with very bright, curious eyes.

The next thing I knew, I was being helped down off the top of the table.

I'm not sure whatever happened to the mouse, but thanks to that mouse, I did meet many new people that night!

Remembering Dad

My Dad's birthday was over the weekend.  He would have been 75.  The kids and I went out to the Dairy Queen and had a Peanut Buster Parfait, his most favorite thing in the world, and we told Pa-Paw stories until we laughed so hard tears were running down our faces.  Gosh, he could be fun, and his unintended mistakes were even funnier. 

When I think back on the man that he was, I think what best sums him up was his work ethic.

My Dad's father died when Dad was just 6 years old.  He had been a coal miner, and the very harsh life of a coal miner in the early part of the 1900's took its toll.  He was just 50 years old when he died.

After Grandpa died, money was tight.  Dad did what he could to help make ends meet.

During the fall, he would collect paper bags full of apples, load them onto his little red wagon, and haul them into town to sell in front of the courthouse.

In the winter, he would take his little red wagon down to the railroad tracks, and pick up the coal that had fallen off of the tracks until his wagon was full, and then he'd sell the coal in town to whoever needed it. (He would always fill his Moms' coal hopper first.)

As the garden came in, he had a couple of extra rows that he maintained.  He grew potatoes, strawberries, carrots, green beans, etc.  As things came into season, he would pick the fresh vegetables and head over to the courthouse just before 5:00 so that he could sell fresh veggies as people were leaving work for the day.

As he grew older, Dad took on a paper route.  He found an old bike at the dump and spent $1 on the necessary parts to fix it up.  (Remember, back in the 40's, $1 was more difficult to come by and would have bought a lot more than it does now.)

He used that bike to run a paper route in town for years. Every day after school, he would deliver news to the residents on his side of town.  He was all of 10 years old at the time.

I think back on Dad, and his mother a lot at this time of the year.  They never received nor expected public assistance.  Granny grew much of her food in the back yard.  Chickens provided meat and eggs, and a family friend would sell them beef when the cows were butchered in the fall.  All of the kids chipped in money from their various jobs to make certain that there was food on the table, a roof over their heads, and clothes to wear.  They were very heavy users of the library, garnering all of the free information and knowledge that they could. 

Granny cooked food from scratch.  No restaurant or take out meals for her!  Everything was cooked fresh - much of it pulled from the garden hours before it sat on the table.

You know, Dad grew up to be an Engineer.  He paid his way through college by serving in the United States Air Force.  Never asked anybody to give him anything, and he raised us with a very strong sense of earning your own way and paying as you go.  We didn't always have the newest, latest, or greatest whiz bang things.  BUT, we always had a roof over our head, clothes to wear, and food on the table.  We had nice things - things that our parents could afford to give us.  We were heavy users of the library, where we could read books and learn as much as we wanted.  We were transported to different worlds, and our horizons were widened.  We also had the unconditional love of both of our parents, and we were very fortunate that my Mom was able to stay home with us until circumstances demanded that she went back to work.

I am grateful to both of my parents for instilling such a work ethic in me. 

The lessons my Dad taught me about hard work, generosity, and honesty have served me well.  You gave me some pretty awesome gifts!

Happy Birthday, Dad. 

You Go, Girlfriend!

I'm down and out with a very sore throat and headache, so no writing today.  Instead,  enjoy this post from 5 years ago when I was subbing. Originally posted on my now defunct "Mom's View Blog".

A couple of weeks ago, I was subbing in a special education classroom.  One of the little guys in the class has shown a troubling tendency to run.  

A runner in school is a bad thing.  These kids run away from the source of their frustration and anger.  Believe me when I say I sympathize with them.  I do understand the need to flee and get away from it all.  The problem is, kids who are prone to running will run out of the building.  They run blind- with no destination in mind, and no purpose other than to escape the school.  The danger of them getting lost or hit by a car is very real.

This little guy had run for the doors by the teacher parking lot before, but he had never left the building.  I can hear you thinking "Then why don't they just lock those doors shut?"  Well, the doors are locked from the outside- so that some random person can't just walk into the school.  However, according to the fire marshal, those doors must remain unlocked from the inside so that the kids can get out in the event of fire.

Anyway, I was in the hall with this stubborn little guy and two other teachers when he decided to make a break for it.  He ran to the far end of the building, hit the doors and kept on running.

I caught him in the parking lot.

Here's the best part.  The other two teachers I was standing with are both 20 years younger than I am.  I got there first, and I got there a good 15 seconds ahead of them.  Even better, they were wheezing and out of breath.  I was just standing there, hugging little one and telling him the story of the Three Little Bears. 

Hmmn.... 40 something year old, overweight, out of shape woman totally beats the 20 something teachers doing the 100 yard dash.

When I got back into the school, one of the volunteers who'd been sitting in the hall reading with a child when everything happened looked at me and smiled.  "You go, girlfriend!  You totally rock!  Beating those young things out the door!  Who-HOOO!" 

Now THAT's a priceless feeling!

Canning Season

Growing up, we would head back to the farm once or twice during the summer.   Dad always made it a point to be around during hay season, and we always spent a week in late July or early August, helping out as the big summer crops starting coming in.

It's been well over 30 years, but I still vividly remember crouching in long rows, pulling green beans or some other vegetable, with the sweat trickling down the back of my neck and off of the end of my nose, and swatting at the biting flies as I went.

Up and down those rows we would go, harvesting the vegetable of the day before they went bad.  We had to get that summer bounty in fast!

There are no lazy summer days on a farm.  Granny had us out picking before the sun got high in the sky.  She'd send us out around 7 in the morning, armed with a sausage and egg sandwich and a glass of milk.  We were finished before 10 - and if we weren't, Granny made us come in because that was the "hot time" of the day.

I don't know why she pulled us inside, because that house ended up becoming hotter than a furnace before the day was out.

We'd come in out of the sun, sit on the porch, and begin prepping the food.  Things needed to be snapped, peeled, and cut.  Many of the veggies had to be blanched - dumped in boiling water, and then dumped in ice water, and then peeled so that they could be prepared for canning.

Once everything was prepped, things were stuffed into the jars.  And I do mean stuffed.  Granny and my Aunts didn't fool around with extra space in those jars.  They were jam packed.

Lids and Rings went on, and the pressure canners were pulled out and filled.  The farm house had a gas stove, with six burners.  They would have 4 canners going at a time. (And the house would get hotter and hotter and hotter.  They never ran the A/C when they were canning because they saw it as a lost cause and waste of energy.)

While the canners were building up steam, we would be cleaning the mess.  Once the first batch was done, the second batch went in.  We would clean up the first batch,  and they would start getting dinner ready.  Part of the nightly feast was whatever failed in the canner that day.  (If the lids didn't seal, the food was eaten that night.)

At the end of the week, we would come home with a car laden down with our portion of all of the jars of goodies that had been canned over the week.

My favorite of all the goodies we canned were the peaches.  Maybe because when we picked them, we were in the shade.  Maybe because we could eat the peaches straight off the tree when we picked them.  And maybe it was because when they were canned in simple syrup, and opened up several months later in the dead of winter, I was immediately transported back to the farmhouse kitchen, bubbling with good smells, laughter, and family.  But whatever the reason, the peaches have always been my favorite.

I was at the farmer's market, and guess what I found?  Bushels and bushels of peaches!
We came home with a bushel of peaches.  Okay, a couple of the peaches didn't actually make it home...  I don't can now - I have a glass stove top, and that is not recommended for pressure canning.  BUT - I did make some peach jelly.  And some peach crisp with gluten free oats.

And last night?

I made a simple syrup, and I poured it over some peaches that I had blanched, cut, and slightly heated up with the syrup.

As soon as I put that first bite in my mouth, I was instantly taken back to a farm house kitchen, full of good smells, laughter, and family.

Priceless memory.  All from a bushel of peaches.  

The Incredible Mr. Ed

I've mentioned before that Amy's family, of Life in Amy's World, have been lifelong friends of our family. 

Her Dad, who we'll call "Mr. Ed", holds a very special place in my heart. 

The year was 1975.  We were living outside of Dayton, Ohio.  My Dad was in the Air Force and traveled a lot.  Amy's parents lived near by, and we spent a lot of time hanging out with Amy's mom, getting into mischief of one kind or another.

I enjoyed watching my cousins play baseball in the park on Saturday afternoons.  The Cincinnati Reds were on fire that year.  It was a glorious year to be a Reds fan, and to be living just outside of Dayton. 

One night, we stopped by the Kentucky Fried Chicken (as it was called then) to pick up dinner.  On the counter, the franchise owner had placed a giant bucket with a hole in the lid, and he had entry forms on the counter to win a pair of tickets to a Reds home game.

While Mom ordered and paid, I filled out an entry form and dropped it into the bucket.

I was shocked when an envelope arrived 2 weeks later, with my name on the front.  Inside was a pair of tickets to the game!  Let me tell you, these weren't just any seats.  These were the owner's own season ticket seats, and they were excellent!

My Dad was going to be out of town that day, so my Mom asked "Mr. Ed" if he would take me to the game.

THAT was a magical day. 

"Mr. Ed" picked me up and we drove down to Cinncinnati.

I still vividly remember the excitement on the field, the bright white of the uniforms, and "Mr. Ed", calmly sitting next to me, explaining all of the strategy on the field.  Why were pinch hitters put in?  Why would someone bunt a hit?  What was the strike zone, and why a batter would not swing on certain balls...  He even went so far as to explain why certain types of pitches were thrown to certain batters.

Such a patient guy.  My Dad frequently ran low on patience, and let me tell you, I appreciated the amount of patience he had for me.  Still do, as a matter of fact.  I never once got the impression that he was tired of listening to me talk, or had better things to do with his time.

I'm sure that he didn't think a whole lot of it, but let me tell you, it was a defining moment in my life.

I found a love of sports, and baseball in particular.  I found out the value of patience - baseball is a game of patience!  I will NEVER be a good baseball player.  I can't even hit a pinata with a baseball bat, but I really appreciate the effort and strategy that goes into baseball.

There's a deeper thing going on here - my parent's marriage was always a troubled one.  Growing up in that house was difficult, at best.  Being included in Amy's family was amazing.  Her parents had so much love for each other that they had room to share that love with other people who were not in their family.  What a great gift for me, to be able to share a little bit of that love.  And a model.  I was able to see what a "normal" family looked like, and discover what I wanted to search for in my own relationships when I grew up.

What a great gift I got from Amy's family.  A priceless gift.

Graduation Time Capsule

17 years ago, when my oldest child was starting kindergarten, I had a flash of brilliance.  I decided to put together a time capsule for him. The idea was to capture the world as it was at that time - 1998.  I had the thought that he might enjoy looking back on things when he graduated from college.  The intent of this time capsule was to capture a little bit of pop culture in the late '90's.  

I carefully put things together that year, and then I added other little odds and ends that came my way as he progressed through the grades.  His star of the week book from 2nd grade made it in, as did his "Projects of Excellence" from Middle School.  But by and large, after the effort of putting it together, I forgot about it.  I moved it when we moved 9 years ago, and have seen it sitting on the shelf since then, but that's it.  

I pulled it out of the closet this week to wrap it up.  I couldn't resist the allure of the box, though, so I opened it up to take a look at the contents.  Honestly, I couldn't remember what all I had stashed in there, but I really had fun looking back at what is in there!

The time capsule!  All ready to go!

For the capsule itself, I chose a sturdy tote, with a hinged lid.  It's not that much bigger than a a magazine or a standard binder.

Do you remember when Beanie Babies were all the rage?

Probably the most sobering piece of information in the entire box.

Look at those home prices!  $259,000! Just for the heck of it, I checked on the web to see the most recent value of homes in that neighborhood.  Well over $500,000.  I wish we'd been able to pull together $259,000 back in 1998 to buy that house!  Unfortunately, that kind of money would have made us house poor.

Oh yeah, the impeachment of Bill Clinton and White Water.   In light of the current presidential race, this was a timely read.  I had forgotten some of this. Hillary is married to Bill, and the controversy surrounded her, too.

 

The box itself.  There's a year end People Magazine, and an Ikea catalog in there.

 

 

  I have some toys from Mulan - they were the Happy Meal give-aways that summer.  The 3 ring binder contains some papers from Kindergarten.  Under the binder are the second grade star of the week booklet, as well as the folder containing the "Projects of Excellence" from middle school, and other various odds and ends.

I don't know if he's going to enjoy this, but I certainly have enjoyed looking back on life as it was in 1998! 

And I'm still kicking myself for not finding a way to scrape together $250,000 for a 4 BR house backing to the woods.... 

Memory Locket

With making all of the graduation presents for the oldest and youngest, I have found myself very nostalgic of late.  Remembering the times when my own children were little, and tracking down old family recipes has made me think longingly of a time long past.

For years now, I have held onto the old odds and ends of necklaces, earrings, and pins - all now broken - that my Aunts and Father gave me when I was younger.

I pull them out occasionally, look through them, and remember those who have passed on, memorialized in these tiny little pieces of jewelry.

A few weeks ago, I found this charming locket at Kohl's.  Closed with a strong magnetic latch, I was hoping that I could put some of my old little odds and ends in here.  The price was higher than I was willing to pay.  Kohl's has some excellent sales.  I was fortunate enough to be able to combine the sale with Kohl's cash.  As a result, I paid $10 for the locket.  That was just about what I was willing to pay!

After the rather harsh realization that not all of the charms were going to fit into that locket.  (What was I thinking, anyway?)  I had to chose the few items that would fit in there.  I chose a couple of necklace charms, and took apart an earring for the beads and mixed them into the locket with the rest of the charms.

In this fine little locket, I have charms from Aunt Joyce, Dad, and Aunt Rosie. 

So, while I am celebrating the accomplishments of my children and remembering my own graduation and milestones years past, I have a little bit of my own past with me. 

I'm still feeling nostalgic, but I am beginning to realize just how much I've accomplished in my almost 50 years on this place we call Earth. And that is helping me focus on all of our futures - not just the kids.  

Graduation Recipe Book

My oldest child is graduating from college next month.  He has lived on campus, and eaten food from the dining hall for the last 4 years. 

This fall, he's heading off to graduate school several hours away from here. 

He's also going to be cooking for himself.

As a result, I am compiling a recipe book for him.

I found this awesome recipe book at Hallmark not too long ago.  It's small, and it's a 3 ring binder.  3x5 inch recipe cards fit inside of the book, and each "page" is a plastic page protector that holds two recipe cards.  You can write front and back on the card, put it into the page protector, and read through both sides.  I love this little album.

You notice it has Mickey Mouse on the cover?  There's a reason for that.  When he was little, and he was getting ready to move to his "big boy" bed, we went in search of just the right sheets for his bed.  After more hours than I care to admit, my little man found his sheets.  (he was about 20 months old at the time.  We were trying to transition him to a big boy bed before his brother arrived on the scene 4 months later.)  He saw these sheets - red sheets- with the black and white Mickey Mouse on them.  He picked them up, hugged them to him, and the match was made.

Since that time, those sheets were his sheets of choice until he went off to college.  Worn down and faded with age and washing, he still has them on his bed at home, and he gets after me if they are not on his bed when he comes home from school.

Anyway, back to the album....

I thought I would collect all of the recipes for his favorite foods.  The stuff he has grown up eating and consistently asks for every time he comes home.

I hadn't realized what a monumental task this was going to be.  I have recipes on slips of paper, taped to the inside of cupboard doors.  I have recipes on paper, shoved into the cabinet next to the dishes.  There's 3 or 4 recipes in one cookbook, and 2 in another, and 4 in another.  A few are in e-mails, and several are stored on my flash drive.

I'm still working on copying the recipes, but I have finally put them all into one place.  Let me tell you, that is the most amazing compilation of recipes you have ever seen.  All of them are my favorites, too.  (I guess that explains why I fall back on them so often!)  From Arroz con Pollo to my mother's recipe for Buttermilk Pancakes, I have a treasure trove.  I sent my Mom a couple of recipe cards, and there, in her flawless penmanship are two of her timeless recipes. Not only is it a treasure because they are her recipes, but - they are written in her own handwriting.  That will forever be a priceless treasure for him.

You know, I've been realizing a couple of things as I've been compiling this book over the past few months.

1) I need to make my very own copy of this book.  I have too many recipes scattered in too many places.

2) While I have the recipes out, and tracked down, I need to go ahead and make copies for the other two children.  Life is uncertain, and I want to make certain that I have the recipes, written in their own handwriting, of the remaining members of the older generation. 

3) I wish I had thought of this 10 years ago, when most of the members of the older generation were still with us.

I know a lot of people don't cook from scratch very often anymore, but with a book like this - a book of easy, quick, favorite meals - I think it would happen a little more often! 

Saturday Night Live 40

Do you remember watching the first season of SNL?

I was 10 years old.  Word spread about this great new show on Saturday nights.  So, being rebellious, and very curious, a group of friends got together and we had a sleep over at someone's house.  Let's call this someone Mary.  Mary's Dad went to bed early.  He was sound asleep by 10, the sound of snores reverberating throughout the house.  We bid her parents good night a little before 10, and sat and giggled until 11:30, when we watched this magical thing called "Saturday Night Live".  We laughed, we cried, and we knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if her, or any of our parents caught us watching this forbidden fruit, we would all be grounded until we graduated from high school.

Every couple of weeks, we would have another sleep over at another house. We'd sit silent and still as church mice until 11:30.  Gone were the seances and make overs.  The only thing we wanted to do was watch Saturday Night Live.  We'd laugh into our pillows, and bite hard on our fingers until tears ran down our faces.

When I was in high school, I'd occasionally get to watch SNL, but it wasn't an everyday thing.

And then, came the wonderful, magical year of 1984 happened.
Martin Short
Christopher Guest
Billy Crystal


It was an amazing year.  Nothing since then has ever quite measured up to that magical year.

I've watched on and off since then, and last night, my husband watched the 40th anniversary and reminisced.

 I've included are two links from the NBC Website below.  Enjoy!

Enjoy!

To Repair an Ice Maker

My Dad was an engineer.  From what I understand, he was a really good engineer.  He loved to take things apart, find out how they worked, and put them back together again so that they were better than they had been before.

When Dad and my step mom (let's call her Mo) were living in Alexandria, their refrigerator/freezer had a gizmo that we'd never had on any refrigerator before: an ice maker.

This wasn't one of those ice makers that go through the door on a side by side fridge.

No, this was in one of those freezer on the top models.  The ice maker was mounted inside of the freezer, on the left side.

The catch all that caught the ice was underneath, and a sweeper bar would come across the top of the ice.  If the sweeper bar could fully extend, the ice maker would pop the ice cubes out of the tray and send them popping down into the catch all bin.  If the bar could not fully extend, then the ice cubes would remain in the tray until the bar could move all the way out.

Dad was really intrigued by the mechanisms involved in the entire process.

So, one Saturday morning, he took the entire thing apart and figured out how it worked.

He put it back together again, and he gave an extra little "tweak" to the mechanism, hoping that the sweeper bar would, instead of getting caught on one or two ice cubes, it would be able to push more of them out of it's way.  Proud of his work, Dad closed the freezer door and went outside to mow the lawn.

Now, Dad was an excellent engineer.  However, sometimes, his re-engineering of existing products didn't go quite the way he had anticipated.

Mo started making lunch, when she heard a strange sound from the freezer.  Thud, thud, thud, thud, and then the zzzzzzzzz of new water filling the ice cube tray.

Looking inside of the freezer, she noticed the ice cube tray was empty.  What had happened to the ice cubes?

Thinking that maybe it was just the sound of the tray refilling after Dad had been tinkering with it,she closed the freezer door and kept making lunch.

A while later, she heard it again.  "thud, thud, thud, thud, zzzzzzzzzz".  Curious about the thudding noise, she looked inside of the freezer.  Again, the ice cube tray was empty. 

"That's odd" she thought. 

Later that afternoon, when she heard the sweeper bar make the noise that indicate it's moving to check the ice level, she rushed to open the freezer door in order to see what was going on. And then, she saw it.

As soon as the sweeper bar was fully extended, the ice cubes shot out - and I mean SHOT OUT- of the ice cube tray, across the freezer, and hit the wall on the far right side of the freezer, where they dropped down onto the frozen vegetables.  Looking down, she saw a decent pile of ice on top of the frozen veggies.

When she and Dad sat down to dinner that night, Mo told Dad about the ice problem.

"I'll take care of it" he said.

Later that night, when Mo heard the sound of ice hitting the freezer wall again, she muttered unlawful things under her breath and walked into the kitchen, shouting at my Dad "I thought you said you were going to take care of the ice maker!"

"I did!" Dad shouted back.

She opened the door and looked inside of the freezer.  Sure enough, Dad had taken care of the ice maker.  He'd moved the catch all bin from directly under the ice maker to the right side of the freezer.  After the ice flew across the freezer and hit the far wall, it fell into the ice bin.

I swear to God this is true.  You can't make this stuff up!

A Flash in the Night

When my Dad and his wife moved from Alexandria to Indiana a while back, they were planning on this being their last move.

They sold the townhouse, sold or gave away many of their earthly possessions, and then put everything else into a U-Haul van. She and my Dad drove the U-Haul out together a week before closing on the house in Virginia, signed the papers on the house in Indiana, moved their things into their new house, turned the van in, and flew back to Washington.

For that last week in the old house, they slept on an air mattress on the floor, while they cleaned and scrubbed the house to within an inch of its life before they turned it over to the new owners.

The day of paper signing came, and my step mother insisted that the plants needed to go with them. She had an extended container garden on her deck, and she wanted to take all of the containers- filled with all of their plants - with her.  Tomatoes, Zinnias, herbs, and geraniums.

So, Dad folded down the seats in the back of the jeep and put all of the plants, lock, stock, and barrel into the back of the car.  My step mother insisted that she was going to drive the Jeep, because she didn't trust him not to dump all of the plants somewhere along the way.

Dad took everything else and put it into the Buick, including the cat.  He put her cushion on the front seat next to him, the litter box on the floor in front of her, and the princess settled in for the journey to Indiana.

They left town fairly late in the afternoon, after the keys had been turned over to the new owners.

Dad was driving the Buick with the princess, and my step mother was driving the Jeep with her beloved plants.


Their plan - ridiculous as it seems in hindsight - was to drive straight through the night and avoid the traffic around the big cities - Columbus and Indianapolis - first thing in the morning.  Leaving DC a little after 2 in the afternoon, they planned on arriving at their new home at 2 in the morning.  Not really a big deal, right?

So, they headed out.

My dad has always had a lead foot, and he was soon out of sight.  He made the 12 hour trip in a little under 10 hours, stopping once for food, gas, and a bathroom.  (To this day, I can't understand HOW his bladder can go that long between stops.) 

My step mother was a little bit slower.  She stopped for coffee on the way out, and found a friend she hadn't seen in a long time while she was there.  After catching up, she left, but not early enough.
She got caught in traffic around Frederick.
She also stopped for coffee, food, and a break every couple of hours. 

Around midnight, she was still several hours out, and she decided that she was going to pull over for a while and take a nap.

She pulled off at one of the rest areas, leaned her seat all the way back, and started to doze off when suddenly - a bright light filled the car!

Startled, she opened her eyes, sat up and looked around, but she could see no one near her.

She laid her head back down and closed her eyes when  - FLASH - there it was again!  A bright yellow light, so bright that she could see it through her eyelids filled the car.  Once again, she sat up and looked around, but there were no other cars in the rest area, and nobody was in sight.

Muttering things not lawful, and more than a little freaked out, she put her head back down once again and had barely closed her eyes when -FLASH- there it was again!

This really was it.  She got up out of the car and walked around.  Nobody was in sight.  It was a beautiful country night.  The only lights were the lights around the restrooms themselves.  Not even the truckers had pulled in for the night.  They were still booking down the highway, trying to make time before they had to stop for the night.

As she walked back to her car, she saw it again - FLASH - and FLASH- again - and again!

Looking in the window of the car, she found the source of the bright flashing lights inside of the car.

Lightning bugs had made their home on the plants and in the containers she had so lovingly insisted be installed in the back of the jeep.  They were flying around inside of the car, doing their Flashdance routine now that the a/c was off and the heat of the night was coming in through the windows.

Now that she was fully awake, she couldn't help but laugh at herself and the terror that the bugs had caused her.

She popped herself back into her car and drove the rest of the way out with her very own dancing brigade of lightning bugs announcing her arrival in her new home!

Tales from the Classroom

Like every 6th grader in our county, my daughter went to Outdoor School in the fall.  Outdoor School is run at our county nature center.  The kids spend a week in residence there, learning about nature, our environment, the ecosystem, and what is so unique about the area in which we live.

The kids both love and hate outdoor school.  I've never been sure how the teachers feel about it.  On the one hand, they don't have to plan lessons for an entire week, and someone else is in charge.  On the other hand, they are sleeping in the teacher's quarters for the entire week, on uncomfortable mattresses, sharing bunk rooms with the teachers that they work with.  (Separated my men and women, of course.)

There was one particular teacher in our middle school who will forever be stuck in my mind.  Do you remember Mrs. Frizzle of the Magic School Bus books?  This teacher looked like a 50 something Mrs. Frizzle.  Stout figure, Lucy Ricardo's red hair, that frizzed out all over her head.  She always wore crazy outfits, and her shoes... OMG, her shoes.... Always stilettos, and never the same shoe twice.  They were something to see.  For convenience's sake, I'm just going to call her Ms. Frizz from here on out.

My daughter went to Outdoor School in the fall.  It was perfect weather.  Jeans and a sweatshirt.  The kids didn't have to worry about snow, and they didn't have to worry about frostbite.  They could take the nature hikes and get wet without worry.

So, Ms. Frizz was chaperoning a group as they began a hike down a nature path.  Ms. Frizz was wearing her stilettos, jeans, and was mincing her way down the path, behind the PE teacher.  A large tree was across the path, and the PE teacher called out a warning to the kids that the tree was down, and he stopped to make sure the kids stepped over it without a problem.

Ms. Frizz was in a world of her own.  She just kept walking, paying no attention to the world around her until *smack* she walked straight into the fallen tree and did a face plant, sprawled awkwardly over the tree trunk.

Laying face down in the dirt, the kids all rushed over to her and began asking, Ms. Frizz!  Are you okay?  Are you dead?

"Leave me here.  Go on without me.  Enjoy your day."  She said, still laying face down in the dirt.

Shaking his head and muttering things not quite fit to print, the PE teacher picked her up and got her on her feet. 

"Are you good to go?"  he asked.

"No" she said, "The ground is all muddy.  I can't go on. My heels keep sinking in the mud.  I'll just stay here until the ground dries."

My daughter said that at this point, the PE teacher's mouth hardened into a straight line.  He looked at the kids, and he looked back at the teacher.  At this point, they were over a mile from the camp if they went forward, and a mile away if they went back.  He is a good man, though.  He looked at the kids, and then, he scooped the Ms. Frizz up and carried her all the way back to the camp.

You know, Ms. Frizz is retired now.  At her retirement party, this story was mentioned over and over again.  She is never going to live this story down.

I am most impressed with the PE teacher.  He managed to carry a teacher - an adult, no less- over a mile back to the cabins without complaining.  The kids all learned a very important lesson that day - about taking care of each other - about being gallant, and caring for other people - about doing the right thing, without complaining that it's uncomfortable. 

Ms. Frizz also taught them something, too - sometimes you do a face plant in the middle of a situation, and you need other people to help pull you up and get you on your feet again.

On the days when the kids are having a rough day, and they see that Ms. Frizz is subbing in the high school, they all smile and remember the day she was laying in the dirt, muttering "Just leave me here, go on without me,"  they all smile thinking about that bright autumn day.

(Seriously, who wears heels on a nature hike through the woods?)

Love you Ms. Frizz!  You are an awesome teacher!

The Six Million Dollar Man

You're only going to get this post if you're of a certain age...  Sad to say, I really am dating myself here....

Do you remember the Six Million Dollar Man?  Steve Austin was an astronaut who was in a training accident in a jet.  In the opening scenes, clips of the accident were shown while the announcer says "Gentlemen, we can rebuild him.  We have the technology.  We have the capacity to make the world's first bionic man.  Steve Austin will be that man.  Better than he was before.  Better, stronger, faster."

And then, there was the theme music "dah-dah-dah-dah-dah".  (So, if you've ever seen that show before, I now have the song stuck in your head for the rest of the day!)

Do you remember the special effects?  The super-slow motion clips of Steve doing something with that bionic twang in the background to let you know that he was doing bionic stuff? 

Last night, we stumbled across the Six Million Dollar Man on one of those retro television stations.  I don't remember which one we were on, I just know it was the "other" station off of our local NBC station.

I had to watch it.

My daughter was in stitches over the clothing and hair.  Every time some new guy walked on screen in what was considered the height of fashion in the 70's, she would laugh so hard she cried.  I have to admit, those were some special clothes!

But that wasn't the best part.

I was reminiscing about how we used to play "Six Million Dollar Man" at recess.  We'd run in super slow motion across the playground.  We'd play kick ball, and everyone moved in super slow motion while the kid running the bases ran as fast as he could.  We perfected the "dah-dah-dah-dah-dah" song and would sing it at lunch time while walking in super slow motion to our lunch tables.  I laughed until I cried as I recalled the feats of strength we would attempt to perform on the playground with hedge apples and lunch boxes. 

My husband and daughter both stared at me for a long time.  Honestly, my husband is the same age as I am.  He's six months older than me.  I thought every kid played the Six Million Dollar Man at recess.  He claims they never played Six Million Dollar Man.  Either he's lying, or he went to a very boring elementary school.

My daughter was another story.  After staring at me for a long time, she finally asked in a small voice "Did the entire class play Six Million Dollar Man, or was it just you?" 
"No," I reassured her, "It was the entire school.  Remember, my school only had two classes per grade level.  It was a very small school, and the entire school had lunch and recess together." 

"Sure" she said.

I'm still laughing over the memories, and the wonderful blast from the past.

I'm going to go clean my kitchen using my bionic speed now - in super slow motion so that the human eye will be capable of actually seeing what I am doing!

Remembering My Dad

Up until he was 60, Dad was a runner.  And a vegetarian.  He served in the military for 20 years, and when he retired, he went back to his hometown out in the Mid-West and worked teaching the underemployed job skills that would help them get a better job. 

When lung disease finally began to take it's terrible toll on him, he had to stop running.  He still ate healthy, with the exception of the occasional chocolate milk shake from McDonalds, and a Peanut Buster Parfait from Dairy Queen on his birthday.

The steroids that he was on to help him breathe bulked him up.  He was barrell chested for the last three years of his life, and he would sit on his knees on the floor, leaning over the coffee table to help him breathe.  The doctors call it tri-poding.  For the last year of his life, he was unable to sit up, and unable to walk on his own.  He had to use a scooter to get around his own house, and couldn't use the bathroom or take a shower on his own.

Dad also smoked two packs of cigarettes a day from the time he was 19 until the doctors put him on oxygen at the age of 61.  I think between the cigarettes and the chemicals he was exposed to in Vietnam, he had a potent chemical combination in his body, swirling around and doing damage to his lungs.

Dad has been gone for 6 years now.  His lungs were so bad that he had been prohibited to have general anesthesia during surgery.  This is the day when his appendix ruptured.  He was rushed to the hospital, and left with no choice, the doctors had to put him under general anesthesia and operate. 

He lasted a while after the surgery.  He died the last weekend in April.  They weren't easy weeks for him, but we did get a chance to go out and see him one last time, and spend time with him and say our good-byes.

So, why am I bringing this up, you ask?

Good Question.

Lent began yesterday.  Christians around the world are fasting for the next 40 days.

If you smoke, I encourage you to give it up for Lent.  Not for the full 40 days - I do understand how hard that would be.

BUT- you could start with one of two days a week.  Fridays and Wednesdays.  OR, you could not smoke from sunrise to sunset.  Or, you could use a nicotine patch. 

Please.  If you smoke, consider what I'm asking.  I lost my father when I was 40 years old.  He missed the graduation of his oldest grandson.  He is missing the incredible FRC Robotics competitions that his middle grandson is involved with.  (And my father would have been passionate about that.)  He's missed his granddaughters' passion for photography beginning to come to fruition. 

Give yourself a present for Easter this year.  The gift of some quality years of life.

Marine Corps Marathon

Yesterday was the Marine Corps Marathon, which is held annually in Washington D.C. 

In addition to the 26 mile run, the Marine Corps sponsors a 10K run in conjunction with the marathon.

This year, I ran/walked the 10K along with my oldest son.  It was a great race, and I really enjoyed the people that I met on the course.  I managed to finish in an hour and fifty minutes- 20 minutes less than I was expecting.

I was moved by the determination of the athletes who ran the entire 26 miles.  It was inspiring to watch athletes crossing the finish line after 5 straight hours of running.  It was even more inspiring to watch the last finisher cross the line.  People who just didn't give up and just kept going - putting one foot in front of the other.

On the 10K course, I was moved to tears by the number of families who were running in memory of family members who have been killed in the line of duty while serving in Afghanistan or Iraq.  Literally hundreds and hundreds of families, running with the pictures of their loved ones, which listed their duty location when they were killed.  It was humbling to realize how many have died in the last ten years.  And yet, the families have carried on the memory of the lost service member, and have persevered, putting one foot in front of the other, continuing on without their sons, daughters, husbands, and wives. 

Even more moving were the service members who were competing in the marathon - with prosthetic limbs.   

Talk about determination.  I honestly didn't feel worthy to be running on the same course as these true heroes, who have given so much in service to their country.

And throughout it all, there were the Marines, manning the course.  Ever polite, and offering encouragement up the final 400 yards (really, really steep hill). 

Who knows what horrible sights these young men and women have seen?  And yet, they were manning the course, polite to the end to all of the civilian runners, encouraging people to keep going, and offering support to everyone.  It was a humbling experience. 

I'd like to thank all of our military members and their families.  Your sacrifices are above and beyond anything the rest of us can imagine.  Your perseverance and determination in the face of adversity is an inspiration to us all. 


This post originally appeared in my now defunct "Thrifty Living" blog.  I moved it to this blog at the request of my kids, who wanted to have all of the various posts that accompanied their high school years in one place.  I've matched the publication dates here to their original post date.  If you're reading these posts, I sincerely thank you for taking the time to go back through them all!