Birthday Party Germ Sharing

There's a whole lot of "hackin'" going on in this household - and I am not talking about jiggling with cyberspace or anything techie...

Lots and lots of dry coughs, wet coughs, sore throats, gobby mucus...and yet still a household of 7th birthday party guests invaded...

Apparently cod liver oil mixed with some lavender is a great aid to swollen glands and so our youngest is dosed up with ghastly oregano oil and cod liver oil and lavender.  She smells even better than the earlier baking squash or cookies or pork roast.

I myself have been chugging honey tea and vitamin c and b and oregano oil in "hairy butt medicine" (African sea coconut in a old-fashioned-looking glass Chinese labeled bottle)...something is sure to scare this brute off.

Low-key birthday party went well...lazy moi didn't plan party games to make up for the lack of snow that normally involves an annual tobogganing birthday bash followed by potluck and warm drinks.  The kids dashed and laughed and danced and built a cardboard box city in the basement while adults casually blabbed in the kitchen, chugging back decently-made coffee and eyeing up sister-made Christmas baking goodies that thankfully tasted a whole lot better than my experiment of mayonnaise mint chocolate cake...

Off to snore and dream - hopefully not of sequences from "The Hunger Games" that we watched late into last night, many scenes and questions and scary social issues plaguing me throughout today, and hopefully not of gigantic birthday germs attacking...Oh, wait,. those are already here and would have to be making new homes in someone else's comfie abode...

Lapse in Life

It's been awhile...

And I am not going to apologize.

And I am going to honestly say it outright, even if it may be controversial: I don't believe that balance in life can be achieved.  And I mean that not in a paralyzing, pessimistic way but rather in a freeing sense of waving the white flag and moving on...letting go of silly notions that we can have it all and be it all...

And just plain living.

And this is from moi, the women's studies major, who fought bra-less, hairy-legged fights for the right to even ATTEMPT to have it all...

Sometimes your bathtub is going to brim with dirt and naked barbies and caked soap...and that isn't such a bad thing, even for the obsessive compulsive, is it?

Sometimes your kids' snotty noses will take up more of your time than a good book or good friend or a good night out with the person who is supposed to be your significant other but doesn't momentarily seem any more significant than the belly button lint you rarely consider....

Sometimes your dust bunnies will plan gigantic parties and invade but you'll know the latest news and have something to talk about over lunchroom conversations...

Sometimes your kids will have to hang out, almost puking, in your boss' office until you're just about finished something...and sometimes your boss will have to hang out alone in their office while you cuddle your fevered offspring who snores into your shoulder....

Sometimes meals will be served without vegetables and faces won't be washed and lawns will grow past your shins and your supposed-to-be-white socks will be grey...

And sometimes it will all look fabulously pretty and pristine and white-picket-fence-ish and you'll be so lonely you'll beg the grocery store clerk to say more than "hello" to you...

You can't have it all.

And, really...that ain't such a bad thing, is it???

The Odd Joy

As I glance around our home I want to cry...full out wail, really...every surface is covered by something that obviously doesn't belong in that location. 

Computer desk: a seemingly clean washcloth laid directly in front of the screen, a letter "e"-shaped chestnut twig curled around an elastic and a Canadian Tire receipt for something to do with a vehicle, books on mazes and dragons and Thailand, plastic cup half-full of the "hairy butt" (African sea coconut) medicine that our youngest is supposed to ingest three times daily, scrap ripped paper with humans in five-year-old drawing ability, a pair of pink sunglasses and about four dozen odd items that do not ever belong on a computer desk.

And that is just the beginning.

As I bent to sip my long-cold hot chocolate I noticed a fruit fly on the soggy marshmallow and as I attempted to remove the bug the round soppy globe popped out of the mug and skidded halfway across the kitchen floor, slowed down only by the clumps of dirt and breakfast crumbs still decorating its vast surface.

On the kitchen floor: a pumpkin (I WILL get to making it into puree, I really, truly WILL), the compost bucket ready to be dumped, two backpacks in various stages of disarray, one winter boot (of whose partner has still not revealed itself despite deep searches), a black grocery bin that has yet to make it back tot he van, some wildly hued snowpants...the list, again, goes on and on and on...

And yet, the laughter of two children rings from the bathroom tub that nearly overflowed as I forgot that I was making a eucalyptus bath for the sickie child...

And I am, surprisingly, calm.  And, even more surprisingly, filled with an overwhelming sense of joy.

Odd though that may be in our chaotic (and VERY messy) circus-like existence...

Warning: Ongoing Culling

Watch out world, I'm culling...

No need for Hubby or kids to fear I will toss out some of their goodies.  I am not culling physical objects.  Not toss-in-trash items that I haven't used in six months...not piled papers and oodles of "idea articles"...not dust elephants in room corners (though I should be)...

This time it is my schedule.  Imagine that: taking the advice of my Saturday Stuff-It Chronicles and using it on moi-meme...what kind of crazy talk is that?!

Already blubbering responses to the word "no" arise from others with panic...I cringe as I hear, "but you have ALWAYS done that..."And as I observe my calendar open the guilt level rises and I try to self-talk (or self-yell?) it away. 

Why, oh why, am I changing up the status quo?  Several reasons:

• the massive cold sore that has become my top lip - already successful in its threats to have me resembling a manatee..always a sure symptom of my overwhelmed self

• forgetting the names of our children because 1) I stay up so darn late trying to shove in as much as humanly possible and am awakened so often during the night that not my brainpower fails to produce any such power and 2) I am out in the evenings so often I don't see our adorable progeny
• "Homewood" isn't jokingly looking attractive: it is a serious contender on my checklist of possibilities and I truly fear being sent there, with or without strait jacket and drooling, very soon
• I have neglected the only thing that matters: the Lord.  Too tired, stressed, overwhelmed, and anxious I have ignored the One who is calling me...I have pushed aside His beckonings for laundry, the occasional toilet scrub and endless amounts of must-dos...

Well, schedule is bellowing: time to leave this paradise and pick up our children and a few extras (yes, this will be culled after today as well)...

Tuesd'Archives: The Broken Survivors

Every day, as I bounce through life (well, okay, my "bouncing" is less like Tigger and more like an ever-exhausted dragggg), I rarely think of the sacrifices given by so many to make this country the free space it is.

Remembrance Day comes and suddenly we are face-to-face with the IDEA of war...not that we understand it to any degree.  Not that those of us who have never been to battle can commiserate or comprehend.  But the IDEA of it rests before us...

The forever gratitude.

Yesterday as I was accessioning (Fancy Nancy would say "that's a fancy word for putting things into records") two war artifacts I couldn't help but observe the dichotomy...one of a soldier that survived, returned home to marry and have a family.  And a second of one that did not.

A long black wood-framed photo of Squadron No. 3 in Toronto the June of 1940 just before departing for overseas.  Brave and solid (and young, oh so young!) soldiers stood at attention.  Second row ninth from the left: Edwards.  He survived.  Came home.  Likely "broken".

The other artifact was an incredible "set" of war records gained from a teacher in Ottawa whose student is researching the only Mount Forest man to lose his life on the shores of Normandy .   The official government registers document Irwin Archibald "Bing" Lytle's history as a soldier from his enlistment to final information regarding the plot in France to where his body was exhumed.  Even a copy of the telegram informing his mother of his death was included.  He obviously did not survive.  Did not come home.  Broken in a very extreme fashion.

Did it haunt the ones who survived?  Did they forget about their own sacrifices?  Forget that they were just as integral to our freedom?

The forever gratitude.

Munchy Monday: Canadian Grocer...are you an organic jerk???

Please join me every Monday for discussions on food…

Ever heard of the monthly magazine Canadian Grocer?  Mysteriously having two subscriptions, my boss has given me her 2nd latest copy.  Intriguing…

So here’s some juicy food info from the October issue:

• eating organic apparently “makes you a jerk” who is “less likely to help a stranger in need” (p.7)
• grocers in Austria who attempted to market pre-peeled bananas suffered financial loss and online backlash about plastic-covering and Styrofoam trays (p.7)
• “mommy bloggers” are re-shaping “North America’s relationship with food” and are a highly sought-after consumer (p.12)
• limited-edition products drive up sales: the Cadbury Crème Egg for eggs-ample (yeah, yeah, a very poor pun) sells 3.4 eggs for every man, woman, and child in the UK (and that’s just the UK and just for a four-month period) (p.13)

• adventure and groceries are marrying to a new degree: consumers are more willing to try new and different flavours from places such as Asia and India (p.24)
• Pay attention to coffee buyers: while the average shopper spends $41.41 while those who buy single-serve coffees such as K-cup packs hand over an average of $108.11 per purchase (p.39)

 

Saturday Stuff-It Chronicles: Stuffing our Stuff into Stuff

"Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans"  John Lennon

Please join me every Sat for discussions on stuff...

Saturday Stuff-It Chronicles have, since inception, typically been about objects-stuff...items, products...but what other definitions are there for "stuff"?  www.Dictionary.com outlines verb-stuff...

stuff

 ʌf/ Show Spelled

verb (used with object)

•  to fill (a receptacle), especially by packing the contents closely together; cram full.
•  to fill (an aperture, cavity, etc.) by forcing something into it.
•  to fill or line with some kind of material as a padding or packing.
•  to fill or cram (oneself, one's stomach, etc.) with food.
•  to fill (meat, vegetables, etc.) with seasoned bread crumbs or other savory matter.

 

We can stuff our stuff with stuff, stuff our bodies with stuff, and even stuff stuffing into our stuffy stomachs...the latter bringing drool-y responses to images of fat, moist chunks of breadcrumbs browned in turkey orifices...And to think it's only 345 until the next Canadian Thanksgiving!  [Did you know that at www.daysuntil.com you can find out how long it is until just about any holiday occurs???  Though a bit of mathematics was necessary in this instance because apparently only American Thanksgiving counts as the true holiday.]

 

Among the many things we North Americans can really lay claim to red ribbons for being (you know: brazen over consumers, greedy, and obese among the ranks) is calendar-stuffers.  Crammers.    How much can we compress into our lives before we explode, or implode?

 

 

How much stuff can we stuff into our daytimers?  How many things do we think are physically possible to crush into our lives?

 

I find  Debbie Mielewski's article entitled "How to Cram a Life into Your Crazy Schedule" How do you give enough to your job and your kids (without cutting out important stuff like, say, sleep)?

  www.webmd.com and I cringe so deeply I nearly knock myself out of our roll-y desk chair.  Not that I am condoning the stuffing full of our lives but should we not be cramming things into our LIFE rather than vice versa?  Is not our life the framework?  The basis to which we add the bonuses?

 

What bargains and trades are we making?  How do they affect our lives?  Our families?  Our spiritual time with the Lord? 

 

Why?  For what?  For ulcers and tension headaches and high blood pressure and oodles of tums and tylenol and other such "relief" fighting for space in our medicine cabinets?

 

 

Janet Luhrs in her book The Simple Living Guide shares

 

Why are we so afraid of discovering US?  (As in "us" not as in the US!)

 

Try this experiment: quit stuffing stuff into stuff ...cram into your life one hour - one measly hour - with absolutely nothing planned...and see how you feel?  What happened?  Did the world explode?  Implode?  Did YOU?

 

"Be still and know that I am God" Psalm 46:10

Happy November

Post-Hallowe'en sugar high, anyone?

I think I may actually just need some...and now that it's likely all on sale?

Happy November!

TuesdArchives: Canes and Canners

Please join me on Tuesdays for discussions on the Mount Forest Museum & Archives and all things historical...

A local Mount Forest man goes off to war, of course young and ambitious and likely naive, and returns to Canada whereupon he locks everything that has returned with him including the contents of his pockets...anything with the faintest trace of Second World War...into a homemade box.

He never discusses the war.  His appearance completely changed, eyes in photos seeming to hide dark secrets that he surely doesn't discuss, he carries on...marries...labours away...

When he dies the box is opened. 

Treasures unearthed.  Photos...ticket stubs, regulations for soldier behaviour on days off, and a long, slightly scarred brown "stick" with tarnished ends.  The less pointy end carries an insignia similar to the one below (The Royal Canadian Regiment...VRI does not in this instance stand for Vibration Response Imaging or Vacation Resorts International, as fun as those sound, but rather for the reigning Victoria and the Royal Canadian Regiment).


After a little research it was ascertained that "the pointy stick" is a "drill cane".  "The drill cane can ... be used in lieu of a band mace for Light Infantry and Rifle Regiments."   Officer Cadet Jeffrey Ng on www.cadet-world.com  The musical aspect of this makes even greater sense when knowing that the soldier in question's father was a musician and likely so was he?

Oh the pieces of the puzzle...so much harder to simultaneously condense and build when you haven't the picture on the box staring up at you...

Canes...and what of canners? 



Two jars with glass lids kindly donated to the Archives..."Imperial Crown" with dates of 1942 and 1952 embossed into the base.  And yet trying to uncover when the Diamond Flint/Dominion Glass Company stopped making the glass lids seems a piece to the puzzle we can't uncover, can't place into the grand overall image...

We find out that, as a "war effort" of rationing, metal, being so integral to the war movement, is replaced with glass lids.  We uncover photos of the glass company in Montreal with its childhood labour force grim-faced in front of the massive brick chimney.  But we don't find out measurements of the particular odd-heighth jars in question (and so Pauline will physically pour water into them) or glass-lid-making finality.

Canes and canners...

Munchy Monday: Jack 'o' Lanterns....what now?

Please join me every Monday for discussions on food...



I'm sure you can't have missed all the Hallowe'en hullabaloo decorating homes?  The intensity of it all.

Recall the good ole days of a sole toothy pumpkin with an actual candle burning out whatever innards clung to its mushy walls?  Sometimes people went 'hog wild' and actually introduced a whole group of gourds!

Well...Simple jack 'o' lanterns need unite, create unions, and fight their horrid foe: graveyard plots with protruding skeletal limbs and enough cotton cobweb to knit an afghan for every member of the family, canine friends included.

With or without Buzz Veggie Hargrove's assistance what happens to all these empty-gutted globes?  There are greater options than tossing them into the compost (an even better choice than chucking them into the trash which, unfortunately, some still do).

• Make a pie.  Yep... a pumpkin pie using the non-can variety.  Paraphrased from the Independent Plus on Sept 20, 2012: Place the jack'o'lantern upside down (lid-side down) in a pan with a little water.  Bake at 350 F for around 90 minutes.  Flesh should easily come off and can be blended in food processor.  This will be the puree from which you can make the pie.
• Give yourself a facial.  Use some of the pumpkin puree from above recipe, along with some brown sugar and a dash of milk to "create a vitamin-rich facial mask".

• New home for an ant colony, anyone?  "Remove the wrappers from two small bars of chocolate and put them in the microwave in a bowl or plate for 30-45 seconds.  Sprinkle some sugar on the chocolate and stir until you get a paste.  Apply the paste to the inside or outside of the pumpkin.  Observe. You may see many types of ants in you new ant colony."  http://www.wikihow.com/Use-Your-Old-Jack-O-Lantern
• Take out your frustrations with a "Pumpkin Smashing Party".  Aggressive friends only.  Send invites accordingly.  The weak-hearted may show up with the Pamela Anderson-like spokesperson for PETV (People for Ethical Treatment of Vegetables - I am NOT kidding...look it up!)  Barry Hoffman in The Shamra Chronicles: "You don’t see celebrities stripping to protest the wanton slaughter of vegetables. You don’t see activists stealthily sneaking onto farms at night to save and replant tomato plants up in the hills where they won’t be discovered by farmers. Sadly, there is no one to speak for defenseless fruit and vegetable; no one to decry the greenhouses where vegetable plants are housed so close together you’d think one plant was married to another."  http://shamrachronicles.com/470/wheres-people-for-the-ethical-treatment-of-vegetables-we-we-need-them/

So, with shiny spa-like facial skin and well-toned smashing muscles, let me know how yummy the pie is...Don't expect to find as many post-Hallowe'en uses for a plastic humerus or ulna (and I doubt they're as scrumptious!).

Do I really feel thankful?

It isn't lost on me that my 'happy happy joy joy' "How Can It Be A Bad Day When..." blog on Thursday was directly chased by my whiny Friday "I don't get it" post.  Yes...opposition.  Positive joy and thanksgiving hand-in-hand (or nearly) with that horrid envy-headed creature of ungratefulness.

It isn't lost on me.

It also isn't lost on me that the very woman I scornfully questioned may be the one to direct me upwards and onwards...upwards to a grace-filled God who provides abundance in and through all.  In everything more than could be expected or desired or even, with our teeny human brains that use only 10% of their capability, imagined.

Ann Voskamp's one thousand gifts is difficult treading.

Sometimes, sadly and ashamedly, I don't WANT to be thankful.  I want only to embrace misery (which isn't even true misery in the worldview context of misery).  As my friend Julie often explains, "sometimes we just want to sit in our dirty, crappy, icky, poopy diapers".

I glance around and of course I can name things I appreciate, that bring me joy.  At work today I noticed things like

• shelved boxes, lined up like little cardboard soldiers, practically shouting, "Look at us!  Look at how neat we are!  Look at us!"
• the safe hum of the freezer keeping thousands of dollars worth of product frozen
• jack o' lantern grins...cloth Hallowe'en bags peering out from a container, ready to be unwrapped and divvied out
• glass of room temperature water (because sometimes I prefer room temperature thank you very much)
• shiny mopped red and white floor tiles, like a vibrant chess board thanking me for cleaning them

But do I really feel it?  And if I don't TRULY feel it, is it really there?

^{Ephesians 5:20} giving thanks always for all things to God the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ [emphasis added]

Giving thanks for the good, the bad, the ugly...for all things.

"Life change comes when we receive life with thanks and ask for nothing to change." (p.61, Voskamp)

That is hard stuff.

And hopefully, it isn't lost on me.

 

SSIC: VH what?

Please join me every Saturday for discussion on "stuff"...


Remember VHS tapes?  Not quite as ancient as 8 track cassette tapes (don't know what they are?  Geesh, I'm old) since VHS has only been around since about the 1970s (though supposedly the first VCR was invented in 1956 and was the size of a piano).  [One chap recalls paying $1600 for his first machine in 1979...atrocious when you consider that it would have taken about 4 months of minimum wage work to purchase the machine, that 2 L of milk was $1.28 and a Malibu Barbie cost a whoppin' $1.94.]

A few days ago a friend decided to flawlessly purge her home of any trace of her now-teenagers' adolescence...in doing so she showed up at our doorstep, Santa-style, with two black garbage bags brimming over with VHS tapes.  It is not an oddity that people show up here with bags of goodies - mostly childrens' clothing for our "two tunics trading" that collects and disseminates them free of cost.  And being blessed with the ability to rapidly scrutinize and eliminate our house barely avoids being showcased on A&E's "Hoarders".

But two bags of VHS tapes?

So, of course, this got me thinking: what DO people do with VHS tapes nowadays?  Yes, yes, some of us still have VCRs...but what of those who don't?

And here's what my "research" has determined: thrift shops and freecycle rest high on the list of riddance suggestions but there are much more creative ways to recycle these polystyrene, polyethylene and polypropylene puppies. 

• "Green Disk: because good planets are hard to find" will recycle technotrash into new disks (you only need about 500 pounds of it!?).  www.greendisk.com
• Scarecrows.  Yep, you read that correctly: scarecrows.  Simple concept: yank out the ribbon, hang it on your trees, scare away birds.
• Still trying to formulate a unique Hallowe'en costume?  [Don't ask me what it is exactly but it's all formed from the tape inside VHS that we used to get hollered at for curiously fingering out of its case.] http://en.wikinoticia.com/culture-science/strange-inventions/119267-the-wizard-of-oz-and-its-gallery-of-characters-reimagined

• Have a wedding shower fast approaching?  Or, wait: Christmas is less than 2 months away and who ever has sufficient bows for gift tops?  http://textiles4you.blogspot.ca/2011_11_01_archive.html

• And one more suggestion: did your grandma, in all her loving patience, teach you the skill of knitting or crocheting?  Bingo!  Nothing can stop you from accessorizing your look with VHS-tape purses and handbags  http://www.myrecycledbags.com/2008/03/23/vcr-tape-ribbon-sling-bag/

So, when you see me sporting some crinkly black clutch or dressed as some sort of ebony king of the jungle drenched in oozing perspiration you will know: I am just doing my part for the environment, folks!  VH what? VH fashion...VH hip...VH yikes...

Coyote Attack: Yes to Joy, No to Me-dom...

I don't understand.  What am I doing wrong?  In reading my latest book from the library all I can think over and over again is: what am I doing wrong???

How does a homeschooling mother of five children have time to make supper with no background noise?  How is she able to actually think a single thought through from start to completion as she folds laundry?  She speaks of watching her children play outside, rosy cheeked as they build a snow fort, just before taking time to herself to read the bible.

I don't want to sound like a whiner.  And I completely agree with her "attitude of gratitude" that demands finding joy in everything, here and now.  I simply ask: what am I doing wrong?

Because here is how it goes for me:

I enter the bathroom, luxurious dreams of opening whatever piece of literature I have tucked into the "rack" (a faux leather basket that had been gifted to me one year loaded with feminine bath items) and before my button is unfastened IT happens...the shriek, or worse yet: the THUD (followed by the shriek, or even worse still, the thud followed by NO shriek at all which usually indicates extreme concussion-like problems and hospital visits).  Or perhaps it is one of those fortunate days in which I actually make it to the seat and then, voila, in dramatic fashion, our child who is overly prone to head injuries manages some feat that probably looked impressive had I been able to observe it.

Desperately sometimes I want to call out, "Is this only MY reality???"  Does anyone else experience this?  Someone else must surely "get it"???

In the course of writing this blog, which has, so far, taken 3 hours 12 minutes and 29 seconds I have been listening to the chaotic cacophony of a playdate.  Only our two children plus one extra so nothing extraordinary...nothing mindbending...yet:

• twice, as our daughter chased after the boys her feet outran her shoulders-and-above and she toppled over with great wails and scrapes and cries for ice. 
• One shout-out of "MOM..have you seen my spy glasses?" (sunglasses-cum-mystery tools)
• and one polite demand for milk. 
• Some obviously-overtired sobbing over a broken backhoe
• and a proud and continuous bellow of "COME SEE ME!"from the bowels of the bathroom where our daughter decided to paint her toenails teal blue, white, and pink.  (I trip over some of her "tools" as I enter the washroom to view her bodyart.)

A coyote has been spotted a block over several times in the area of the newest park in town and somehow this conversation sparked adventurous plans for the boys.  Several over-my-shoulder aimed-at-me questions of "What do coyotes eat?  Will they eat US?  Do they come out at night?  How would we scare one off?  Can we go look for them?" felt almost like what I envision a coyote attack to be (stated while they quickly nabbed boots and, without jackets despite the cold and rain, ventured forth). 

Right arm: torn off, blood gushing.  Left arm prevails, slowly tap-tap-tapping at letters...brain chewed upon, bits of cranial fluid and other such grey matter mixed with hair follicles clinging to my ears and neck.

"Stop!" I yell out the door as they run and our daughter again falls flat on her face.  "We can't go now...the banana bread is in the oven!"  Ten minutes later we drench ourselves in the misty rain hunting for furry dingo-like creatures.

I am joyful.  I AM filled with joy.

Just tired...and speculative...and losing my right ankle to the hungry jaws of a fierce town-dwelling coyote...

How Can It Be A Bad Day When...

How Can It Be A Bad Day When...

• it is warm enough to have laundry dancing on the line?
• the illness pervading our home for the last few days seems to have exited stage left?
• every window and door in our home remains open, breeze gently blowing, wind chimes chanting?
• the books I ordered from the library Living More with Less and one thousand gifts have arrived in time to be cracked on my day off?  (Wait: did I say "cracked"?  Best I change that to "gently fanned open" lest a librarian reads this entry!)
• my parents are taking our kids overnight; even if I have two meetings this evening meaning that no date night ensues, I relish it...if only benefiting my brainpower rather than our marriage: we may just get to sleep through an entire night!  Yeehaw...(Wait: apparently "yahoo" is in the dictionary but not "yeehaw" so best I change that "yeehaw" to "Yahoo!" lest a grammatically fiendish wordsmith reads this entry!)?
• a tiny purple and yellow violet pokes its head up through the brightly-coloured leaves on our front lawn?
• our 1/4 of a cattlebeast (yes, that's A LOT of red meat, folks) was ready and not only did the white-coated, lanky, smirking butcher carry out the most massive of boxes right to our vehicle, but I managed to, once home, find just enough room to squeeze it all in amongst the mennonite-made breads donated to our monthly Father's Table free community meal?
• a ladybug, the most ruby-hued one I have seen in a long time, landed on the clothespeg holder just long enough to be admired before darting off to another venue?
• I scrounged up enough coins to treat myself to a large coffee?  Mmmm...I have heard that hockey teams wearing dark coloured jerseys tend to be viewed as more aggressive and in fact have better overall game scores.  Could the same be said for coffee mugs?  Somehow the very dark one beside me seems so much more imposing and exotic and delicious than normal.  (Wait: urbandictionary.com defines "normal" as "A word made up by this corrupt society so they could single out and attack those who are different" so best I change that "normal" to "than usual" lest a bully lexicographer reads this entry!)

TuesdArchives: Is history even relevant?

Please join me on Tuesdays for discussions on the Mount Forest Museum & Archives and all things historical...

"We study the past to understand the present; we understand the present to guide the future." -- William Lund



Is history even relevant?  Why is what happened way back then even necessary or significant?  Have you ever asked yourself these questions?  Wondered why it even matters?

I may not be much of a "keeper" (as those of you who have been to our home or who have read my Saturday Stuff-It Chronicles involving our household's lack of "stuff" well know) but certain meaningful items from the past hold predominant spots in our home.   Jeff's great uncle Eldon's rock-hard, egg-shaped baby rattle with its tarnished sterling handle; my father's first armoire (which, sadly, lacks the car sticker my father placed there as a teen - a small circular "scar" remains as proof of my overzealous and impetuous removal); my grandmother's roasting pan, dented and blackened and still in use; the heavy gold locket with my mother's father's portrait inside that I wore at our wedding.

But why do I keep these things?  Why is history even important? 

Today at the archives President Kate Rowley opinionated her two reasons for the importance of history.  First, knowledge of what has happened hopefully allows us to avoid making such mistakes over and over again.  Remind you of George Santayana's quote 'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it'?  (The first time I came across this was when, in my high school exchange to Germany, we visited the Dachau concentration camp.)

Secondly, that historical times are often "gone"...in artifacts, photographs, and books we uncover what remains of times gone by.  A completely different era.

What has gone before us is a part of us.  We behave, as individuals and as societies, in certain ways reflective of our past.  "History provides identity". www.historians.org/pubs/free/WhyStudyHistory.htm

An extremely simplified, personal example: The Laundry Basket Experiment



Have you ever left something somewhere, in a perfectly unavoidable location, in order to encourage someone else, such as your significant other, to embrace "movement"?  You know...left the recycling box right in front of the entrance to your home to encourage its movement to the curb?  Or what about the laundry basket?  When I observe a laundry basket full of dirty clothing sitting precariously near the edge of the stairs leading to the downstairs laundry room, I assume, "Hey!  Dirty Laundry!  Better grasp that full bucket and drag it to the machine!"

However, my spouse is unlikely to make that same keen observation and will hurdle in Olympic proportions to continue on a trek to the basement without having to move said laundry basket.

How does this have anything to do with history, you may ask?  (Yes, yes, I AM coming to some sort of historical conclusion.)

Well, if I continue to do this same action which is followed by the same avoidance reaction, nothing changes.  A friend once shared with me Einstein's quote "insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results".  If I continue to do what historically I have always done, nothing will change.  In scrutinizing what has NOT worked I am able to introduce and attempt something different that MAY work.  (In circular fashion, right back to Kate's comment on repeating history and George's quote that  'those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it').

Why else is history important?  Beauty.

I love how Peter N. Stearns states that "History should be studied because it is essential to individuals and to society, and because it harbors beauty."

Physically there's an allure to artifacts: a delicate hand-crocheted doily so minuscule you wonder how adult hands formed it; the brilliant shades in old dresses or doll quilts...but more important is the allure of the relationships...the handwritten love notes displaying great affection and admiration, stories demonstrating the depth and enormity of remaining with your marriage partner through losses of children and homes and land and safety, the beauty found in what history has kept alive...

Is history even relevant? Why is what happened way back then even necessary or significant?  Why does it even matter?

You tell me.  (And in the meantime I will be devising a unique way to get laundry from basket to machine without my personal intervention...)

Munchy Monday: Here's to Sitting Around...

Please join me every Monday for discussions on food...



Some might refer to look at this evening's events as a disaster: and it was if my entire goal was sales, sales, sales of my own Epicure products as well as those of two other ladies selling Tupperware and Latasia (jewellery - not what some others have thought closely related to Fantasia)...

Fortunately, with only a few in attendance, we attained a more important goal: lounging and listening.

And how is this related to food?  Well, of course there would be tasting at an Epicure party so we lounged, listened, and nibbled...banana chips with mango curry dip, mocha cheese ball and its sister "balle du fromage" of apple, cranberry and cinnamon (my personal fave), and the new hot BLT dip with itsy bitsy loonie-sized crackers that looked almost too cute to be edible.



There seems to be a deep connection between food and fellowship.  In biblical times we often see meals accompanied by companionship and vice versa...in Acts they combined nourishment and dined as a group.

^{Acts 3:42} They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. ⁴³ Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles. ⁴⁴ All the believers were together and had everything in common. ⁴⁵ They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. ⁴⁶ Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, ⁴⁷ praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.

It really does make sense: food feeds our physical body and the fellowship is provision for our soul.

 

Andrea Belcham, author of Food and Fellowship:Projects and Recipes to Feed a Community explains that "Our society is privileged in the variety and amount of foods available to those with the money to purchase them. Yet much of what is on the menu – much of what consumers rely on the feed themselves and their loved ones – fails to truly nourish a body, let alone a spirit. Across the nation, people are loading their grocery carts with highly processed foods, or they are tucking into fast food meals, in the name of saving time and making space for the things that “really matter.”

 

Tonight we sat and listened.  In the world of consumerism and productivity we would have been hauled in front of the line supervisor and either suspended or fired.  And yet from a fellowship perspective we excelled...learning so much new about one another, our existences, hurts, truths, happy moments.

 

Tonight we avoided disaster.  We created something much, much more important.

 

Here's to sitting around...

SSIC: The Odd Stuff We Covet

Please join me every Saturday for discussions on "stuff"...

As I peruse the local flyers (or used to since we no longer have a carrier and so don't get them - a blessing in many ways), plopped down across the table from my hubby, I continually note these odd items that scream of being on sale...you know, things like:



a "starfrit garlic genius" that peels and cuts garlic [would even a Sanguivoriphobic - yes, a true phobia of vampires - need one of these "easy to clean, dishwasher-safe" puppies???] 



or a T-fal Actifry which, believe it or not is "recognized by the Canadian Diabetes Association as a method to encourage healthy eating".  It's a deep fryer folks...how is deep fried food EVER healthier?  And, wait, the best is yet to be announced: it would only take a minimum wage worker 29 hours to save for this alien-spaceship-looking article (the tax alone is 3 hours wages...yikes...)!

I constantly marvel at how these items would make my life better?  Where would they fit in our cupboards, I wonder?  And how long would it take to clean them?  And are they truly efficient if I only use them once a year?

And yet someone, somewhere is probably lining their pockets with cash from these handy dandy inventions...

Check out "10 Weird Inventions That Made Millions"  from HowStuffWorks.com

Doggles because our poochie's eyeballs need protection from those nasty sun rays...



Snuggies, the Koosh Ball, and recall that good ole Magic 8 ball?  Billy Bob Teeth...(sadly, we have a set or two around here - remnants leftover from our redneck party a few years ago that the kids still occasionally shove in their mouths and half-gaggingly chortle as they parade in front of the mirror), the furby, tamagotchie, and whose great uncle doesn't have a singing fish stored somewhere amongst his boasting rights trophies in the panelled-wall basement????



Yep, we're obsessed with Our Stuff, us North Americans...handy stuff, gadget-y stuff, expensive stuff, kitschy stuff...Stuff stuff stuff...

Pre-School Fun

As school departure time looms closer the kids, who have finished breakfast, continue to play with the girls who arrive every morning at 7:30am.  Pretending to be animals of various sorts they crawl around the upstairs and down and our daughter, their "owner" vehemently knocks on the door between the floors periodically to "drop off" treats such as invisible bones.

I recently read a statistic that the average child watches 6 hours of TV a day!  Whoa...

The precious imagination of childhood must be quick to disappear (if even it ever develops?) if entertainment is constantly in your face?  ("Kids need time to think, dream, create and wonder and they can't do that with constant activity, TV, etc." p. 190 The Simple Living Guide)

I'm getting such a chuckle out of listening to them.  (The Squirrel is being picked up right now and encouraged to scratch its way to the top of the stairs...)  I hate to have to interrupt them...

Munchy Monday: Homemade Pet Peeve

Please join me every Monday for discussions on food...

When you see the word “homemade” what do you think?  For me, pre-packaged is something that does NOT come to mind….I imagine warmed ovens, apple-scented kitchens, sticky counter tops, and straight-from-the-flour-bin goods.

The odd time, when pre-packaged cake mixes are on sale for 99 cents, I allow a couple to hide in my baking cupboard ready for “emergency” situations, but most of the time the cakes, cookies, and muffins that come out of this kitchen are “homemade”.  And by that I define them as begotten of true, real, actual, raw items that have never been in a box.  (Well, okay, baking soda and baking powder DO in fact come in containers.)

And I don’t mean this as an affront to anyone using pre-package items. Time is arguably at a premium.  And I work at M & M Meat Shops after all.  (Sadly, my freezer has recently embraced a lot of white boxes.)  My argument is with the wrong usage of the term “homemade”.

So imagine my distress and annoyance when, in search of a homemade chocolate cake recipe on allrecipes.com I had to scroll through recipes whose number one “ingredient” was pre-packaged cake mix…until, finally, in great exasperation, I simply waved the white flag and went to my over-the-stove recipe books. 

Then...the latest Epicure Selections magazine displayed the yummiest looking photograph of soft pretzels sprinkled with Maple Bacon Sea Salt…the caption blazoned “Homemade pretzels never tasted so good!” which, besides being grammatically incorrect (remember all those lectures on proper use of “never”???), is an outright lie.  The recipe, after all, calls for prepared pizza dough (“Save time and start with store-bought pizza dough”).

 
ARG!

A few years ago when I completed the "Healthy You" series on nutrition through our local family health team we had to keep a diary of what and how much we ate, and how many calories , trans fat, etc. that they contained.  (Yes, it was scarier than Hallowe'en costumes.)  Fortunately they proffered a website that figured out numerical values. (Similar to http://caloriecount.about.com though I can't recall if this is the exact site!) Unfortunately when I typed in "homemade chocolate chip cookies" the first type of cookie to surface was a McDonald's one and in 6 pages of chocolate chip cookie listings I didn't ever uncover a homemade variety.



What happened to "homemade"?  It doesn't take that much time to make a batch of cookies...and our kids love to be the measurers, dumpers, and, especially, mixmaster knob-pullers...How difficult is it to toss ingredients together to make your own salad dressing or to make your own buttermilk?  (Place a Tablespoon of white vinegar or lemon juice in a liquid measuring cup, add enough milk to bring the liquid up to the one-cup line and let stand for five minutes.) www.frugalliving.about.com

"Where is that sweet spot between buying and making? What does the supermarket do cheaper and better? And where are we being deceived, our tastes and habits and standards corrupted?" Jennifer Reese asks in her December 2011 article "Is homemade food always better?"  http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2011/dec/02/is-homemade-food-always-best  Interestingly, one thing she does NOT recommend "homemade" is chicken: slaughtering her really-a-male "chicken" Arlene proved to her a level of messy-ness she would prefer to avoid.

But her questions are important.  What has happened to our tastebuds?  How have we been so deceived that white bread perfectly sliced in a bag is more sought after than a handcrafted loaf of undeniably taste-filled nutrition?



The odour of baking squash (those odd-shaped ones remaining in the garden rescued just before the frost arrived) reminds me I must get my butter, brown sugar, and freezer containers ready...so written as I think about needing to wash out foil containers from our birthday boy Chinese food takeouts that left us with tonight's meal planovers....Yes, yes...a lesson in homemade, anyone???

ARG!

Saturday Stuff-It Chronicles: Historical "Stuff"

Please join me every Saturday for discussions on "stuff". “When I look down, I miss all the good stuff; when I look up, I just trip over things"  Ani Difranco Last week was my first day of volunteering at the local Archives.  Like a nervous child on the first day of school I wondered anxiously what it would be like and what would be expected of me.  After a very informative tour I was given time to familiarize myself with some of the archive's historical content.  Meandering through the new Jean Weber Reading Room (so named after an outlandishly outspoken woman who wholeheartedly worked to preserve memories of yesteryear) I began browsing local family and women's institute histories. I noticed a pattern. When describing their lives, what do you think people included in personally-written "mini biographies"?  The size of their home?  The number of cattle on their farm?  The immensity of good china in their cabinets or handmade dresses in their armoires? The pattern seemed to be that predominantly their focus was on: family roots (their parents and possibly geographical location of their homestead), the number of children they had, their source of employment, and the organizations for which they volunteered.  (The huge Wellington North 'encyclopedia' listed religion and political bent as well.) It had nothing to do with how much they had of what sort of thing... So why is our contemporary culture obsessed with "stuff"?  If, when we pen what is important to us, and what makes up our "life", we rarely mention items of a more physical nature, why then do we feel we need to fill our lives with it NOW? If our memories include occasions of laughter, or endearing (or not-so-endearing: like the ones of my grandma's persistent open-mouthed chewing habit that we laugh about now) moments that are more about PEOPLE then why do we strive to buy the latest gadgets and choke up our homes with substance-less substances?  Items that mean we have to work much harder to achieve, to pay for, and to clean so that we don't actually have any time left for people?? I may have been viewing less modern records but when we observe current obituaries I would hazard to guess the pattern remains similar... The Important "stuff" in our lives is very rarely "stuff". "The best things in life aren't things" reads a hand embroidered cloth framed in our home.  (Yes, I do indeed note the irony in the fact that quote is in itself a "thing"!) So, Stuff it!  Stuff the empty, meaningless stuff...and let's fill our lives with more meaningful, important moments with people.

What do Temple Bailey and Barbara Park have in common?

"A crib is a bed with bars on the side of it.  It's kind of like a cage at the zoo.  Except with a crib, you can put your hand through the bars.  And the baby won't pull you in and kill you."  Junie B. Jones and a Little Monkey Business by Barbara Park

You know you're a Mom (or perhaps an elementary school teacher, or, okay, maybe a librarian) when your book list includes more Junie B. Jones, Hardy Boys, and Pokemon titles than those of a more "adult level"...



Reading has always been a grand treat for me: to escape somewhere, preferably secluded and cozy (be it real heat from the huge solar orb in the sky or merely a fuzzy blanket amidst a cushy pillow fort).  To almost-romantically delve into a new and different existence in a new and different world. 

Although lately my reading respites appear random and attached to any moment I am alone, usually for about 13 seconds before a whoopin' battle cry from one or both children pulls me from the throne.

Half an article from the local newspaper, three quarters of a column from my alumni magazine...just enough to whet my appetite and yet not enough for me to recall where I was at in the article the next time I am back at the helm of the W.C.

I am not sure how the significance of reading and its importance as an escape, a learning ground for exciting new knowledge, a place where exquisite ideas loomed in hopefulness, and travels around the world intrigued, became so  integral to who I am. 

Mom reads.  A lot.  Mostly harlequin novels that steam up her glasses and keep her up late at night.  Was it her influence?

Though I think I recall her reading aloud to me from a book that now hides on a shelf amongst world map books and French dictionaries.  The Blue Window by Temple Bailey.  Perhaps I have kept the wrong torn and stained fiction?  As I carefully peel apart the sepia sheets I turn to Chapter 7: The Way To Win A Woman  and I really, really wonder?  Conceivably I am completely, totally wrong about it?  Chapter 9: Cock-O'-The-Walk?  Hmmm. Really?   Just a novel yanked from some box about to be discarded and somehow remembered in an altered way?

Perhaps a "re-read" (or first time read so be it) is at hand....

Until then...watch out Junie B. Jones 'cause three of us are chasing your kindergarten snippy-ness!

Munchy Mondays: Turkey Coma

It just has to be Monday...alas, it is not!  That holiday weekend confused my weekly mindset and with Monday on the brain I  absentmindedly almost showed up at work rather than bible study.

Experiencing a Turkey Coma by any chance?  Still digestively lethargic?  (Which makes logical sense since turkey contains a natural sedative named tryptophan, though debate occurs as to whether this makes any difference unless eaten on a completely empty stomach.)

Thanksgiving.  For me a blissful experience savouring fare that rightfully should be its own food group (stuffing - so aptly named as sweatpants with stretchable elastic waists seem appropriate holiday wear).

Thanksgiving, meant as a holiday of gratitude to God for His harvest blessings, could also be viewed as a time of waste and gluttony and overabundance.  All those paper plates some choose (and paper "thingies" people sometimes festively add to their turkey legs that make it appear as though some greasy footless chef has turned up to party on your table).  Feasting on much more in one weekend than many in the world have in an entire year.  Consuming enough to just about vomit.

But I am choosing the attitude of Thanksgiving resourcefulness. 

A turkey with every edible bit wisely devoured.  Leftovers in casseroles, sandwiches and bones boiled for soup stock. 

Stuffing as a sign of complete thrifty-ness: what can't you throw into that wonderfully addictive mixture of leftover and stale bread?  When our kids go through "pocket sandwich" phases in which they slather jam between bread and then use this handy circular "cutter" to produce round "pocket sandwiches" we throw those crusts into containers in the freezer for future stuffing or bread pudding.  Why waste celery greenery when those lime-coloured leaves can be finely chopped and added?  And only a tiny wee bit at the end of the onion needs removed before chopping it all up and tossing in.

Potato peelings?  (If you even bother...the new culinary trend of "smashed potatoes" allows for leaving them on and in, after all.)  Why compost when they'll blend so well in the stock pot for soup?

This year we hosted two Thanksgiving events, and went to a third at my sister- and brother-in-law's new home.  I decided to give attempt to what a woman working up the street at a quaint design shop suggested: instead of shoving stuffing into the turkey butt (and never having sufficient) try instead inserting an orange, peel and all, and making slow cooker stuffing.  Our poor little turkey's anal cavity (okay, okay, stomach cavity) embraced an orange, an apple (cut in four and seeds removed so it could later be put into soup stock) and two whole onions.  And stuffing was produced "on the side".  As my mother stated, "it may not look the greatest but this stuffing is delicious".

Here's the Slow Cooker Stuffing Mix recipe by Wanda Galloway off of allrecipes.com that I used as a base (for, as you know, I rarely follow a recipe exactly!).  I used Epicure's poultry seasoning and pot herbs instead of other suggested herbs, used less than 2 cups of chicken broth, and threw in cranberries and chopped-up apple slices.  (And the end amount was massive; the second half for the second Thanksgiving tasted even more scrumptious after a couple of nights in the fridge.)

So here's to a Turkey coma...a resourceful turkey coma...

Ingredients:

1 cup butter 2 cups chopped celery 2 cups chopped onion 1/4 cup chopped parsley 2 (8 ounce) cans mushrooms, drained 12 cups white bread, cut into cubes 1 teaspoon poultry seasoning	1 teaspoon dried thyme 1 1/2 teaspoons sage 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper 1 1/2 teaspoons salt 1/2 teaspoon dried marjoram (optional) 2 eggs, beaten 4 cups chicken broth

Directions:

1.	In a large skillet over medium heat, melt the butter. Saute the celery, onion, parsley and mushrooms until onions are soft.
2.	In a large bowl, combine the bread cubes and vegetables. Add the poultry seasoning, thyme, sage, pepper, salt and marjoram. Toss together well. Add egg and enough broth to moisten.
3.	Lightly pack into slow cooker; cover and cook on high for 45 minutes. Reduce to low and cook for 4 to 8 hours.

Saturday Stuff-It Chronicles: Coffee-Making Machines

Please join me every Saturday for discussions on "stuff"...

Saturday's blog on a Sunday...(remind you by chance of my earlier-in-the-week "Munchy Monday" occurring this week on Tuesday?)



coffee, coffee, coffee...or:

kafe (pronounced KA-fey) [Albanian], kopi [Indonesian], kava (pronounced kah-va) [Slovakian]...

Yes, back to that luxurious, ebony filth that so many of us crave.  Only because, in terms of success, my weekly goal of eliminating non-recyclable coffee cups from my life failed somewhat miserably.  Until yesterday's exciting development.

We purchased a coffeemaker.  Brand spankin' new.

Which is a big thing since we like to avoid new product purchase when at all possible.

Unable to find a used one anywhere else, and it not being garage sale season, we decided on the local hardware outlet in town.  The salesperson there pounced on us briskly and then quickly tired of us as she continually checked back with us and we seemed no further in our search for The Perfect Machine.  Did we want a timer?  Did it really matter?  Not too cheap that it would break almost immediately and not too expensive that it would break our budget.  We knew for sure that one of those mesh filters was a must: who wanted to buy wasteful paper filters even if they can go in the compost? 

And so on and so on...fortunately our children wandered quietly amongst the aisle, eyeing up weird and wonderful inventions that may save time but mainly steal precious pocketbook money and take up even more space on the counter (or in cupboards never to be seen again).  They were more elated about the rows of colourful can openers and measuring spoons than the black or white machine models we were considering.  Who wouldn't be?  (And who knew that you can not only choose blue or black can openers but shades of blue...funky teal?  Navy?  Baby blue?  Insanity!)
Eventually, our decision made, we handed over our cash and made our way home.  And brewed our first homemade batch of  mountain blend arabica.

And discovered that our main mission (mesh filter) was a bit of a sneaky promise on the packaging.  We still have to use a paper filter.

But at least my experiment with re-using the paper filter (dump contents in compost and then rinse) has been effective for four uses so far!

But how do you know which coffee machine is best for the environment?  One that uses the least amount of energy.  (So a coffee press is a better option of course.  And we do have a fabulous Epicure Selections one that I use - the disadvantages are amount of time to make and that it only produces 3 cups at a time.) 



Single cup makers?  They promise less waste but what of the little plastic cups and tin lids left after one drink has been enjoyed?  An easy response would of course be to just give up the blasted black stuff...

Oh, and last tip with regards to the environment (and wallets) and coffee machines: don't forget to unplug your coffeemaker between uses as it otherwise continues to drain electricity from the outlet....

As I write hubby dumps my mug's contents into re-useable mug for our drive to Family Thanksgiving "in the city". 

Bottoms up!  Glug, glug.

The Patchouli Hath Arrived

Until recently I had no idea that patchouli was an essential oil associated with hippie years of freedom and free lovin' and skin free from acne...Heck, until recently I hadn't ever HEARD of patchouli let alone its connection to birkenstocks, marijuana, and tie-dyed tshirts to wear over bra-less chests...

And yet a bottle winks at me from its pretty pink bag, where it hides with basil and tea tree essential oils just awaiting new found knowledge of how to use them.

I've dabbled with pre-mixed 'potions' as my husband's aunt Kate is the incredible founder of an equally incredible company called saje.  www.saje.ca  For example, Peppermint Halo is my ultimate fave and saviour for when acute headaches and migraines attack.



And we've been using lavender essential oil from www.flowerstofragrance.com as a cleaner (floors, bathroom sink, etc.) and highly effective, strategic flea-removing remedy for quite some time now.  Occasionally a sprinkle to the pillow (or even some strands from our actual lavender plants greeting guests in our door side garden) assist in dreamland's approach.



So why not try some 'fooling around' with some essential oils? 

Except that as I research I discover that "fooling around" with potent essential oils proves a little like drinking drano or rubbing kerosene on your skin before you light up a ciggie.  They are, after all, highly concentrated liquids.  And they need to be cautiously considered, and used with "carrier oils" such as almond or olive.

Still they beckon...

First experiment?  Some basil drops in olive oil massaged on hubby's chest and back should work wonders on his asthmatic tendencies and sinus problems.  (Though warnings are strong about it being an irritant and therefore no more than 3-4 drops should be put in a 4oz bottle of oil.)  And apparently, on a side note, it relieves flatulence!

Experiment two involves moi and the contentious relationship I have had with my acne-prone skin since teenagehood: 2-3 of drops of patchouli on a wet cotton ball rubbed on my face.

The astonishing, bewildering essential oils hath arrived...let the fun begin!

100 Years

This year my mom's mother would have been 100 years old.

It's amazing to think of the enormous changes that occurred within her lifetime.  Even in my dad's sixty years his family went from having no refrigerator and no indoor plumbing on the farm to all the convenient luxuries we have today.

My Grandma was born a couple of days before the Titanic took its fateful plunge...according to some quick research only a few, more "elite" individuals in Canada had a Model T automobile, milk was delivered daily and Crisco (shortening) had just been invented in 1911.  Apparently, the next year, in 1912, "the Archbishop of Paris decreed that 'Christians must not tango.'" http://originalwavelength.blogspot.ca/2012/01/v-behaviorurldefaultvmlo.html

So different than the world we know.

After a brief sojourn with our kids to the "city" to renew passports I decided to do something that I hadn't done in almost 8 years.  I (we) visited my grandmother's grave.  Buried beside her husband who had died when my mom was a mere 10 years old, her grave had obviously seen few visitors.  And none so motivated as to pull weeds.  (Which makes me truly think she has had no company as her children are all fervent hard working sorts of whom none would leave any alien plant alive.)

As I yanked crabgrass and its virile white roots from the bricked in "patch" thoughts of life with grandma almost choked me up.  Suddenly fond memories (as opposed to previously well-guarded ones of a harsh and bitter woman) played through my mind.  I spoke them aloud.

"Grandma used to love to have her hair brushed.  When I lived with her on the orchard during the summers we would sit up near bedtime and I would brush and brush and brush her kinky slightly-dyed tan locks that stretched to almost shoulder length when pulled through with a comb.  She would often sigh.  That was about the only time she would ever sit still...in that big well-loved but hardly-used lazy boy by the dining room table.  Sometimes she would let the TV prattle on in the background."

"Mmmmm...Grandma used to make the best creamed peas....even your Grandma, my mom, bless her extraordinary culinary skills, can never get them quite the way her mom did.   Mmmmm...yummy."

Our kids wandered the other graves, sometimes remarking on comments I uttered and sometimes simply letting me dwell in my reverie.

An emotional surprise in a locale I hadn't even thought of visiting when we left our home earlier in the day.

What would Grandma think of even the newest changes in our world?

Munchy Monday: The Empty Garden Syndrome

Please join me every Monday for discussions on food...

Yes, it is Tuesday.  Monday morphed into a new day and so, in commemoration of some leap year somewhere, Munchy Monday will fall this week on a Tuesday...

"'The Land teaches us more than all books: because it resists us'" Antoine de Saint Exupery

Have you ever tried to grow something, be it fancy green tropical household plant or punchy peas, only to have it miserably fail?  Either it just doesn't appear, leaving great disappointment in its wake as hopes of fresh veggies abounded, or it shoots up, raises its tendrils towards the sun and then, suddenly, for no apparent reason (or perhaps for one: like having forgotten to water them), it slumps over, browns, and turns back to dirt.

A lot of this plant life-and-death has happened in our "back forty" (back forty feet!) this year.  An incredibly lengthy duration of Dry followed by an exceptionally lengthy duration of monsoonish Wet results in very little garden production...a  few green tomatoes still cling to their browning stems, the corn stalks are barely tall enough to be recognizable and certainly not robust enough for the decore we usually have by the door, and the peas donated about 17 pods to our taste buds and tummies this season.

The Land indeed resisted my efforts this year.

Until I read Abby Adams' The Gardener's Gripe Book I had never considered that I was a "control freak" - that all gardeners are in fact "control freaks" as we attempt to manipulate the land to our own desires.  "A garden is not nature," she states and for some reason this shocked me.  For part of me truly believed I was promoting nature and growth and all good green things that go glove-in-glove with gardening acts of passion.  But, as she points out, "Nature is what wins in the end".

And so I live with a lack of abundance of fresh-from-our-garden veggies...and so my soups' bounty will have to come from other sources.