Visions and Meandering Thoughts

Missing some bloggers

2012-01-21T15:43:00.000-08:00

Do you have some blogger friends that seem to have gone? I have several that don't seem to write any longer and I miss them. I wonder if something has happened in their life or if they just tired of blogging either from writing or reading.

All of them were terrific writers too. Like Astonish Me who I found early on. She spoke of stories from the South that hit the roots of my family who came from Alabama. She wrote stories of her growing up, stories that came to life in her words.

Then there was Bethany from Bloom. Another blog that was a delight to read. An animal lover like myself but had some very deep thoughts and sometimes a serious side to her writing.

I so enjoyed My Farmhouse Kitchen with her lovely photography of where she lives. Seasonal displays, recipes, her poochie Teddy, such a delightful blog. I know of the area she lives in and how many times I would be reading and viewing and thinking "Oh I know where that is" or "hhhmmm, I'll have to go there sometime". Colorful and friendly a special little get-away online.

Now Sarah at Sarah Elizabeth hasn't been writing but I do understand. She had a baby this past year and I certainly would step away from blogging for a baby.

Both my daughters had blogs that they stepped away from and I miss those too. Of course I may not view their blogs but I hear from them so that evens it out.

Do you have bloggers who have faded away? Believe me I don't really mind because someday I too may decide that I am tired of blogging. A different interest may come along that I take in fully. I don't know what I thought when I began to blog or that I would have any readers except maybe family and friends. When unknown names made comments or when I ventured to read other blogs a door opened which was a breath of fresh air. I prefer a blog read over the newspaper any day.

Just my passing thought for the day...

Getting tired of the monkey business

2012-01-21T10:56:00.000-08:00

This week ended on a sour note. Now listen up all of you. I'm going to say this REALLY LOUD so you can hear. When you get old, don't act like nothing is wrong, that if you are an invalid you don't need help, that if you can't hear get hearing aids and don't act like your family doesn't matter. There.

Why my raised voice? Let me just tell you that it is true, when you get old it isn't always fun. You're not 20 anymore. Let's meander down the days events starting on Wednesday.....hear the birdies singing gaily? Nope, neither do I.

As a background, my mother by marriage has been in Assisted Care for about 6 weeks following a nasty awful fall in her shower. Father by marriage called for help in getting her up, only he was to be found all snug in bed while dear mother by marriage is left with no towel in the shower. Let me use MBM and FBM for their respective identity. FBM seems to be in total denial of how the fall happened (he thought she fell out of bed. Pray tell how did she wind up in the shower?). MBM developed a horrible hematoma which eventually burst and created a nasty hole in her hip that has been draining ever since. Therefore for her safety and healing, the family, and upon FBM saying he wants her out as he can't take care of her, (he refuses to have in home care) she is brought to a lovely Assisted Care place nearby. Within a day of her departure FBM wants her home, still in denial of how awful (not to mention how painful) her hip is. She already has a bum hip that prevents her from walking (a whole different story almost as tragic) very well or at all. She uses a wheelchair most of the time.

Since MBM has been in Assisted care she has had more visitors, better diet, calm environment and great care. FBM has been swinging like pendulum with her being there. At times he "gets it" why she is there and most times he feels the family took her while she was weak in the head and against his wishes. He also doesn't seem to "get it" that her hip needs a long time to heal. They were actually stuffing the wound with gauze to soak up the drainage coming out. Now she has a pump with a hose to remove the drainage which she has to wear constantly. It is so sad to see the situation unfold for all involved. Frustration, aggravation, compassion, empathy, and all around with the same thoughts over and over.

This week on Wednesday a call came that FBM is at Assisted Care to remove MBM and bring her home. I guess he made a scene and the family was called. I was the only one available and got there within ten minutes of my Love asking to intervene. When I arrive they both are sitting at a table for two in the dining room. It is full of the folks who live here having their luncheon. I also notice it is rather quiet. I pull up a chair after greeting them both. FBM has a sour face and MBM looks like she is trying to hold up with a strong face. He asks me how we are to get her out and back home. I calmly tell him she can't go home till the hip is healed. He thinks it's better and she doesn't need to be here. I remind him of the pump and he tells me she doesn't use it anymore. I turn to MBM and say "you still use the pump all the time, right?". "Yes, all the time". FBM then says she needs a 30 day notice to get out of here and he doesn't want to pay the money to do this. It all costs too much is all he can say. I remind him for her to go home it needs to have her Dr. give the okay and she must have care at home. He has a list of requirements he must meet at their home such as caregivers and safety needs. He sits there with this look of disgust and anger though he talks calmly to me. Then he starts telling me how wrong and bad my Love and his sister are for all they have done. I look him in the eye and tell him I don't want to hear this talk at all. That his kids have done so much for them both in loving ways. He stops and looks at me, maybe a little shocked that I would tell him this. The dining room feels like whatever ears can hear are all tuned in to our little table. MBM continues to eat. I try to make chit chat in changing topics but he looks at me as he stands up and tells me to tell his son (my Love) that they need to talk and he is going to tell him that he can't pay all this money anymore.

Whoooowee...that got handled. Five minutes after he leaves the dining room comes to life and normal sounds of talking or moving of chairs happens. The entertainment has stopped.

We find out out Thursday that FBM missed his Dr. appointment on Wednesday as he was at the Assisted Care causing trouble instead. He was suppose to see his regular Dr. and then after to see a Neurologist.

On Friday morning we are called to be told that all of MBM possessions have been removed by FBM. What? My Love drives over to FBM's home to see what is going on. He finds him vacuuming the floor, talking to himself before he sees my Love. He denies picking up her personal clothes and possessions though they are in a bag in his car. He doesn't know how they got there. He also is saying he wants to divorce her and doesn't want her to come home. She is mean he says and doesn't love him anymore. If she comes home he will move out and rent a house somewhere else. My Love gets him to sit down and have some lunch. We all feel that FBM has some form of dementia. They both do. It is all such a quandary of what to do and what we can do. None of us have the ability to have an open book with FBM health care. Certainly we have communicated with the Dr. but legally he can not tell us what he thinks.

After getting FBM calm and fed he brings MBM's items back to her at the Assisted Care. She denies having helped put her clothes in the bag though that is what she did. My Love was able to get another appointment with the Dr.s for FBM this week.

Such a mess...such a sad mess. I sure hope my Love will be able to get him to that appointment and be able to hear what the Dr.s say.

Close to you....a story of he and I....Part 3

2012-01-13T17:40:00.000-08:00

Compromise.

Wondering why I wrote the story of my Love and the Shan-gri-la potential trip? We perhaps might not have gotten engaged, or at least for awhile longer. I was not happy at Cal State Hayward where I was going to college. I only choose it because it was not away from my Love. I felt that if he did go on the trip then there was no reason for me to stay at a school I was unhappy with. Of course I had only been there a few months, barely enough time to decide if I was just going through a rough beginning or that it really was just a commuter college without a chance to have the college experience I had read and hoped for. I thought of places away from the area. Maybe out of state in a more interesting town than Hayward.

When the trip fell through and I knew my Love was not leaving I thought I would still change schools. It simmered in my mind on the back burner while we kanoodled together and became engaged.

Fast forward to the engagement party. Mom's idea. Not one friend of mine was invited, not that she asked me if I wanted any of my friends to come. Just family and a few of her friends. Lovely white cake with white frosting, blue trimming and two gold wedding ring designs on top. I received many tea cups as that was what every young bride to be traditionally would be given.

Next thing to tackle was a dress. This took many back and forth talks. I never did step into a bridal salon. I looked at a few magazines but not a one was what I wanted.   Remember I am thinking of the white peasant top and gypsy skirt.....

My mom had become quite chummy with a woman, Irene, who had a very respectable women's clothing store in Oakland. Tres chic, with off the rack styles as well as Couture made to order clothing. For the past year Irene had been redefining my mom. A make over. Mom was smitten with the attention she received by Irene. Goodness only knows what her bills were from this shop but it wasn't cheap. In that year I had gone to get my hair done upstairs in her store by the nicest, cutest, friendliest guy, Gary, who was just one of several who worked there. My first time being around gay guys. Let me just say when you are 18, and are given so many compliments as well as an innocent kiss and hug every time I came in and every time I left...I felt like I was in a Disney movie in the happy part. Like in Sleeping Beauty when she is out picking flowers singing with the animals and her Prince comes along. Yes, that happy. They were young and hip which worked for me. Irene's store had some young items but not many so I didn't shop with my mom there. Irene would say she was my "Aunty" which if you knew this woman, you would much rather be on her good side than her bad. She was always delighted to see me (well, my mom was a good client), and I would look for her or ask for her when I had a hair appointment to say "hello".

I think mom must have cried on Irene's shoulder of my desire for a hippie dress to be wed in. What to do, what to do....I have to say that Irene was more like a Fairy Godmother, because in quick time she arranged for my mom, herself and I to fly to Los Angeles and meet with the fashion designer Ruben Panis. I didn't have any idea who he was only that I was being treated to weekend to find a wedding dress and attend the wedding of my Love's cousin.

Ruben and I hit it off right away. He had a small shop and sat down with me to ask what kind of wedding dress I was interested in. He asked me many questions of styles and designs, as well as era's of clothing that I liked. Then I was measured from every angle of my body. Frankly I had no idea what he would come up with but I sort of had an idea it wasn't going to be the peasant top with the gypsy skirt. I knew this because at one point in talking about my Love he liked the idea of an open front shirt for him. Something romantic perhaps, something that would match my dress.

I thank "Aunty Irene" for giving me the whirlwind weekend that she did. She was a feisty, hard business woman, but she had her soft spots for us.

** Another good tune from the early 70's that rocked on the radio and even if my wedding was years later than when this song came out, when you're getting married...any song with marriage in it begs to be sung.

Close to you...a story of he and I....Part 2

2012-01-13T13:40:00.000-08:00

I need to back up. Tell a story of what preceded our engagement from Close to you....a story of he and I...Part 1.

My Love was a man who fell in love with sailing after my Papa asked him if he would like to help crew on his sailboat. Years later he met a doctor friend through his brother, who had a 35 foot sailboat that he would go out on and sail in the San Francisco Bay. Many times I went as well with this wild group of friends, sailing to Sausalito for lunch or for a sail around Angel Island and by the San Francisco waterfront. The doctor, who worked as an Emergency room Doctor and was a Vietnam Veteran, had dreams of traveling to exotic places, not just sailing in the bay. Therein lies the dreams of those who sailed with the doctor, of going along as crew on his adventure.

The year before our engagement became a quest for the doctor to find his dream sailboat and the destination became the South Pacific islands of Tahiti. You might as well have laid a path to Shangri-la because my Love was just as swept up with this idea. There were trips up and down the coast of California to find the perfect boat. At last they found her. A beautiful 50 foot sloop named the Atlantis. She had a steel hull, mahogany interiors and teak decks. She was brought back up to the Richmond Boat Works for a complete overhaul. My Love and several others spent many months working on her.

The Dr. decided he wanted to rename her, something you just don't do with boats. He renamed her Mae-Ya-Nang which my Love was told meant in Thai, the Thai Goddess of the Wind. My looking it up Mae-Ya-Nang actually is believed to be a guardian spirit who lives in the prow of the boat and "requires proper treatment in return for protection against misadventure". Just note this.....

In the end my Love did not go on the trip having talked to our good friend Joel who did begin the trip. They had sailed to San Diego first to pick up crew when apparently there was trouble from the beginning with mechanical problems. Joel was so bothered with that short journey that he decided to bail out on the trip. We later heard that they made it to Tahiti but only on the return through Hawaii did the final and ultimate fate take place. They ran aground on a reef. Having been to Hawaii I find it hard to imagine having that happen, but having been to Tahiti and two of the other islands there, I could see this happen as there are many reefs around the islands.

My Love may have not made that trip at that time but we made our own journey to Tahiti a couple of years after we married. I wrote of this awhile back. Here and here are the links to two of those stories....which reminds me I never finished that story!

This song by Joni Mitchell was one that was on my mind when I would think of my sailing Lover....

Close to you...a story of he and I...Part 1

2012-01-07T11:12:00.000-08:00

     My baby will be getting married in just a bit over 10 months from now. We've known since last year but now, now the months and days are upon them and I am filled with bliss. My Love and I wonder of what plans they will make for their special day and how different it will be from ours.

     This is our year that we will have been married 35 years and though it sounds a long time ago, it feels on some days like a lifetime and on other days a blink of the eye. Those 35 years ago our parents were healthy, happy, and active. Now Papa is gone, my mom is merely a shadow of the woman she was, my Love's parents have approached the stage of memory tricks and failing bodies.

     My Love and I so young, I just 19 and he 24. So much ahead that we could never imagine our future beyond that day. That we would have four children that would add so much to our lives, test our patience, amaze us with their theatrics and humor, pull us to our knees with concern through illness and teen years. Now our first born will be married.

     When my Love and I got engaged I was 18 and a freshman in college. We came from the generation that shook our parents up with freedom of choices with our bodies and our minds.   My Love and I had been living together off and on since I had moved out into my own place. We still had separate abodes, mine an apartment my parents got for me and my Love lived in a converted garage (not very charming mind you). I had been dating him since I was 16 and though we didn't rush into a physical relationship, eventually we did. It was only natural for us to stay together but we also new that it was frowned upon by our parents and their generation.

     Given that my mom had a huge hissy fit when she discovered that we really were planning on just moving in together, that the previous years of her knowing we were having sex (she did get me on the pill), let us go off for "honeymoon weekends" as well as a very long extended trip to Canada between my junior and senior year in high school, was as far as she could rationally deal with socially. Her friends might find out. I wouldn't say we choose to marry because she didn't want us to live together, only that we were quite in love and it felt as natural as could be to become married. No one twisted my Love's arm or held a shotgun to his head.   My only frustration is that I can't remember how he proposed to me. It wasn't some exotic location or over the top planned event. It was his honest heart that spoke to me.

     When my mom learned that he had proposed she was a crazed woman of planning. Those that know my mom can only imagine the possible hyper state she must have been in. Tim hadn't gotten me an engagement ring thus she popped out several old diamonds from family heirlooms that we could choose from. Off to Shreves in San Francisco to have a setting made for it. My Love and I, the dog and pony act, went and nodded heads for the simplest gold setting we could find. My diamond is from her father's tie stick pin. A couple of chips that flaw it's value but the sentimental girl I am loved it. I have no idea if we would have otherwise decided on a diamond engagement ring had she not offered one. I was no help to her potential wedding plans. I had my ideas and she had hers. What happened was a merger, though not always agreed.

     My idea was simple. My Love and I, in a meadow, with old oak trees surrounding it. I would be in an off the shoulder peasant top with a gypsy full skirt that fell to the ground. Barefoot. He would be in an off white, button down (but chest exposed by 4 buttons) shirt with his coolest pants he wanted to wear. His blond, curly locks long and I with my late 70's hairdo. It would be just us and nature. We would say our own vows or just fall into each others arms. The dream wedding for me. My hippy heart longing to express itself.

*** This video...this was my song for my Love. He never knew this as I was shy to share this with him. Fits exactly how I felt about him all those years of dating.....

Sweets?

2012-01-01T13:02:00.000-08:00

This is the recipe that did work and I did bring for the New Year's party. It came from Cooking Light magazine and healthy it is but it also tastes amazing! A mere 133 calories per square....not bad.

Cranberry-Oatmeal Bars

crust:

1 Cup flour

1 Cup quick-cooking oatmeal

1/2 packed brown sugar

1/4 tsp salt

1/4 tsp baking soda

1/4 tsp ground cinnamon

6 T. butter, melted

3 T. orange juice

cooking spray

filling:

1 1/3 Cups dried cranberries

3/4 C sour cream

1/2 C sugar

2 T. flour

1 stop vanilla extract

1/2 tsp. grated orange rind

1 large egg white, beaten

1) Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

2) To prepare crust: Combine flour and next 5 ingredients (through cinnamon) in a medium bowl, stirring well with a whisk. Drizzle butter and juice over flour mixture, stirring until moistened (mixture will be crumbly). Reserve 1/2 cup oat mixture. Press remaining oat mixture into the bottom of 8 x8 baking pan that has been sprayed with cooking spray.

3) To prepare filling: Combine cranberries, sour cream, sugar and remaining ingredients in a medium bowl, stirring well. Spread cranberry mixture over prepared crust; sprinkle reserved oat mixture evenly over filling.

4) Bake at 325 degrees for 40 minutes or until edges are golden. Cool completely in pan on a wire rack.

Check your brain at the door....

2011-12-31T15:10:00.000-08:00

"If you can't take the heat, don't go in the kitchen".   Is that the saying or one of my Ellenism's that I have twisted up?

Today I am suppose to bring dessert to my sister by marriage's home, the amazing cook she is, for our long standing New Year's Eve party.   Now any other time I might be able to pull off a flashy dessert but I am in the middle of a head cold so my brain is not functioning to well.

She asked for chocolate cupcakes. Simple, right? Maybe my heart wasn't in it for chocolate or the cupcakes (say what?!), that and I couldn't remember which chocolate cupcake recipe I used last that turned out perfecto. Oh Lord not now, don't fail me. I pull out several recipes and not one clicks in my clogged head. Nothing registers.

I decide in the end, after sifting through my dessert file for a half hour, on the Hersey's Perfect Chocolate Cake recipe thinking that I know that it will taste yummy. I have never made cupcakes with it however. As I prepare the batter I remember the overflow issue when making the layers for the cake. I make sure to under fill the paper liners and put the first batch in the oven. Tick, tick the timer goes. I check through the oven window and notice the rise and then I have my first dreaded feeling. They are going to spill over and why did I forget that the recipe does this?   That was why I went to using a Springform cake pan versus a regular cake pan since the sides are higher.

The timer rings and I test with the toothpick for doneness. Yes, they are done but they sure look ugly, all flat and pockmarked. Thank goodness I will have frosting on top to cover that up. I put the next batch in and allow the first one to cool.

After a decent time of cooking I try, yes try, to remove the cupcakes. The tops are glued to the cupcake pan and I am moaning of what to do. I grab a small knife and attempt to lift the edge enough to allow them to come out. Muffin tops anyone? Because that is what is going to happen if I do it this way. Okay.....now I decide to cut off around the rim and the side of the cupcake and forget the glued edges. Did I say they were ugly? Now I have crumbly edges and knife marks in the stupid paper liners. Already I am wanting to chuck the whole lot of them into the garbage. Husband in the kitchen is being ever so quiet and not making a comment one way or another of my endeavor to make simple cupcakes. Oops he finally says it, "It can't be that hard to make cupcakes". He is reading the newspaper and really hasn't been watching me. I grit my teeth as the second batch timer goes off. More ugly cupcakes stare me in the face.

I decide to make the frosting that goes with the recipe. I've done it countless times and it always turns out. Big mistake this time as I softened the butter instead of melting it as the recipe says. What is with me today? I blew it big time now with the frosting that I had hoped would cover the pathetic cupcakes. The frosting is not looking like it should and my tastebuds feel this is all too sweet. This I did chuck into the disposal. Happy to see it melt away under the hot water coming from the tap with the wroom of the blades below.

Now what?

Advice. If you can't laugh at your cooking...don't cook. How many failed recipes have any of us done? I bet more than we are willing to admit to. Isn't that how we learn? Sometimes our loved ones get to try them as testers, to see if it will be part of the family meal rotation or if it will take a "never to be fixed, ever again" recipe. Like meatloaf, which I do not fix anymore. No one liked it. Stroganoff isn't looked at too fondly either. I liked them but I was outnumbered by the clan. I don't mind in the end. I don't fix Beef Tongue anymore though my husband loves it. I can't bear the smell let alone the texture or color.

The cupcakes and how to redeem them comes from my wise son who says not to waste them but make some new frosting. Yes, I will make a new frosting, a white one that I will follow the recipe just as it says. I still don't want them or like them, they will be a joke for the evening. I did a totally different recipe for tonight....ahhh I will share that one on the next post. It did turn out triumphantly!

I leave you with a fading tradition that dear hubby heard on NPR. Perhaps next year we should do this one for the holidays.

Happy New Years to all!!!!

The Nutcracker

2011-12-18T13:16:00.000-08:00

     The house lights begin to dim, a settling in our seats, murmuring voices fade and the orchestra begins the overture. I can see the side view of the cherubic faces of my daughters, one, two, three as we sit in the three rows of our box seats at the Opera House. My mother and Papa, my Love and I attending the Nutcracker with our little girls decked out in their holiday dresses with black Mary Jane shoes, and their hair pulled back with bows. The music swells and the heavy velvet curtain opens. The magic begins. We are caught up in the story that has entertained us for so many years.

     Our tradition started when K. was three years old. First just my mom/Nana, my niece and K., and thereafter we all would go. Nana and Papa would get box seats for us. We would take the side stairway up to the level that the box seats were on and walk till we came to the correct numbered door. Opening the door one would enter into a dimly lit petite sitting room with a few chairs. A velvet fringed curtain opened out upon the box seating with the sweeping view of the theater. Before the show, the girls would lean over the balcony rail to peer down at the orchestra seating, their eyes would swing over to the stage area, look upon the orchestra pit where the musicians would be warming up, and look up to the higher balcony seating. They would wait ever so patiently.

   Each year the story became more firmly ingrained in their minds. What were the favorite parts? What might have changed this year with the story? Those dear happy times, even when trying to get them each dressed and out the door on time to pick up Nana and Papa or most times have a limo pick us up at their home.

     At the Intermission, Nana would always have brought peanut butter sandwiches cut into shapes (no crust) of little horses from a cookie cutter. Godiva chocolate and Champagne, maybe some cheese and crackers. There would be 7-Up or Coke for the girls. Every year.....the story was all of the day not just the ballet. My mom created a dreamy scene of joy for her Granddaughters. Those fleeting years when magic and dress-up went hand in hand. Were they not little Princesses off to the castle (the Opera House), to pirouette in their full fancy dresses. Even I felt the grandeur as we would walk up the front steps of the columned facade, pass through the large doors, and into the grand lobby.

     Our daughters took all this without how out of ordinary this was. They never were ill-behaved nor acted spoiled. Just delighted to what to them was a Nana event. Somehow the magic and desire to go began to pass. Perhaps seeing it year after year lost its charm. We tried seeing "A Christmas Carol" but didn't like the ACT production, which left us down rather that elated. And then we stopped going.

   The last time we all went was when R. was a wee little guy. He hadn't a clue what he was to see. He sat upon my lap as he didn't want to sit on the chair, Papa to our side. All was well till the big dancing bear came out of the box, which was a new twist they did for a number of years. That was enough for R. who promptly had enough. He and I sat in the sitting room for a time, with Papa coming in to ask if he would sit with him. We tried to show him that the bear was gone but R. would not go back to the seat. In the end I moved the sitting room chair near the velvet curtain of our box area and we peeked out to watch the ballet. Needless to say that was the last and only time R. has seen The Nutcracker.

     The very last time we saw The Nutcracker was several years ago. One of the girls wanted to go and thought it would be nice to do just a girl time with Nana. Nana bought the tickets and we were already to go. The day of the show she cancelled out on joining. It wasn't the same without her. It wasn't the same not sitting in the box seats, without the peanut butter horse shaped sandwiches, the Godiva Chocolate, the Champagne the fullness of the holiday theme, of the comfort of family tradition. It was gone. Oh yes, we had a good time together my daughters and I. But I felt it, that bleed in my heart. The memory of Papa in his jacket, tie, ascot, his aftershave lotion, his pleasure of watching his Granddaughters, of even the year when R. didn't really see the show but entertained us in a new way which is forever in our memory.

   I drove to my mom's last week, listening to The Nutcracker, memories flooding me. The tears of missing it all, the tears of how much I really enjoyed it all. How much I appreciated that yearly gift they gave us of going to the ballet. The dinner out afterwards at Trader Vic's in Emeryville where we would talk about the performance. All the hustle, the bustle, the stress of preparing for that day, it was all worth it.

    In my dreams I hold a magic light. It is a light that guides me with a child's hand in mine as we walk into a door, into a small room and I pull the curtain back for them to see where they too will watch for two hours a story of dance and delight. I will make peanut butter sandwiches made from a horse shaped cookie cutter. I will sip my glass of champagne and gaze on my family surrounding me.

**** My dear niece duly noted a treat that I forgot to add! How could I have forgotten the Petite Fours? Nana always bought them at the Cake Box Bakery in Lafayette, still the best to me. Yes, of course that was dessert after our other goodies.

Sugar Plum Fairy by P.Tchaikovsky - Glass Harp LIVE (HD)

2011-12-16T18:12:00.000-08:00

For your holiday listening enjoyment!

Wordless Wednesday (almost)

2011-12-06T22:37:00.001-08:00

Vernazza, Cinque Terre, Italy

September 24, 2011 ~ Erin and my visit

October 25, 2011 ~ one month after we have left

The Sandwich Years

2011-12-06T17:34:00.001-08:00

Oh very young
What will you leave us this time
You're only dancing on this earth for a short while
And though your dreams may toss and turn you now
They will vanish away like your daddy's best jeans
Denim Blue fading up to the sky
And though you want him to last forever
You know he never will
(You know he never will)
And the patches make the goodbye harder still

     I never thought life as a grown up would be like this. Of course none of us can know what our lives will become as the years stroll by.   I'm speaking though of the Sandwich Years, of when our parents have aged and need care and that some of us have young ones needing care too. Granted that I did have R. at a later age than the young 20's when I had my girls; whereas some of my peers are having grandkids, I am in the teenage years of parenting with no grandkids. Some of us have adult children that need our emotional and financial care with the economy the way it is. We may have our own financial worries that we never expected.

     In the past 15 years our parents began having health problems that at the time seemed like they dealt with them and didn't need our assistance. Well, of course we were there for the moral support they needed but they didn't want or need our advice. Just our love. My Papa dying 12 years ago was the beginning of the crisis era with the parents. Suddenly the roles started to shift and the children (us) of the parents began to worry of what lay ahead.

   In the past 12 years my mom had multiple surgeries, appeared to be in a depression over the loss of Papa (perfectly expected with how much they loved each other), and began her descent into FTD somewhere in there. We couldn't reach her though she yanked our chains plenty, we tried everything from counseling, calling her Dr.'s, setting up boundaries, to being passive towards what she acted like behaviorally to keep peace, all the while our worry and frustration growing day after day. We tried to ask of her long term plans, her estate, all with no success. Now the pieces are placed and they have fallen as though she is in a warped Sleeping Beauty fairy tale, where she is trapped in her castle with no Prince who can come to her save her. Forever she is in a spell of perpetual unrest.

     Enough of the fairy tales. Life isn't that. We are born, we grow, we age. Facts are proof that the elder generation is aging to longer Golden Years than ever before. But are those years as Golden as they wish they could be or dreamed they would be?   If they can live longer than those of their own parents then how will those extended years be lived?   I can say first hand that neither my parents nor my husbands parents have thought this intelligently through. What happens when you can live that long life but are no longer able to understand your true needs? Or that you refuse to accept you really need help? You can't take care of yourself and your family watches with breaking hearts how the parent they knew to be fully aware of themselves is no longer fully there mentally or physically.

Oh very young
What will you leave us this time
There'll never be a better chance to change your mind
And if you want this world to see a better day
Will you carry the words of love with you
Will you ride the great white bird into heaven
And though you want to last forever
You know you never will
(You know you never will)
And the goodbye makes the journey harder still

This past year my Love's father had a heart valve replacement, to fix the one he had done 11 years ago. An extended warranty so to speak by going in and replacing the worn out one. Okay, the valve replacement surgery went fine but since that surgery in January he has been going down hill. First it was in his strength he complained about. He didn't have the energy like he did before. We tried to remind him he had had major surgery where his chest was cracked open to do the repair job. It takes time to build up that strength. Next it was his weight. He couldn't keep up his weight, he kept losing weight, and he wasn't very hungry. We reminded him that it was important to eat well to keep his strength up. If you don't have the good nutrition with healthy meals then you won't be able to give the fuel your body needs to keep strong. At least he attempted to take walks near his home.

Over the years he has been the primary caregiver to his wife, our mom who has had her own health problems. He unfortunately is a very stubborn man, and that is being polite. He won't let anyone help her which ultimately would help him. He wants to make every single decision. With his failing health, his ability to help her has increasingly diminished to where he is unable to care for her. She has been at risk for too long. He refused to have safety fixtures in all the places she needed them. Her last fall, in the shower, was a nightmare.

Oh very young
What will you leave us this time
You're only dancing on this earth for a short while
Oh very young
What will you leave us this time
Oh very young
What will you leave us this time
There'll never be a better chance to change your mind
And if you want this world to see a better day
Will you carry the words of love with you
Will you ride the great white bird into heaven
And though you want to last forever
You know you never will
(You know you never will)
And the goodbye makes the journey harder still

With great worry, emotions on high, relief, frustration, concern, mom has been removed from her home and into respite care. Dad was sometimes wanting her out of the house NOW or the answer was NO she could not leave. Sister and brothers finally had enough of watching Mom suffer. Sometimes the hardest answer is the only solution. For now Mom is safe with round the clock care in a very pleasant, warm, supportive atmosphere. She has her own studio apartment with healthy meals, exercise classes, and entertainment a couple of days a week (the holidays have been great for this with choirs coming to sing for the residents). Naturally she is having swings of missing home, missing her husband, to peace. The long term story is still unwritten. Her Dr. knows in her home would not be good, especially with the awful wound from the shower fall. The family all feel that she should stay where she is and not go home, knowing that Dad will not be able to take care of her and the ugly scene that will ultimately happen all over again.

Making decisions on what to do when each of us age to the Golden Years and beyond should be well thought out. We don't just die in our sleep anymore, or from sudden heart attacks or strokes. You may be incapacitated and unable to walk, or drive. You may get Dementia and unable to make the right choices or decisions or even be prone to Elder Care Abuse. We all need to ask ourselves the hard questions and come up with clear answers for yourselves and for your families.

I have heard so many times my mom saying she never wanted to be a burden. Yet she created a burden by not including her family in what would happen if she couldn't care for herself or make sound decisions. While she indeed did a Trust and we can only assume that it was done correctly, she made some serious poor choices and I believe was not counseled by her attorney well. Then again, what choice does an attorney have if a client makes or changes their Will or Trust and they can't convince their client that maybe they need to think about it or consult their family. An attorney works for their client not the client's family. It is private unless the client wishes their family to be included.

No the problem arises when older folks ignore their frailty and think they can continue life as it has been. Even when they know they shouldn't drive a car, climb a ladder, or take on home care like when they were physically able. They need to accept their aging bodies and ask or accept help. Not doing so is the burden. Asking is not a burden. Allowing is not a burden.

When I was in my early teens I use to love listening to Cat Stevens. I have heard this song so many times and knew the words by heart. I may have sung them but I did not understand the meaning. Somehow in my 50's this song brings on a new meaning in my life.

Oh very young
What will you leave us this time
You're only dancing on this earth for a short while
Oh very young
What will you leave us this time

Earth Tour 1976 ~ the young musician I loved to hear as a teen

2008 ~ I really liked hearing him speak.....the older man he has become

Some morning sky........

2011-12-05T21:36:00.001-08:00

I took the poochies out as I do, but yesterday morning this huge winged cloud hung heavy in the sky. The colors, the immense size made me feel very small as well as feeling humble.

What song came to me? After the Goldrush, Neil Young.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-11-29T17:41:00.001-08:00

Fontana del Nettuno

Florence, Italy

What lies within, what fate may fall

2011-11-26T07:38:00.001-08:00

A lump was found in her breast just a month after her 52nd birthday at her yearly mammogram. I had given birth to our third daughter a mere 10 days before her biopsy and surgery.

Mom is the type of woman who needs a huge support group and there were five or six of us together in the waiting area at the hospital while they did her biopsy to determine if it was malignant or not. What does one talk about while waiting for a love one to find out their fate? We talked about the birth of M. We talked of what my other daughters were up to, what grade they were in at school, what would they dress up as for Halloween. It felt odd to be breast feeding my baby while my mom's breast was being poked and examined. How could a breast betray the body?

I sat with my sweet baby who lay sleeping in her Moses basket of yellow gingham and white ribbons. I nursed her when needed. I didn't know what to think or say. Really I didn't understand the gravity of what it could mean to have breast cancer. No one I knew had ever had breast cancer. No one talked about breast cancer in 1985.

The Dr. came out to let us know that indeed it was malignant. The lump was way back against the rib wall on her breast. So far back that it was not a lump one could have found by self breast exam. He looked at us all, seeking out my step-father, Papa, to tell him the news and what he felt she needed to have done. It was rather a shock to hear that she indeed had cancer. How would my mom handle this once she came to following the biopsy?

Her Dr. was extremely conservative. He had lost his wife to breast cancer and was adamant that she need a radical mastectomy followed by six months of chemotherapy. I felt numb. Did this mean she could die? My Papa was not a man of many words and with this he seemed so very down and less conversive. Worry was written all over his face. My mom following her return home after the biopsy, before the scheduled surgery, was full of worry as well upon a threshold of fear of her future. She was the one who kept Papa upbeat and active. How would she be able to do this knowing she had to battle with cancer? She worried for him I think more than she worried for herself.

The surgery was done and was "successful" according to her Dr. It was hard to do much for her with three little girls to take care of. She had her three staff housekeepers who worked in her home to do what they could for her with the grocery shopping, errands and taking care of her. They did meals for her and Papa as well. She didn't want us to come over to help out or visit. She just couldn't digest what had happened.

I felt her Dr. was a butcher. She had a long ugly incision on her chest where her breast once was. I never saw it till many, many years later. She never would talk of the discomfort she might have had, she just kept it all inside away from us. If only she had taken some time to consult with other surgeons she might have had a different experience or plan. It is awful to think of how many women were disfigured by a radical mastectomy in those days. It was felt that was the only way to make sure you were potentially cancer free and even then they wouldn't say that. Only if you survived after five years would you be possibly cancer free. Because of what that surgery does to disfigure you, the ability to have breast reconstruction isn't possible.

Mom's chemotherapy made her very ill. She would lay in her bed following the treatment, sick and miserable. During the time she was on chemo I wasn't to bring the girls over to visit if they had a cold. Well, when one gets a cold it will spread, so there were many times we didn't see her for weeks during the treatment phase. She stopped her chemo treatment after three months. She hated feeling so ill. She seemed to feel she was not going to live, let alone make it to five years post surgery and chemo treatment. She began to spend too much money. Papa and I had a talk about this spending frenzy she was on. He didn't know how to approach her on this matter. We never did understand why she did this and I hope that maybe he was finally able to talk to her and she cut back.

The Christmas holidays came and she seemed happier. She had lost all her hair to the chemo and had been wearing a short wig when she was away from home. At home she wore a scarf. I never saw her without something on her head. We all tried to get back to some sense of normal but my mom really didn't believe she would be around to see her grandchildren grow up. She simply excepted this idea of hers which really didn't help those around her. In an odd way this was a special Christmas for us as for once she was genuinely happy. She had a tendency to get depressed over the holidays but that year she had decided to live in the moment and appreciate whatever happened.

The worst of her getting through this nightmare was after a year of surviving she wanted to move from our beloved Wildwood home. Out of the blue she called to say they had bought a home and sold Wildwood. It was never listed on the MLS. They had a shark realtor who brought in a buyer and with the stroke of a pen the home was sold. They had been looking at homes off and on and would tell us out of the blue of their house hunting. My Love and I would of course try to detour them from doing this. Mom felt so sure she wouldn't be around that she wanted a smaller home for Papa to have after she died. She felt that those days and days of laying in bed following the chemo made her sick of her bedroom and she didn't want to be there any longer. I only wish we could have known before they sold that lovely home. I resented that realtor for being so pushy, it didn't help that I knew her and I my parents were social friends with her. Even as the home was packed up we all grieved over their moving. Of course they sold that next home in about five years. It wasn't the right home for them.

Several years after the breast cancer, the chemo and then the move, she decided to have her other breast removed. She was fearful that her other breast would betray her as well. After the five year mark post cancer she still didn't believe she would live. I think she always felt there would be death on her doorstep, no matter what any Dr. would say.

Illness can make us feel and do things we would normally logically think through. We react versus consult. Faith and a positive attitude can be so productive to healing, yet that door doesn't always open for everyone. This happened to my mom 26 years ago. She is still a survivor of breast cancer.

Wordless Wednesday

2011-11-22T22:22:00.001-08:00

Photo space on Blogspot

2011-11-17T10:33:00.001-08:00

Anyone else use up all their photo quota? I guess I should have uploaded smaller files....or now I have to pay for space. What to do, what to do.....

Trouble.....

2011-11-16T09:48:00.001-08:00

My mind has been troubled of late. I know my posts on this blog and on my other blog A Walk into Oblivion have been sad and preoccupied without explanation. Some things we can't explain except to those that we need offer the explanation.

This morning I received a loving letter from my sister by marriage K. and the emotions of reading it fell like a cleansing rain over me.

Her words of forgiveness ~ "Forgiveness is more for the one who is hurt than the one who needs to be forgiven. Until I forgive and let go I am still held captive by the one who hurt me. To forgive is for me. It takes the power out of the pain. Yes it still hurts but doesn't consume me."

How I do this, or anyone, must take some time and practice. Maybe I need to repeat it to myself over and over, mantra like. Sometimes I talk the talk but I don't do that walk. I want to. I want to move forward and out of the cage I have allowed myself to be in.

Do I need to talk to a professional? I don't know. I just know deep inside all the way to the outer skin cells of my body I must let this go. It does me no good and it certainly doesn't help the ones I love.

Obstacles that arise over a lifetime can be quite a challenge. No one said that living would be a walk in the park day after day. It starts from the time we are whooshed into the light of day of birth with our first breath. The struggle to learn to roll over, sit up, crawl and walk. But we do it without any other reason than it is there to do. To go forward. Teen years and the challenge to just fit in with the mob of other struggling teens. We think we're the only ones going through it but we aren't. Leaving home to make our way without our parents care, finding work and a place to live. Relationships that may be casual or lead to a loving life together. Maybe it works and maybe it fades. That we keep climbing out of the comfort of our beds each day and as when we were small, we keep trying. Most times we don't even think about what we are doing. Then when that obstacle in life hits we fall hard and sit and ponder. Okay...what do we do? Get up or sit there and wait. We don't know what will come along to "fix it" but we do that sometimes.

Some of us have constant troubles that seem immense. Some of us face crisis after crisis with our health or the health of a loved one. How we face it, how we help ourselves or our loved ones is a mystery. We just do it.

But what happens when we can't? What happens when we feel stuck? What happens when we are going in circles without moving forward? That is where I have been. Stuck. Two steps forward and one step back. I'll get there.

After reading K.'s letter I did see some light inside me turn on. I just need to feel it and not just say it. I need to see that whatever my mom was, was just that. That is in the past and I have a future ahead that doesn't include her any longer. I feel sorry for her. That she will never have learned to love fully her children. That she never will enjoy all that she had with us and her grandchildren and now their children. That we are wonderful, and loving, and that we know how to love without strings.

The sun is shining today, my husband has work for the next couple of days, I have a sweet puppy at my feet, I have a day ahead to do housework, to take a walk, to breath in the crisp fall air, pick up some acorns to use at Thanksgiving when my family by marriage come over. I have time to reflect.

I have a time to say I am sorry. I am sorry that sometimes I can be judgemental, I say reactive responses to what I don't understand.

What I want to say is that I love my family deeply. That I am trying to be a better woman and a human.

I want to heal and let go the baggage of what was.

When was the last time you heard Cat Steven's song Trouble? That song came to me and reading the lyrics we all have been there....but read them for yourself....I may be slow letting go that Trouble but I am going to darn well try today....one step at a time.

Trouble

Trouble
Oh trouble set me free
I have seen your face
And it's too much too much for me

Trouble
Oh trouble can't you see
You're eating my heart away
And there's nothing much left of me

I've drunk your wine
You have made your world mine
So won't you be fair
So won't you be fair

I don't want no more of you
So won't you be kind to me
Just let me go where
I'll have to go there

Trouble
Oh trouble move away
I have seen your face
and it's too much for me today

Trouble
Oh trouble can't you see
You have made me a wreck
Now won't you leave me in my misery

I've seen your eyes
and I can see death's disguise
Hangin' on me
Hangin' on me

I'm beat, I'm torn
Shattered and tossed and worn
Too shocking to see
Too shocking to see

Trouble
Oh trouble move from me
I have paid my debt
Now won't you leave me in my misery

Trouble
Oh trouble please be kind
I don't want no fight
And I haven't got a lot of time

~ Cat Stevens~

Life across the sea

2011-11-09T18:10:00.000-08:00

Amongst the trip to Italy that E. and I did was the differences we saw of life in the five places we visited.

Venice where the Calle, crowded with people flowing in an endless stream towards somewhere. Their version of a human freeway as it lacked cars. Hands holding cell phones, bits and pieces of Italian entered my ears. When you merged into the narrow, twisting turning flow it all worked seamlessly. Those who stopped caused traffic jams, where like an ant colony, the flow would effortlessly bypass and the flow would begin again. Just as suddenly you would find yourself where the crowds have disappeared. The quiet, the utter quiet, like being in a church. There we might hear a radio from an open window behind lace curtains or nothing but silence. We would pass a lone woman pulling her metal shopping cart to buy her food for the day. Around a corner a coffee / bar / pasticcini with men and women taking their morning cappuccino or a quick shot of espresso with a tasty morning pastry. As a day goes on it would be for lunch items and well into the night a place for wine. The place to be to say a morning greeting and chat with the barista. The many pastries from the panificio we drooled over, through glass windows, sweets that tantalized us with powdered sugar thick as a layer of finely dusted snow. Heaven in a brioche. Venice an island of contrast. We wondered how many of the Italians we saw were tourist like us or did they live on the island or just come in to work. Venice that felt like a movie set or Disneyland at night without the fireworks. The soft stroke of an oar from a gondola, sleek, dark, elegant, romantic. I think a gondola at night would be the finest time to ride upon for the shadowy canals, quiet and empty of gawking tourist over the multiple bridges.

Vernazza with all the charm you would find in an Italian movie but it was for real. Colors on the buildings changing to a different intensity as the sun or shade hit them. A train would arrive in the morning unloading a new group of tourist. They all would head down as the station was at the top and the sea at the bottom. Tiny shops selling their tourist fare, cafes bustling all the day. Gelato in a cone as the day warmed up would be in so many hands. Licking the sweet tasty flavors that are hard to decide upon. Early evening where the tiny take out shop had a line as it was selling calamari and shrimp in a brown paper cone. The on the go appetizer. Many bought bottles of wine to take to the breakwater with glasses that shops would loan them. Everyone so relaxed, smiling, content. Everyone which meant the locals and the tourist. Time meant nothing. To live in the moment, to enjoy and savor where you were. to watch the sun set as the waters lapped calmly this time of year. This idyllic seaside town. People watching from above as I would look out our window on the street below. I would see our landlord as he helped at the pizza cafe his brothers owned. Setting up the tables early in the morning. I passed him on the street a few times where we greeted each other in passing. So kind and friendly. E. thought she could live in a place such as this. I wondered how I could. I could visit here for awhile as were doing. I would not want to live here as it was too perfect to want to lose that feeling if one stayed too long. It is better to have the fondness of wanting to return that I would want to keep. Being here you felt fully alive. Up and down with your legs on steps, stairs, hills, the sky the sea. I slept so well here. I ate so well here.

Lucca where I finally felt lost which I did not in Venice. I couldn't quite find where I was till I kept track of the street number on the main street that our Bed and Breakfast was off of. So many shops that looked so similar. Lots of people on bikes zooming by, lots of people filling the streets where a car was a rare sight but were allowed. Who wanted to drive though? Why? A bike would be much quicker and can dart in and out of the mob of people with the ring of a bell. So many times I wondered about the near misses of being run over or into a bike. Charming old bikes with baskets. Round and round the city the streets circumvented the old wall. When we took the walk around the town on the wall I felt free of the narrow streets. I could see out and above where I could not down below. I can understand why this broad walkway is appreciated by the town locals and kept up so well. The lovely branch spreading trees that shade so much of the circle. The manicured wide lawns that are outside the walls below with more trees along the road that circles the wall that obscure the car traffic beyond. Amazing that it was never bombed in WWII. This walled town was full of locals going about there day to the Pharmacia, the bookstore, the clothing shops, the cafes, the markets. Kids crowded one square where for their siesta they hung out. Watching the tourist? We looked at their styles compared to American kids. Not much different though they didn't wear low rider pants. Skinny jeans were it. We saw two teen girls who appeared to be pregnant. A few guys wore mohawks of sorts with their curly hair. I thought how our school kids would like a longer lunch break as in a siesta time. It seemed like they went to school in the morning and had a break for an hour and half or so and then went back to school for another hour.

Barga was as quiet as an empty church. Our journey began on an early morning bus ride that was headed for this medieval walled village. After we left the main road out of Lucca we started to climb via a narrow switch backing road. Gorgeous wooded hills that we traversed through. Out of the bus we wandered through the main entrance of Barga. No one else passed us for quite some time except one car that surprised us when we walked on the one narrow road a car could go on. Then the town revealed it's charm of narrow walkways up and down, views that showed off the distant mountains, the Tuscan stones on old buildings, gates, doors, archways, an ancient aqueduct that was above a lush green narrow ravine. Everywhere we looked we were spellbound. Yet where were the people? I don't think many lived in the walled town. We heard the sounds of people inside an open window and saw some at a couple of cafes. Small shops in the town were mostly closed or empty. We ate at a very pleasant cafe and admired the quaintness of this rarely visited place. Sleepy town? Certainly clean, positively quiet. We walked to the newer area of Barga where there were town people going about their lives. Working, eating, living. Normal shops for hardware, flowers, food and cafes. A lazy feel except for the buses that went by every once in awhile or the occasional car.

Lastly was Florence where I have been three times after this trip. Florence felt like the warm welcome of tourist season had passed. It needed a rain to clean it's soiled cobblestone streets, marble statues, fountains, and old buildings. There were more gypsy beggars than I had ever seen on previous visits, who were as persistent as flies. So much going on everywhere you looked. Food, food and more food. Gelato every third place you walked by. People milling about looking up, waiting in a line, talking, taking pictures. Horse carriages going by or waiting for the tourist who would hire them. Artists with easels set up drawing Florence scenes. The decadent flourish in the windows on the Ponte Vecchio, so many baubles of jewelry of silver and gold. In the old town of Florence I felt very few locals lived here. One day we waded through a sea of market carts, filled with scarves, leather jackets, belts, bags, trinkets. It went on down the street forever the carts. The lure to have you buy something from a wagon was high. No lacking in finding any trinket to bring home, the last of Italy to fit into your luggage. How to bring home the memories of a trip? I was weary the last few days of our trip. I looked at the familiar sights with mixed pleasure. Of high was sharing the inside of the Palazzo Vecchio with E. which she had not seen. We admired the fine detailed frescoes on the walls, of how they could be frivolously funny or wickedly sinister. Like a dream state we walked and studied the walls, the ceilings of gilt, paintings, details so small you could not speed through unless you had no interest. This has to be my favorite place in Florence. What would life have been like?

To leave the city was a bus ride to the airport. A wake-up to the dread of travel. Packing up, cramming in all the clothes, camera equipment, the ill fitting shoes, the last of the carefully measured toiletries. Walking with E. getting her last two gelatos, yes two. Walking to where we would find the bus near the train station but having trouble finding it. Rick Steve's directions lacking the right info or decent map. Struggling to ask a couple on the street where it might be. The lack of understanding and then a kind gentlemen telling us where to go. Just barely making the bus! Riding in a bus with no air, the windows that could open all closed, sweating. Arriving and the check in, the last cappuccino for me as I stood at the bar. Going home. Going home.

On the plane I thought of the island of Burano we visited while in Venice. The vibrant colors of the homes and businesses. It was suppose to be known for its lace but how can lace compete with shocking pink, orange sherbert, pistachio green, lavender, coral, contrasting colors side by side that made you want to go home and buy paint to do just the same on your own home. Happy, expressive, tranquil Burano. Surely those who live here must be filled with joy. One house we came upon, with all the windows wide open, someone played a piano. We stood there and listened. One moment for us as we listened and watched sashes on windows, curtains over front doors, laundry hung as though they were art. One moment that made me as happy as I could be to share this with my dear E.

Pumpkin Pancakes with Pear Compote

2011-11-06T11:44:00.000-08:00

It's Fall! With the change in season I start to savor the foods I haven't had all summer. Soups and stews start to whirl in my head. What do I want to make?

I fixed a Beef and Barley Soup the other night that warmed us through and through. Thick enough to stick to the ribs soup. I was going to make Beef Stew but in the end there wasn't enough beef to satisfy my two menfolk. The recipe files in my head started scanning with that soup coming to mind.

Sunday morning is pancake or waffle day in our house. My Love wasn't going to fix that though. He was planning on eggs, hash browns and sausage. Not what I was feeling the craving for. No, I wanted pancakes and pumpkin popped into my mind. So what if I had them last Sunday!

This is a wonderful recipe with the addition of Pear Compote to spoon across the top. They are moist, tender and light with lots of flavor from the spices. The recipe originated from the January 2005 Sunset Magazine. Here it is just in time for the holidays when you might have family overnight.

Pumpkin Pancakes with Pear Compote

1 Cup all-purpose flour
2 T. firmly packed brown sugar
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg
1/4 tsp. salt
1 large egg
3/4 canned pumpkin
1/2 Cup milk
1/4 Cup buttermilk
1/4 Cup plain yogurt
2 T. melted butter

1. In a large bowl, stir together flour, brown sugar, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and salt.

2. In another bowl, whisk egg, milk, buttermilk, pumpkin, yogurt, and butter until well blended.

3. Stir egg mixture into flour mixture just until evenly moistened.

4. Heat a non-stick griddle over medium heat; when hot, spray some pam on the griddle. Spoon the batter onto griddle. The batter takes a little longer to cook through so don't let them over brown. Turn down the heat if needed. Turn out the pancakes and top with the pear compote and real maple syrup. (recipe to follow).

Pear Compote
(makes enough for 2 servings)

1 pear, peeled, cored and diced, placed in a microwave bowl. Sprinkle with 1/2 tsp. cinnamon-sugar, cover loosely or with a microwave cover. Heat in microwave for 1 minute. They should be fork tender and cinnamon-sugar juicy.

Barga...a medieval town

2011-10-29T14:09:00.000-07:00

Mumford & Sons "Sister"

2011-10-27T20:04:00.000-07:00

There's a chip on your shoulder, girl
And by God it'll make you fall
If you let it take a part of your soul

I see the love in your brother's eyes
And the love in your mother's cries
Sister don't test the ones you love

Sister don't let go
Sister don't let go of us
[x2]

Cause your roots will rot away
And your fruit, it won't grow
Your bark will wear thin, body hollow

I see the love in your brother's eyes
And the love in your mother's cries
Sister don't test the ones you love

Sister don't let go
Sister don't let go of us
[x4]

Don't test the ones you love
It'll only tear us down
If you want to feel alive
Then learn to love your ground
[x2]

Love your ground

Sister don't let go
Sister don't let go of us
[x4]

********** **********

How did I miss this song? I heard that this was sung at the recent Bridge School concert it just has never been put on a CD at this time. Missed the cut.

This song has a special meaning to me of late.... I love you....you know this to be true.

Love Locks

2011-10-24T10:32:00.000-07:00

In the Cinque Terre, there is a paved trail that goes between two of the tiny towns, Riomaggiore and Monterosso. They were so isolated from each other let alone the other towns, that the locals rarely married anyone else from another town.

In the 20's a trail was made between the two towns while train lines were being built, where in the middle a gunpowder warehouse was placed. The locals were delighted with the trail that now connected the two towns and asked that it be improved and kept as a permanent connection. Unfortunately the trail was prone to landslides and it was closed more than it was open. After WWII, the trail was reopened and it became known as Via dell'Amore because of the meeting between lover's from the two towns. It was a journalist in 1949 who came up with the name which means "Pathway of Love".

All along the trail you find these "Locks of Love", up a slope on heavy cables holding the rocky walled cliff in place and down below where shear cliffs drop to the sea on other cables. Most are on the railings that line the walkway. We found them first in Venice where the top photo was taken. We would find them in such odd places, sometimes single and sometimes groups of them.

When we strolled down the Via dell'Amore they were everywhere. Some in the most difficult places one could find to secure their everlasting declaration of love. I wondered if lover's who have broken up come back to remove theirs or do they just leave them to weather the seasons?

Some locks were written on and some where carved with names or initials. There is a long covered walkway that graffiti written devotions and sometimes poetic phrases have been added. All very acceptable to do. You see the typical heart drawn with the names of sweethearts as you would anywhere. I personally loved the locks. Anyone can draw and write a name but a lock feels forever.

When next I go back to Venice I want my Love and I to find a place to lock our love. We will find that special spot, linger over a kiss while in loving embrace, and place our lock inscribed with our names. Our forever love.

A little occupied

2011-10-19T21:19:00.000-07:00

I've been a little occupied. Well, my Love and I have been occupied.

We brought a new puppy into our home last week and it is almost like having a newborn without the diaper changes and breastfeeding. Sleep deprivation was hard the first couple of nights with multiple visits for potty time on the lawn.

Yet what fun a new puppy is! So happy and full of silly antics. Sloppy puppy kisses and little yippy barks. Everything new and in need of exploring.

My Italy photos are going well with touch ups and uploading though it is slow without the extra time on my hands. At the rate I'm going it will be weeks till I am done! Last night we looked at E.'s photos and she asked if I would be touching up hers too. Well, of course dear....

Some changes...I have stopped working on the blog I had about R. in high school. I felt that at his age and place this was not right. If he was little from birth to maybe 10 it might be okay. As a teen I know he needs his privacy and I need to be honest. Writing about what his day is like or some event that happens at school felt too open.

However, I have added another blog in it's place about our pets. I can brag about the pets and tell the dirty side of them too. They won't care! They'll still give me puppy licks. This blog is called Pupparoos!

Back to work and writing! The housecleaning can wait.....it's not going anywhere. I have so much to share about our trip too!!

Burano, Italy

2011-10-15T16:41:00.000-07:00

As Dorothy said in the Wizard of Oz...."Toto we're not in Kansas anymore....". I think you will agree when you watch this. E. and I were enchanted with Burano, full of rich, deep colors so vibrant I felt like I was in a storybook land and not a real honest to goodness little island off Venice. We wandered up and down the tiny canals or cobbled walkways, over wee bridges with not a car or motorcycle in sight.

Venice has captured my heart.....

2011-10-11T10:07:00.000-07:00

I'm home. Home, sweet home. Back with my Love and son...back with a cold as well.... I have been pouring over the photos I took and reliving the days and nights while in Italy.The trip was wonderful in every way, from the sights, to the food, the smells, to the sounds. The effect of traveling on the senses can best be described as intoxicating. That moment when E. and I walked from our bus to our first step onto our first bridge of many to come in Venice, it was impossible to not feel like you had just landed in a make-believe land. I have added this photo / video of a snippet of time in Venice....enjoy and turn your sound up....awaken the soul.....

Almost ready and off tomorrow!

2011-09-18T07:54:00.000-07:00

I have been so busy. So busy I have had no time to write and no time to read any blogs in days. I have missed my blog friends words and photos but tasks must be done.

Such as banking, bills, wash and ironing. Some cleaning too.

I haven't packed. I thought I would have a trial run earlier this week and nada ...it did not happen. Today will be packing day! Oh today is busy!

My mom's birthday is tomorrow but we are going to visit her today. I put together a DVD of her younger years and got it burned and ready to bring over. I wanted to bake cupcakes for her and the caregivers but I forgot to buy flour. I can't believe I was totally out of flour! That just doesn't happen here in my pantry. So instead of banana cupcakes with cream cheese frosting I am letting my Love pick some out this morning for me. This is not a big failure to not have homemade. I am accepting this hard as it is for me. Let go Ellen......

So we will pay a visit, bring a little vase of flowers and the DVD and then back home to work, work, work! Not to forget charging cameras one last time. Getting all the papers in order to put in my bag.

I was so nervous yesterday with excitement. Surprised myself by sleeping soundly as I was fearing I wouldn't be able to sleep. Tonight I may have to take some Calm Forte to make sure I get a good night's rest.

Tomorrow....tomorrow...off to enchanting Venice first....then Cinque Terre ~ Vernazza.....then to Lucca....a side trip to Barga a wee little town....and last to my beloved Florence.

See you all in October.....Ciao!

While I'm away....

2011-09-13T17:04:00.000-07:00

I've been cleaning house today. The house will be uncleaned for two and half weeks while I'm away.....which had me thinking what my two men will be up to during this time. Last night we were talking about meals since I am the chief cook and bottle washer. R. and my Love jokingly said they would go out every night since I would be eating out every night. I mentioned I could make some tasty casseroles for them and neither was keen on that. Secretly I was relieved. I wasn't excited about cooking and freezing recipes I have never made before since I don't make casseroles. My Love said not to worry that they would take care of meals.

I thought of how many school mornings a school lunch that hadn't been made would have to hurriedly be put together or money passed to buy lunch. R. isn't wild about the cafeteria food this year. Last year I finally gave in and gave him money once a week so he could buy the rice bowls they did with Chinese food, till they changed white rice for brown rice which he was not happy about. 15 year old's don't like someone trying to fool them with a change like brown rice for white. R. is a creature of habit as well, so this really didn't go over for him.

How many times will the cats be not fed? I feed them their meals. I feed Stewie in the morning and R. feeds him at night. My Love will have to take on that task that he normally doesn't do. Of course the cats will let him know if a meal has been missed. Especially a dinner meal, where if they haven't been fed then during the night they will start walking all over you, disturbing your sleep. Then they will sniff your face or touch your face with their paw. I know this because even I have forgotten when I thought I had fed them. They won't give up till they are fed.

Which brings me to the litter box since our cats are indoor only. I also do that. Now one or two days is gross but it does happen. Anymore than that and there will be two very angry cats who may not want to use the litter box. Not to mention that the box will be a disaster and cleaning will require a Hazmat mask. Which leads me to a mistake I made yesterday.....

I had cleaned the kitty litter box and double bagged the stuff that they do. I missed a couple of days and it was rather full (I know...I forgot...). I brought it out to to take to our outside garbage which at our house is a long way from where the kitty box is. I set it on the floor intending to take it when I left the house but unfortunately I forgot to get it. There was one hour's time between when I left and when my Love came home. What he walked into was less than pleasant. Now I don't understand why some dogs love kitty poop but we have had dogs that do. Just to get to the kitty box I had to make it a snug "kitty only" space under our laundry room sink space. Here I left this bag right out for Stewie and what a time he had. My Love walked into find kitty litter, clumped pee and kitty poo up and down the hall, in the kitchen and well wherever he could drag the bag that he so cleverly tore open. Of course he had to clean up and then vacuum the floors. I really felt bad about leaving the bag that way...I did!

So back to my leaving next week and our home, sweet, home. I hope that maybe once the kitchen floor will get cleaned, along with the counters and then the bathrooms. I also know that this more than likely won't happen. Two bachelor's for those 16 days....no freshly changed sheets or clean towels either. I won't be here so I won't see it til I come home!

I'm not a super neat freak. When Annie was alive there was almost always Golden hair on the hardwood floors you could see. A big dog seems to create more presence whether it's their hair or drool and Annie did like to drag toys all over the house. Stewie, being small and short haired hardly leaves any hair that can me seen except on light colored clothes. He doesn't drag toys around either. Then again if he isn't let out enough he will pee or poo in the house. So I am hoping that the boys remember to let him out often. He must not have the ability to hold his bladder because he always seems to need to go outside. He is like clockwork when it comes to doing "his duty". If you miss taking him out he will go poo inside. Simple fact. I've decided being a shelter pooch that he clearly had no housebreaking skills. He wasn't neutered early so he did like to "mark" on the floor. That cropped up when our daughters brought their kitties home. He got along with one but not the other two. He has really improved from the time he came to live with us to the present. Really good! Still he does have times when he leaves those little "tootsie rolls" in the same location. Oh Stewie....he will miss me. I nurture and love that little pup. I know my Love will give him lots of attention to help with my absence.

Lastly will be my plants. Most of the indoors and my succulents only will need one watering a week and I am telling my Love to just water them once while I am gone unless it is really hot. Plants can be replaced and this time of year the season is beginning to change. They should do just fine.

The men will hold down the fort and they will do just fine too. I will enjoy hearing what goes on while I was away.....

Water, water everywhere

2011-09-12T10:09:00.000-07:00

Google Earth.....what a web site to visit. So glad I did this morning.

I zoomed into Venice with my 3D setting on, swooped in close to see uploaded photos that travelers have posted (awesome photos!) and found that what I thought were little streets....well they are but lots of those little streets are small canals of water.

As I said before, E. and I will land at the Venice airport near 1:30 P.M. and I figure it will take maybe an hour to find our bus and get from the airport to the Piazza di Roma where the bus lets us off. Our idea was to walk from there to our hotel which is just a block back from St. Mark's Basilica. We figured we could use our map and cross some bridges but I also thought there would be a few main "roads" for walking on.

Zoom....and I see lots of roads but lots of waterways too. So many waterways that go this way and that, swirling around and under what looks like tiny bridges. Like little veins that go who knows where or if one can even walk along the side of this building or not. I now understand how one could get "lost" in Venice.

Oh E. and I think it will be fun to get lost...just not the day we arrive. Or, at least I don't want to get lost with sleep deprivation. Or God forbid, I need to use a loo.

{Did I tell you I am bringing a roll of toilet paper? Yes, I find European toilet paper to be rather rough. Very much like crepe paper. Still will have to pay to use a toilet (1 euro = $1.36), but at least it will be my soft, cushiony toilet paper.}

E. and I talked yesterday about this subject of getting to our hotel. She is quite confident that we will have no problem finding our way. I am sighing in my head as she is young with good eyes to read the map if needed. I think in my head that we are on an adventure and like all good adventures being cranky from sleep deprivation or needing to use a loo or being hungry never happens. You live in the moment of what you are doing. You laugh. I may have to document our walk with my camera. Facial expressions, large circle under the eyes (mine), and the view.....

I found this online about asking directions in Venice and thought it quite humorous....

If, by chance, you don't know "where you are going to get to where you want to go" you can also ask other passers-by, but first make sure that they, too, are not "foresti" (that is, people from other parts of the world): Venetians are used to giving tourists directions and are well aware of the problems facing those who get lost in this "serenissimo" labyrinth.

One more thing: the way some of the people react may be interpreted as bad manners but here are the explanations:
- if they stop to think before replying : they are only deciding which is not only the shortest but also the easiest way to explain;
- if they say "cross the bridge, turn right, then go straight on, then turn left, then ask again": it is not because they can't be bothered to go on, but the list of directions would be impossibly long and you wouldn't be able to remember it any way;
- if you ask a couple and when they reply they give you two different sets of directions that seem completely contradictory, they are not making fun of you, it just means that different streets take you to the same destination;
- if they "study" you before telling you how long it will take you to reach your destination, they are only trying to evaluate how quickly/slowly you walk: Venetians walk much faster than tourists!

Soon, so soon......

2011-09-09T12:58:00.000-07:00

Countdown begins tomorrow. 10 days till departure.

I know that going on a trip may seem like no big deal but first of all I am going without my Love. Not that I can't handle a plane trip over the big wide ocean for hours and hours packed in like a sardine. Not that I can't handle carrying my bag / backpack. Not that I can't handle money even if it is not American. Not that I would forget or lose my Passport. Not that I can't sleep without him at night in a strange room. No, I think I will be just fine.

Of course I do have butterfly's fluttering away at times when I think about getting off the airplane at the Venice airport and E. and I having to find the bus that will take us to the main area that we can find our hotel. After all I will be drunkenly sleepy at that point crossed with an adrenaline rush of WE ARE IN VENICE! Just a little flutter....it will pass. Then I will be bursting with the intoxication of seeing a place I have longed to see, smell, hear and taste ever since my Love talked about when he went there in 1971. I wanted to go on our honeymoon but the heat and crowds of summer didn't appeal to either of us so we went to Florence which I fell in love with.

Once we step foot onto the streets, walkways of Venice E. and I will begin our adventure. Yes, I bought a map, not that I can read it with the small print, but E. has perfect vision and I will follow her. Lead on E., lead on.... How can I describe the joy of this trip! How I only wish this could be a trip with all three of my daughters. I could travel with each on their own and gather a different experience, a time that would open and deepen our relationships. Someday...and someday R. will be with us too. I know he would have loved to go but it just wasn't the time, not this trip.

E. and I on this journey to places not known till we go to our last stop, Florence, before we fly home. There we will go to the familiar sites, to climb to the top of the Duomo and I will feel faint and anxiety will riddle my soul as I look up at Heaven and Hell of the Last Judgement painted by Giorgio Vasari and Federico Zuccari. On our honeymoon when my Love and I climbed the vast and what felt like endless stairs, when we came to the opening that looked out at the perimeter of the dome at the top, my stomach dropped. I had never been so high up and on a walk area so narrow, that hugged half way around the dome. Those years when there was only a rail that kept visitors from plunging over. Yes! I shakily tried to take photos up and of down to the floor and through it all breath. When we went back in 2001 I fretted all the way up with my family, fearing yet excited to see it all once again. I worried about making sure someone was holding R.'s little hand as he was all of 5 years old. Thankfully or not they had added a plexiglass screen that seemed to be about 7 ft tall. No falling over....my stomach still felt weak and my heart raced. I could hardly handle this but I did and shared this experience with joy to be with this family I love so much at a place that I felt such a mystery to be drawn to. The age, the history, the views. Oh the views...as we walked outside after a short steep climb up the last stairs between the walls of the dome. Spread before us Florence.

No plexiglass in 1977

Looking down from the rail...me with my fear of heights!

Venice...yes, Venice. Unknown except by other people's photos and videos. I can't imagine seeing this without my Love but I am beyond thrilled to be going even if we won't be together. I know he understands. I know he will be thinking of all we are seeing and doing. He is with me, I will see for both of us.

One thing that I know to be true, you can't put off life. You can't forever put off tomorrow and dreams. If you do you will have only "I wish I had...." till you are blue in the face. I don't have tile on the backside behind my cooktop...so what. I don't have a new kitchen...so what. I don't need it all. I don't ask for it all. I don't expect all. Travel? What does travel mean to the soul? For me it makes me feel alive. I know that this gift of this trip would not have happened except because of this last year. A gift I will treasure for all the days of my life.

Half Moon Bay and the cliffs

2011-09-08T20:04:00.000-07:00

What to do when you have a couple of hours at the Frankfurt Airport

2011-09-06T17:15:00.000-07:00

I was just noticing that E. and I will have a 2 hour layover at the Frankfurt Airport. What to do, what to do.

Well wouldn't you know, they have a brochure that gives just that information. How nice, how informative!

We can shop at a Levi's Store, wow, American clothes in Germany.

Oh good, they have The Body Shop where I can buy my lotion that I can't bring in my carry on bag.

We can go to a Hooter's...Hooter's in Germany? Of all American eateries why Hooter's? They describe it as "Hooter's makes you happy!".

How about Quicker's? It's a food store for when you are in a hurry. Really? What a clever name.

tegut...City I don't get the name but they sell organic fruit and vegies, baked good and they have a drugstore as well as carrying beauty products. I could go here for my lotion. Even has a butcher....in an airport? I hope it's not what I am thinking...bring a few filets to go? Ribs? No how about the makings for Wiener Schnitzel!

For heartburn I could go to three German sausage eateries. E. would so appreciate my burbing on our flight to Venice. No guess not. So no to Erster Wiener, Hermann's and Hermann's Mobil.

Ahhh but they have a illy Cafe! I could get some much need caffeine. Oh wait! They have a Starbucks!!!! Bingo I know just what I will have.....Grande latte w/nonfat milk please...no wait..in German....Grande latte mit nonfat milch bitte!

How about an Airport Sightseeing Tour? Yes they have that! They have 9 tours to choose from.

Close enough to touch: Airport Sightseeing Tours
This is where it's all happening and you have a front-row seat. Succumb to the fascination of flying and the wonder of seeing the big birds right up close. Our new tour round the airport includes a visit to the building site of the future Northwest runway.

There is the Cafe de luxe-Tour where you get to go to the cozy Marche restaurant and have coffee and homemade cake.
The Fire Department-Tour where the highlight is to visit the fire department to find out how the airport's firefighters work!
Children's Birthday Tour ....sure....you can eat at the cozy Marche restaurant or McDonald's! Watch the planes take off and land and take a tour...sounds fun!

We could get a massage or our hair done. Mine will look frightful at this point too. All flat with electricity from the back of the seat on the plane. Remember when they use to put those nice little covers on the back of the headrest? I always assumed they changed them every flight. Now I don't want to think about the possibility of head lice...aaaahhhhggggg!!!

They have two casinos! What fun! Blow our money before we get to Italy!! No, think not.

I hope that it is a non-smoking airport. Ten years ago it wasn't. It was stiflingly inside where we waited of our flight and long lines we had to go through for Customs. We may not have that much time after all. I was really wanting to get that Starbucks.

I also wish this is what kind of seats we were sitting on on our flight to Frankfurt.....looks divine.

Do you facebook?

2011-09-05T16:12:00.000-07:00

For the past two years I have enjoyed facebook. I go on multiple times a day, have added and deleted "friends", have found friends from my childhood, connected with family close in relationship and those more distant. I found my half brother and then my half sister through facebook and was delighted for this online ability to do that so easily. I have "liked" musical groups, restaurants, books, clothing stores, you can find just about anything and "like" them.

I am having some grumbles with this though. What did I do before facebook? I use to email friends with long letters and shared photos through my Kodak site where I upload photos. I use to write hand written letters, and to talk on the phone more. I use to take better care of my gardening. I use to read outside on the deck in my wicker rocking chair with a glass of ice tea in the summer and in the winter read under a down throw. I use to play more. Facebook filled the void when R. seemed to not want to play games or do things with me, good ole' mom. It just filled too much of me though.

In two years there have been many pleasures I use to do that have been sadly neglected. What I found that has been truly mislead though is myself. I really believed as I "added" friends to my profile, that I was going to have this amazing vast network of friends that I would call and email to. Those nearby friends I connected back with, we have gone out to lunch or coffee. Others are clearly not so "addicted" as I am (I said it...addicted) and appear to have a life since they aren't on all the time. Once a weeker's, or monthly? How can they do that?

What I believed was something that can't be done. That virtual world of facebook is just that. Virtual...somewhere else. I don't think I understood the purpose or the point of facebook. I just did it...a lot. I feel more lonely now than I did before. Do I really want my friendships to be via a screen photo? I think not. I need something in friendships more tangible. I realize that many friends and family live far away but calling gives me a voice, a sound of laughter, ups and downs. That screen can't do it unless I video chat / skype. I wanted a way to make friends and build up the friendships I had, to be more personal. It didn't happen quite that way. I let myself down in doing this. Facebook is just facebook.

What I need to do is go back and do it the good old fashion way. Meet and greet, call, write, join. I need to get into something where I will meet folks who like to do what I like to do. I need to get out of the house and not sitting in front of my big Mac screen hoping for BFF's to happen. I need to cultivate friendships so I can have those girlfriends who hopefully want a good old fashion girlfriend friendship too. I want to go and shop with a friend. I miss having someone to go do this with since my daughters are all gone. I had built in shoppers and now I don't. I don't have a mom to go do lunch and go shop. How I envy a mother and daughter doing this. Doesn't matter the age, young with little ones or those with an elderly parent, or those in between. I am lonely and I have no one to blame but myself. That hasn't been easy for me to think or say.

I'm decided to check facebook once a week and then just for if I am contacted. Then I will play it by ear. Maybe leave it alone. I don't know yet what I ultimately will do. I just know I have to step away on the time-waster it has become.

Signing off facebook....over and out.

Unsettled

2011-09-03T01:23:00.000-07:00

Can't sleep. It's happened off and on since Annie died.

Some nights I lay in bed, like waiting up for a teenager who is out and hasn't come home. Waiting, waiting. I check the clock, the minutes tick by. She isn't coming home.

Changes of her being gone that I am missing. I can always find my slippers and shoes. Each paired up where I have left them the night before. It use to be I had to look in her bed to find one. Just one. She never took both. They would be tucked under her head or sometimes her nose would be almost inside the foot part, breathing in my scent.

I don't hear her shake her collar as she scratched. Sometimes I would scold her to stop scratching in the night when she had an allergy flare up. Sometimes it would be so irritating that I would put her cone on and remove her collar.

I miss her puppy dreams, with her legs moving in rhythmic motion as she made puppy yelps. I liked to watch her having her dreams, wondering what she dreamt.

I don't need to lower the lid of the toilet at night. Annie loved to drink from the toilet, but at night it was "if it's yellow, let it mellow", flushing the toilet at night is loud. She never left water on the seat, never drooled. Seems odd as at her water bowl she was so sloppy. Many a night if I peed she would come in to say hello, and I would give her a love. Happy dog with her flag waving tail. Then she would walk out and sigh as she lay in her bed. A deep sigh that I thought was contentment.

Annie was content. She knew she was loved. She had her doggy buddy and her kitty buddies. She had her human family. Outside was chickens and her chicken poop candy. It's true. She loved to pick up any chicken poop.

Another night, wide awake. I'll fall back into slumber next to my Love. The ache is gone, just the loneliness for her remains.

4 weeks and counting!

2011-08-24T10:23:00.000-07:00

E. and I have four weeks before we take off for Italy! With all the brain drain that has gone on since our wonderful trip to Colorado in July, I am finally getting back into the excitement of a journey. And this will be a journey.

I am packing different than I normally do. I won't have a big strong man to lift my luggage all the time. After talking with my dear friend L. about how she and her hubby packed for their trip to Spain I decided to go her way. I bought a Rick Steves Convertible bag that can be used as a carry on and a backpack. I haven't done a backpack since I was on my honeymoon! Thankfully this is a frameless backpack and has a decent waist belt to keep the weight off my neck and shoulders (please, hopefully...). It can be carried from the top and the side as well. Lots of zippered pockets and compartments too.

   I don't think of myself as an overpacker but I do want to pack as light as possible. One weeks worth of clothes to last for our 16 days gone. I have this mental list that keeps swirling in my head of what to bring and the list does keep changing. I am trying to check the weather even though it is too far off to get a good idea of what the temperatures will be. It should have cooled off enough that the temperatures should be in the 70's to 80's which is perfect for traveling.

   Normally I would check luggage but that is not our plan and that opens up of how much liquids can I carry. I don't wear makeup but I do have a fair amount of daily pampering that I use. Somewhere in my careless dreamy travel state of mind I was thinking that I would get all these little containers that I saw at The Container Store and fill them with my daily lotions and such.   I bought some small prefilled bottles too like:

mouthwash (must have a fresh breath in the morning)
hairspray (must continue to keep some style to my flyaway hair)
eye cream (to smooth the potential lines that want to appear)
moisturizer with sunscreen (it helps me with the illusion that my freckles / age **** are fading every time I use it...it is a must to bring)
anti-bacterial lotion (bought a small bottle at Trader Joe's and added Lavender oil for fragrance.....germs begone!)
foot cream (keeps my feet smooth and soft...all that walking is going to cause callouses).
facial exfoliating wash (my face always feels so soft afterwards)

     Then I remembered that I have to bring a week's worth of my progesterone cream and thankfully they come in individual daily plastic pod containers (need to keep my hormones happy). To round out my arsenal of products I have:

shampoo (two containers as I like to trade off on my shampoo)
volume conditioner and volume styling gel
bath shower liquid soap (found some of coconut and mango that smelled yummy....remembering the odd odors that come up the drains in Italian plumbing...trying to mask that so I can breath through my nose)

Ha! This should all fit in the bag...right? Big brother has no idea that our last phone call made me realize that I can't bring a GALLON size I can only bring a QUART size!   He was talking to me of the 3 3 1 deal with TSA and I ended up going to their website and saying to myself "oh no".

     Process of elimination begins....first to go was the mouthwash. Small tube of toothpaste has Scope in it.   No eyecream...I will have to use my daily moisturizer for that. No progesterone cream...one more week without....okay I hope I maintain decent hormone levels

(EARTHQUAKE just happened....sorry...pause for heart to stop racing)

.......where was I?   Oh yes...hormones. E. will have to deal with it and maybe I will be just fine and dandy (smile!). I need to get smaller containers for the stuff I NEED to bring. Do you realize how small a quart bag is? Really how is a woman to bring her essential items? Everything will have to shrink in size....

Time of Year

2011-08-22T11:35:00.000-07:00

Come late August I think of the many times my parents would rent a home in Carmel, just blocks up from the beach. They would rent the home for a month and stay for a week, come home for a few days or week and then head back. They would invite us to come for a weekend during their stay and with the passage of time I fell in love with the home.

     It was called Steel-A-Way and my parents new the woman who owned it. The variety of home styles in Carmel has changed over the years, thankfully they have a building code in place that you cannot demolish a home that is over 50 years old. Unfortunately before that was in place many charming homes were "remodeled" or torn down to put some mega home on a tiny lot. You can easily tell the new homes from the historic old homes even if they did try to "charm" them up.

     Steel-A-Way has a sunny location since it doesn't have any trees on the lot. This can be good or bad but to me it gives it an English Cottage look with it's dutch style front door, thick shake high pitched roof and multi-pane windows. In August the Dahlias are blooming out front. The western sea breeze brings the sound of the crashing waves to our ears, the foggy mornings that give way to brilliant blue skies, and the peaceful quiet of the neighborhood. We use to wish we owned the old home because of the tranquility.

     As a child we lived quite close to Carmel and often would go to the beach on a weekend or just a drive along the beach in the late afternoon to maybe catch the sunset. Sometimes it was a bucket of Colonel Sanders at Mission Beach and a climb on the rocks nearby. Other times my mom and I with some other lady friends would go into Carmel town for a bit of shopping in the tiny little shops. That was when the shops were unique and no T-Shirt shops in sight. Still I love to walk up and down the narrow paths that wind between some of the art galleries that are off the main street of Ocean Ave. That is where it feels most like the Carmel I remember. I like it after dark when the tourist have left and you walk almost all alone, pausing to look at the art hanging in the windows, or going inside to look around and talk with the art dealers. I like a walk on the beach when the sand has turned cool between my toes. That white sand so fine in texture that dusts your feet. To feel the pound that settles around you as you watch the crash of the waves rhythmically pull back and fall forward. To walk along the street that follows the curve of the shore for an evening stroll, greeting the passer-byers, many with their dogs of more breeds than you normally see in one location. We look at all the homes and talk about how we like this house or that, what has been done to that one or how neglected another might look. Carmel off of Ocean Ave. is truly quiet with mostly those who live there taking the ritual walk morning and night.

     Steel-A-Way....stole my heart because it will forever remind me of Papa. Not because of any other reason than when we came he was delighted to see us. We always would take the drive to Rocky's Point close to Big Sur, for a glorious sunset and a dinner where we could look at the ocean below. The wind would whip around us while we were outside and to look at Papa's face at those times was like feeling at home. Nothing else mattered.

     He would putter around the house during the day fixing this or that, talking about how much work needed to be done here. He liked to putter.   Inside the garage was the old surrey. Some years it was in better shape than other years. My Love and he would work on getting it in some state of running order so whomever wanted to take it out for a ride could. Up and down the long driveway the surrey would go, sometimes out on the street. The surrey was as much a part of that home and I could never imagine it not being there when we would open the garage. I think I would even ask Papa before a visit if the surrey was in the garage. That last time it was getting pretty rickety.

Inside the home was a large beamed ceiling living room with a big fireplace at the far end. French doors (that were never opened oddly) flanked the inner rear courtyard in the back. Opposite the living room was the dining room, which we ate at when we all were together in the evening. Through the swinging door you entered the large bright kitchen. There was a small breakfast table and a large kitchen island long before most normal homes had them. We always served up on it buffet style. Between the dining room and living room the hallway went straight back to a cozy den / tv room that had a card table that many a game of scrabble or puzzle was done at. There was a bedroom with two twin beds in the door to the left after the den. Our daughters would sleep in there. Two on the beds and perhaps someone in a sleeping bag. A tiny guest bathroom attached inside the room. At the end of the hall was the master bedroom with a large bathroom with a tv above the tub so you could watch when you took a bath. The girls loved that. The master bedroom was sunny and light during the day with several large windows.

My Love and I slept in the petite cottage out the side door from the den in the courtyard. It always had a musty mildew smell inside. Two twin beds and a tv filled the room with a tall highboy. It had a very nice bathroom that stayed cozy warm after a shower. We often would leave the door open during the day to air the room out as it had an old squeaky screen door. Most all the years we stayed here we had a Sheltie or two with us, Heidi, Tess and or Jesse who came later. They loved the brick courtyard with the pastel flower beds and ivy beds surrounding the parameter. Rose trees and a birdbath were here and there. Outdoor was a table with chairs and lounge chairs to actually soak up some mild warm sunshine.

     Steel-A-Way.....we only have been there once after my Papa passed away, with my mom. It was different without him. She had rented it for the month of September a couple of years after Papa had passed away. A mistake for her. I think she only visited twice. She was not in a good frame of mind when she had us visit as well as some dear family friends.   It was awkward and unpleasant. My family went without her another weekend and enjoyed ourselves though for that weekend for the first time my Love and I slept in the master bedroom. I secretly wanted to be in the cottage. I don't remember who slept in there.

     Thank goodness for those waves that pounded in my ears and heart that trip.

     We have not stayed there since that time. My mom never rented the home again. She just couldn't go back. Too many memories of the man she loved so much. My Love and I whenever we visit Carmel have always driven or walked by Steel-A-Way. I still dream of owning it......

Snoring spouse

2011-08-13T02:37:00.000-07:00

I cannot sleep. I try but my Love breathes so loud my brain pops awake. I hear him and like counting sheep, each breath, snort, snore I am more awake than before. I try. I do try to ignore and drift back to where I was in that blissful state of rest. Then a loud snort pierces my relaxation and I am a bit ticked off.

I bump him. I roll him. I wake him with, "Your snoring" of which he says "I am?". Yes..........

What to do? How is it that some nights peace and calm prevail? Never a snort or snore to be heard. Dreams of my own to be in. Oh I would lie if I wasn't to say that I haven't heard myself make some odd noise of snorting or breathing oddly. Yes, he has bumped me too. I teasingly tell him in the morning he heard it wrong as I don't snore. We laugh or joke of that.

Am I sleeping lighter? Am I already in a state of wakefulness? How is it that when we were first sleeping together all those years ago that this night oddity did not happen? The only thing that woke us then was the sensual dream that one would have and wake the other to complete!

I haven't decided this state of life at 50 and of sleep. I no longer have the insomnia of my 40's. I barely have a night sweat anymore. Now I lay next to a man who sleeps oddly...to me. He seems warmer and it is harder to spoon. His hip bothers him and he sleeps sometimes half back and half side, thus the snoring position is achieved. His pillow provides the support to keep him in this position and I have tried to yank his pillow so his head rolls fully sideways rather than tilted.

Is this why some couples sleep in different rooms? The need for sleep becomes greater than the need for a warm partner to lie with? Truly I need my sleep. I want to lay with my down pillow below my head, cradling the brain that wants to fly into dreamland. I want to pull my sheet up under my chin, over my shoulder, my toes feeling the softness beneath. Sinking in....rest.

I will go back. I cannot stay awake. I ate a bowl of cereal as once up my tummy begins to awaken too. A growl of discontent. I will go back and bump him if he continues his unusual serenade. My eyes long to close.....

A Tribute to Annie

2011-08-09T21:06:00.000-07:00

Annie from Ellen F. on Vimeo.

It wouldn't be me if I did not do this. I who hold the camera steady, waiting for the shot, waiting for the moment. The memory that will remain for me to see time and again. It wouldn't be me if I didn't find the music that fit the image. These almost three weeks have slipped by as life does and most mornings I wait for Annie to shake, clink her collar with her name tag and rabies tag which in turn wakes Stewie and I at the same time. Morning, time to get up, time to go outside and then be fed. The routine, but the routine is different now.

She was just a dog some would say. But who are they to say that when they did or do not know the bounds of love and companionship we shared? All the animals in my life have filled a void of love that I must have needed. My heart is full when I have my pets near me, walking, sitting, sleeping. Annie would look deep into my eyes, those deep brown eyes, sometimes gaily sometimes with a hint of sorrow, all depending on how I was that day. No judgement only a soft lick of my hand or my face. A wag of her tail as if to say "all is well, I am here".

Now we go on without our Golden girl. Stewie is sleeping longer. I may have to use an alarm clock which I haven't used on a regular basis in years and years. I lay in bed waiting but she is gone. How grateful I am to have had those past almost 11 years with her, to have filled us with such good times. She had a good life. She liked everyone.

See you someday sweet dog.....with all my dear pups of days gone by....

The Long Road

And I wished for so long, cannot stay...
All the precious moments, cannot stay...
It's not like wings have fallen, cannot stay...
But I feel something's missing, cannot say...

Holding hands are daughters and sons
And their faiths just falling down, down, down, down...
I have wished for so long
How I wish for you today

We all walk the long road. Cannot stay...
There's no need to say goodbye...
All the friends and family
All the memories going round, round, round, round
I have wished for so long
How I wish for you today

And the wind keeps roaring
And the sky keeps turning gray
And the sun is set
The sun will rise another day...

We all walk the long road. Cannot stay...
There's no need to say goodbye...
All the friends and family
All the memories going round, round, round, round
I have wished for so long
How I wish for you today
How I've wished for so long
How I wish for you today

We all walk the long road

Longing to Belong

2011-08-06T10:45:00.000-07:00

Longing To Belong

I'm falling harder than I've
ever fell before
I'm falling fast while hoping
I'll land in your arms
'cause all my time is spent here
longing to belong
to you

I dream of circles perfect
eyes within your face
my heart's an open wound that
only you'd replace
and though the moon is rising
can't put your picture down
love can be frightening when you fall

And when the time is right, I
hope that you'll respond
like when the wind gets tired
the ocean becomes calm
I may be dreaming but I'm
longing to belong
to you

*********

Now isn't that just beautiful?

Up and down

2011-08-03T15:09:00.000-07:00

These days I am up and I am down. I want to go on a hike with my two favorite pals but one is gone.

Stewie and I did take a hike on the trail I broke my wrist on almost a year ago. I felt off balance without Annie leading us up. Even Stewie lacked enthusiasm. We started off gaily but nearing the fork in the trail he looked glum. I brought water and shared my trail bar with him. We continued on for a bit then I felt it was time to turn around.

First of all I was glad to pass the spot where I fell, but I also held my arm has I descended the trail. Stewie looked back at me like he was telling me to hurry up. I thought of Annie who would have swished her golden plume tail had she been with us. She would have been less antsy and more about the moment. Isn't that like a Golden? Live in the moment? It wouldn't be how far we went or how much farther we needed to go. It would be lifting the head and sniffing the air, wagging a tail and smiling her doggy smile. She would be happy to just BE.

Then the stupid email on the Silver Goblets came at me like a pie in the face.

A friend had this on her facebook page and I asked if I could use it....

An old woman once said, "There comes a time in your life, when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it. You surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Forget the bad, and focus on the good. Love the people who treat you right, pray for the ones who don't. Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is a part of life, getting back up is living."

How I need to heed those words. I should waste no time on those who do not know me and appear to condem me.

Thank you Marla for letting me share these very true words.

The Birthday Cake and the Birthday Girl

2011-08-01T14:08:00.000-07:00

The cake turned out just wonderful....thank goodness!

The Birthday day girl, my mother by marriage and my sister by marriage....love them dearly!

88 years young...I can't even think that. I've been a part of this family for over 36 years. One could not have a finer, more loving mother by marriage that is for sure. Sister? Oh yes, I lucked out there too! I owe a great many recipes to both these women. I try to live up to their experience but the lesson of trying is the what I have learned most. Sometimes a recipe works and other times it goes it's own way. Laugh and learn is my motto.

Cookin'... from tomatoes to cake

2011-07-30T13:51:00.000-07:00

I'm trying. Really, really trying, to get back to normal at our house on the hill.

Last night I finally had the gumption that I had lost this week. I started thinking about cooking and smiling. Not that they always go together. Really I just wanted to smile and be happy. The heart may feel the lack of my Annie but I need to cheer up.

What I wanted to make was Fried Green Tomatoes. Mine are puny and not really perfect for this so I went and bought some Heirloom tomatoes that were green. Thank you Lunardi's market for having some there! I texted my daughter E. to see if she wanted to come over for dinner, highlighting the fact I was fixing Fried Green Tomatoes (she and I have a thing for them). Darn if she had other plans.

Back home with full thoughts for dinner with my two men and here is the recipe via my sister by marriage.

Fried Green Tomatoes

1/2 cup flour for dredging
1/3 cup yellow cornmeal
1/3 fresh parmesan cheese, grated
2 tsp. oregano
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper
2 eggs, beaten
1/2 cup olive oil
2 to 4 green tomatoes, sliced 1/8 thick
(depends on the size of your tomatoes, mine were the size of an apple)

Have three shallow bowls out (I used pie tins). Put the flour in one bowl. In the other bowl add cornmeal, parmesan, oregano, salt and pepper. In the remaining bowl add 2 eggs and beat them.

Dip your green tomatoes ahead before cooking. Take one tomato slice at a time, dip in egg, dip in flour, dip in egg and follow with dip in cornmeal mixture. Repeat till all are done setting them on a paper towel in single layer.

Using a large frying pan add olive oil and heat.

Fry till golden brown on both sides. Do not crowd pan.

My Love grilled salmon, couscous and those yummy tomatoes

Now my daughter E. and I have a restaurant called Pican we love that use to fix a divine Fried Green Tomato appetizer that had a Buttermilk dressing on it. We tried to come up with something similar and found this nifty dressing:

Buttermilk Dressing

1/2 cup buttermilk, shaken well
1/2 cup yogurt (greek would be ideal)
1/4 cup fresh Italian parsley leaves, finely chopped
1 T. white vinegar
1 1/2 tsp. kosher salt
1/2 tsp. fresh ground black pepper

Whisk all ingredients in a bowl until smooth and evenly combined.

Drizzle this over your Fried Green Tomatoes and tell me if you don't think these two were made in food heaven.

Today I am making my mother by marriage her birthday cake. She is 88 years young today! I have a dandy recipe that daughter E. shared with my son and I. However it tends to overflow my cake pans as it grows as it bakes and the batter is thin. So I figure my pans are too shallow and use the one higher sided cake pan that opens on the side (wish I had two). I guess today I don't have the bottom in right (upside down) and as soon as I have filled both cake pans I am seeing leakage. To deal with this fiasco I put a cookies sheet underneath to catch the batter till it starts to set. What else could I do? Oh well. My layers will be unmatched (on is deeper than the other by a good 1/4 inch) but hey there is a delicious frosting to go on top and know one will no but me....hopefully.

Wish me luck with the cake as I need to whip up the frosting now and make a salad to bring as well.

The sun is shining, the air is warm and life is good. Annie would be with me laying on her doggy bed in the kitchen watching me cook, hoping for some tidbit to fall for her to eat. Hope she has many treats to eat in doggy heaven! Unlimited doggy biscuit bar.....

Wildflowers of the Rockies

2011-07-28T22:15:00.000-07:00

The Columbine

Sweet Marie, here's a columbine,
The summer can surely spare it.
See! Here's a delicate twig to twine,
To braid in this beautiful hair of thine.
Sweet Marie, here's a columbine
Take it, my queen, and wear it!

Waved by the wind in the summer time;
Wet by the summer showers;
Blown in the balm of this beautiful clime,
Over our head where the hills are rime;
Waved by the winds in the summer time
Fairest of forest flowers.

For I have brought you this boutonniere,
Plucked from the hills above you,
To weave in the waves of your beautiful hair,
Or wear in your breast where the love songs are.
I have brought you this boutonniere
Take it, because I love you.

~Cy Warman~ 1892

In Memory of Annie

2011-07-25T17:26:00.000-07:00

     Three days. Three long days have passed since she left us. I took Stewie for a stroll today on the Iron Horse trail hoping to meet some doggies for him to visit with. Not many were on the trail but I let him sniff to his hearts content. He didn't have his heart in it, I could tell. I thought of all the walkies and hikes we would all do and fondly held those times in the walk.

   This is hard. I have so little gumption. I need to write to move forward.

      Anyone who knows me knows how much my dogs have meant to me. I know it is not a child I have lost or a relative. A loving, loyal dog has left our home and I am in mourning. I will move on and feel like myself again but for now I am taking one day at a time. Trying to inspire Stewie who clearly is in mourning as well.   My Love and I feel drugged. Lost. Numb. Empty.

   Annie. Annie-Bo-Bannie. Miss Annie. Annie Girl. Sweet Annie.

     Was I in denial?   She made it through the surgery. Dr. Endo removed her spleen and two masses, one we didn't even know was there. She came home the same day of the surgery in the evening. She rested in her bed, we brought water to her which she drank. She took her pain medicine the first night. She went outside and peed. Come morning she went outside, drank water, ate rice with broth and beef that I had cooked all the day before to make tender. She rested and walked. She looked worn out but she wagged her tail and gave us sweet puppy licks. The next day she got up, had her breakfast, drank and went and did her doggie business. She rested but also was up and walked a bit too.

     That last night......we went out to dinner with good, dear friends and after came back and sat outside as it was a lovely evening. These friends love dogs just as I do and Annie and Stewie are special doggie friends with them and their pups. When we walked in the door Annie was there to greet us with a wagging tail and her favorite stuffed toy, her multicolored ball with a squeaker inside. It fills her gentle mouth. She even dropped it for some doggie crotch sniffing! I did let her outside with us for a bit but then I wanted her to rest so I brought her inside. She didn't really like that but did as she was told. We all said how good she looked and how she was on the mend.

     That night.....I woke up and heard her cough and then I heard her panting. I got up to see if she needed water. She wouldn't drink any. I wondered if she was too hot. She wasn't panting hard just a slow pant. She seemed settled and I went to bed. I woke up to hearing her again panting but panting hard. I thought it was less than an hour later but I wasn't too sure. I knelt beside her bringing the water to her lips. She turned her head away. I tried to get her to get up but she wouldn't. Stewie is there beside us. I am alarmed and I need to check her gums to see if they are pink or pale. That is what her Dr. and the veterinary tech. had told us to check for. I also remember about the panting, that if she is panting heavily that is not good either. I wake up my Love and urgently tell him that Annie is not doing well. I turn on the light and check the gums. Pale to white. Her tongue is cold and she is not well. I tell my Love I need to take her to the emergency vet and he goes to get our car ready. I quickly go change into street clothes and then rush back to be by her side.

    It was quick.   She stopped panting. She gasped. My Love came in while I cried out. I yelled her name "Annie, Annie!".....another gasp. I tell him we need to hurry and he gently tells me she is gone. I can't believe this. No, no, no. She lays there in Jesse's old bed. Peaceful, quiet. We are around her, Stewie, my Love and I, circling her, stroking her. I kneel my head to hers and whisper the love I have for this beautiful girl. She was love. All love and licks to everyone. Now she was gone.

     I have never seen an animal pass away. Our little Jesse died at home, in the same room as we all were in. He slipped away without our knowing, peaceful slumber in the room we nightly sat in. I honestly hope she did not suffer. The gasping troubles my heart and head. At near 2:30 A.M. she was quiet. We sat there with her, stroking her golden coat, her so soft head and ears. Stewie stared and waited with us. I didn't want to move her, not till morning. Luna our cat came to sniff her old friend. Slowly she stepped around her body, gently she walked on the bed, then she walked away. My Love decided we needed to move her and we did.   We have been through much this man and I. We have had many furry friends who have given us such joy and companionship.   We have walked many trails with them, side by side. Taken them on vacations when we could. Our pets are like our family.

   In the night as I tried but failed at sleeping, I thought of Dixie our Golden who died before we brought Annie into our home. Dixie who died while we were gone, who we could not say our goodbyes to. She was cremated and I have had her ashes all these 11 years. I never could let them go to the cold earth. Some part of my heart said this was the time. These two Golden girls should be together. They never knew each other but they would have romped and played together if they had. They would have covered us with Golden hair, slobbered our faces and made us happy as could be. This was my release for Dixie.

     As morning broke I told my Love what I wanted. It was important that Annie have her favorite stuffed ball toy. No other dog could ever have this toy. It was Annie's. I told him that I wanted Dixie to be with Annie and that Dixie's Kong toy to be buried with them as well. Annie never liked the Kong, she loved stuffed toys. They lie buried on the hill behind our pool, the hill they both use to look up on to keep their eyes on the deer that passed by. The view of Mt. Diablo looms in the distance. We have called this spot Boot Hill as our Jesse lies up here along with our departed kitties from years past.

     The house had been cleaned before the day after Annie came home. There is not any Golden fur on the floor which seems unnatural. My floors have always had Golden fur on them for over 21 years between two dogs. Stewie was laying on the dog bed in our kitchen where Annie had brought a few toys days before. A few Golden strands of her coat clung to his black fur as he rolled on his back while I rubbed his tummy. I hate to see them go......I ache for my Annie. I hurt.

She's gone....

2011-07-23T18:17:00.000-07:00

She's gone and my heart aches.....Annie was doing so well yesterday evening! Yet in the night she went down quickly. Too fast....

My Love and I are exhausted with little sleep last night. All hangs heavy. My words want to come but I have no words today. Only tears.

Back...but...

2011-07-22T10:01:00.000-07:00

Well we are back from a wonderful vacation in Colorado with family. Of course nothing like a welcome home with my mother by marriage having a fall and getting an awful gash down the front of her shin bone. Thankfully she had nothing broken.

To add icing on the cake our dear Golden Annie was not well on Sunday, a visit to the vet to find that she had a mass on her spleen. Surgery on Thursday to find out there were two masses! Now she is home resting watched over by my Love and I with tender care. We wait with trepidation to hear if the spleen or tumors were malignant.

     This all feels too similar to what happened to our Golden Dixie 10 years ago this month who fell suddenly ill while we were out of the country. Sadly it was decided her spleen or a mass broke and she bled out. There was a huge ache in all our hearts the remainder of our trip. Illness can happen so suddenly in our pets. They can't tell us what is wrong until it may be too late. I had already felt before we left that I should bring Annie in but I was concerned she was becoming arthritic since she was acting stiff and not her old self. Well she is arthritic as that showed on the X-ray along with the mass.

     For now I will play nursemaid to our poochie.   Mother is healing with her leg bound by bandage and a prayer that she does not fall again. I am wishing I was back on vacation on a hike.   Whatever relaxation I came home with has dissolved.

     Oh there was a star this week! Our daughter K. was here for several days for us to glow over. It wasn't the best with my head slightly clouded over with worry but she was a wonderful distraction. Now she has left to be with her Love up in Seattle and settle into a new place to live for the next 6 months.

    I am having an adjustment with the new format of blogspot...anyone else?   I feel lost!

Colorado Bound

2011-07-08T17:16:00.000-07:00

Gone for a week....hanging out in the beautiful Rocky Mountains!

Purpose

2011-07-06T17:43:00.000-07:00

Me ~ 1975

I have a routine of daily tasks and chores I do. Doing the morning dishes, making our bed, fluffing a pillow, loading the washer, emptying the dryer. Everyday I set my sights on the accomplishments of finishing what I start. For almost 34 years of marriage, four children, countless pets, I have nurtured our home life and felt my life's destiny. I've watched as my three daughters have left home, first to college and then to their own lives. Sometimes they have been near and sometimes they are away. I cannot visit them physically everyday yet I miss them being in my life.

Have I been a mother so long I have forgotten the girl I was before children?

Just the other night my Love and I were talking of a difficult situation that has happened. We tried to understand this and talk about it. It doesn't involve us but it does involve our love for those who are. Inside I was grappling with the importance of how I mothered and am still mothering our son who is at home. I thought how I feel about my role. How I know I am needed even though I don't feel the need I use to.

This is the first time I have only one child to take care of. I have always been occupied with getting someone from point A to point B by a certain time on a certain day. In a year our son could be driving himself instead of me. With R. not being in our presence as when he was younger I am beginning to understand how it will feel when he is fully gone. I am not taking this well. It's that Mothering thing again. I only seem to know how to be a mother and a wife.

My Love and I began having children three years into our marriage and ever since I have had a child in our home. What will it be like when that is no longer?

I use to think that my Love and I would be able to retire, he at a young(er) age due to how strenuous is work is. We would travel the world just he and I! Anywhere, everywhere, whenever! I never thought about the financial side of this. Only in the last five years did it hit me of how we could pull that off. The stupid economy zapped so much of his potential jobs. Who can get a line of credit? Who can afford to do work on their homes? More and more people are hiring the "cheap" laborer and acting as their own contractor. More and more are learning to do it themselves, regardless of how the job might look. Hey, my Love has been building since he was a little kid beside his father. You need to know your math. You need to put in the time and not complain of heat or cold when you outside working.    You need to be appreciated for the work you do by the homeowner. Virtually all those jobs he use to get use to be referral! Now so many of those homeowners are dead, old and not needing anymore work.   Everyone now wants a "deal", they want it cheaper, it's like they never think about the craftsmen work to make a job not only be finished but really look good.

So he will not be retiring early. He will continue seeking work. We use to say we would sell our home and buy a smaller home but he loves the home and the land. Then of course real estate isn't doing so well.

I am deviating from my original thought though.

Purpose.

I've just watched the inspirational documentary "Who Does She Think She Is?" that is now available on Netflix. When I first heard about the making of this I was moved. The role of women in society, the lack of acceptability for a woman to be a mother and to have a creative side.   Wow, I hadn't thought about the role choices that women have! How utterly naive I was. I waited patiently for this documentary to be available.

Now after watching it I am flummoxed. Have I neglected or hidden my creative side? I certainly have given little credit to what I can do or would want to do creatively.    And what do I want? What part of me feels inspiration? I just don't know. I just don't really know who I am. Certainly not the woman inside me. I know myself as my Love's wife, friend and lover. I am loved, wanted, and needed.

What do I want to round myself out with? I love to write, I love to take photographs. I don't see myself as really good at either but it does give me pleasure. In seeing the women that were filmed I realize that each of them had a purpose that became fulfilled once they let themselves become what was always there. It was sad though that several lost their marriages due to their desire for creativity.   It was a choice they had to make almost like women of the past who made choices to be wives and mothers or be creative. History still repeats! Do men feel so threatened by a woman's need to be personally fulfilled?

I know my Love supports my need to write. I try to balance my life with keeping our home a place I feel comfortable in and one that my family does as well. Still I am feeling this uncanny search for my unsettled feminine Goddess within.

I just ordered the book "When the Heart Waits: Spiritual Direction for Life's Sacred Questions" . I love how Sue Monk Kidd writes. Her other book that fulfilled my heart's wish to someday be able to travel with my three daughters, Traveling with Pomegranates: A Mother-Daughter Story , that she partially co-wrote with her daughter of their travel to Greece. In this book she shares her inner feelings of being a woman and what she is searching for in her own life and what she is concerned for of what life means to her daughter in being a woman. Her words reflected much that was and is in my heart for my daughters to want a loving, caring, respecting, resourceful, growing relationship with me. Not just that I was their mom but I am a friend. There is much we can share and learn from each other.

This passage said an uncanny thought I have felt that was in that book:
" Finally, I began to write about becoming an older woman and the trepidation it stirred. The small, telling “betrayals” of my body. The stalled, eerie stillness in my writing, accompanied by an ache for some unlived destiny. I wrote about the raw, unsettled feelings coursing through me, the need to divest and relocate, the urge to radically simplify and distill life into a new, unknown meaning. And why, I asked myself, had I begun to think for the first time about my own mortality? Some days, the thought of dying gouged into my heart to the point I filled up with tears at the sight of the small, ordinary things I would miss."

How odd to get to a certain age and think of ones mortality. Yet I do. I don't dwell upon this but it does rise up and I look at every beautiful sky, every lovely flower and think this could be gone and how I do not want this to be. I lull for days sometimes bemoaning these thoughts till I realize I am wasting the precious days that flow by. Stop! Live...live....and enjoy. Be happy with your life be happy with yourself.

I often wonder if my weight gain of the forties and fifties is a response many women go through of being concerned with the denial of happiness. Does food fulfill this? No it does not. Does our body naturally gain to compensate for the anticipation of another decade on the heels of midlife when appetites dwindle and the body needs the fat to live upon? I rather like that theory better. Yet, I find myself unhappy with my body. I compare to what I use to look like. How can I feel this way? If I wasn't preoccupied with such thoughts and felt fully fulfilled with myself would I become the way I envision myself to be versus the one in the mirror?

Purpose.   Goal. Choice.   Forgive. I need to love what is inside me as well as what is outside me. I have what I have and some of these can't be changed without medical intervention (those lovely veins that I developed after the birth of my children), softening of tone in my body (I am doing the gym...geesh it sure takes a lot of effort now), little lines on my face and neck (don't look too close in the mirror, especially a magnifying mirror). What matters is what I express from within. How I express it to others.

I am open, careful of my feelings. I will wake in the morning and melt inside with joy when I see my Love beside me. I am not alone with him to share each day with. He loves me for me.

Peanut Butter Crisscross Cookies

2011-07-05T18:46:00.000-07:00

Peanut Butter Crisscross Cookies

2 1/2 C. flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1 C. butter (at room temperature)
1 C. peanut butter (smooth or crunchy)
1 C. brown sugar (packed)
3/4 C. sugar
2 large eggs
**extra sugar for rolling the cookies in

Heat oven to 350 degrees

Working with a stand mixer, fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter on medium speed for a minute or two, until smooth and creamy. Add the peanut butter and beat for another minute. Add the sugars and beat for 3 minutes more. Add the eggs one at a time, beating for a minute after each addition. Scrape down the sides and the bottom of the bowl.

Add baking soda, baking powder and salt on low speed. Add the flour mixing till all blended.

Working with the dough, I use an ice cream scoop to make my balls. On a large cookie sheet place 9 balls. Dip the tines of a fork in the sugar and press into the dough to make crisscross marks.

Bake for 12 minutes. When done the cookies will be lightly colored and still a little soft. Let the cookies sit on the cookie sheet for a minute before removing to cooling racks. Cool to room temperature.

Celluloid

2011-06-29T10:32:00.000-07:00

    She and I are walking towards the building with multipane widows
   covered in green curtains that do not let me know what is behind them

     We walk inside a door, like the kind at any store up and down
the town we live in, glass which you push firmly to open

    The room has young adults sitting on vinyl couches and chairs
it feels like a time long ago when drive-ins and soda fountains were around

     They look at us, the mother tall and proud, the child meek and timid,
   they look at us as we walk past the desks off to the side of a room that feels too long

     The man has a grey hair with a white short beard, I sense kindness
   the polite greeting of my mom and he while I stand mute and lost

     The room is emptied, just us three, and I am taller, she is older and less of presence
   the question and answer begin and I am getting taller and stronger

     My voice builds with longing of what I missed
"I missed you mom. I missed you wanting me when I got older".

      She has become rigid and uncomfortable, her words I can not hear
   only her lips and mouth open and close, tightness when pressed together.

      "I couldn't be me, I had to be what you wanted. You wouldn't let me breathe".
Words fall from my mouth like alphabet soup letters, forming sentences and phrases.

       I see around me the slow fading in of the young adults that have begun to appear.
   Their faces supporting me as they become clearer, eyes on me not her

       The scene like a celluloid movie, that flickers and displays a scene of us
"I am your mother, I know what is best for you"

       The man speaks to her, "She is not for you to keep tucked in a drawer".
   I am growing and she is aging as the film continues on the reel.

        Is it dark or light, the colors are faded, flashes of brightness and the room
is real once more, the young adults are smiling

         My mother is old and weak, she is sad at her loss of control over me
   "You are wrong, she needs me" her words are desperate

   The man talks gently to her even though she repels his words
               For once I am forgiven for being me, by a man who listened

          The room of young adults has come to life, the child I was walks towards the door
                 her pure white ankle socks on chubby legs runs

          I push through to bright sunlight
                  the sound of the reel clicks, clicks, clicks



        * I had a dream last night of this. So oddly it floated to my head. We had watched a show on PBS of film making where I think the flash of celluloid came from. The ankle socks from my friend Lori who shared a photo from her childhood wearing while ankle socks. The constant theme of my mom and I and my struggle to be loved by her unconditionally.   The man represented the therapist we went to back in 2004. He did not help "us" during that time but thankfully in my dream he did.

So relieved to have written this down before it was lost on the day. I did not turn on music knowing that the sound of songs would erase my thoughts.

Get thee to the Farmer's Market and make this!

2011-06-24T20:33:00.000-07:00

Apricots are ripe and ready to do any number of delicious things with. I already made jam and decided to use the last ones to make an Apricot Crisp. This was heaven....so go to your nearest Farmers Market and buy some deep orange Apricots and make this...you will not be disappointed.
Have you tried the new Black Velvet variety of Apricots yet? They are dark purple black on the outside with a variegated orange with red inside. The ones I found were not big but they were yummy!

Apricot Crisp

1 pound fresh apricots
3 T. sugar
1 T. flour
a pinch of nutmeg and a pinch of cardomon

Crisp topping:
1/2 stick butter, melted
4 T. turbinado sugar
1/2 C. old fashion oatmeal
1/2 C. all purpose flour
pinch of salt

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Wash, pat dry and cut apricots in half and remove pit (no need to peel). Slice into chunks (I did 1/2 inch size chunks). Spray a small baking dish (8 x 8) and place cut apricots in. Add sugar, flour and spices and stir in.

To make topping, melt butter. In a small bowl add sugar, flour, oats, and salt. Stir in melted butter. Sprinkle mixture over the apricots. Bake for about 30 minutes or until just lightly browned.

*note: I did reduce the sugar amount in the topping from 6 T. to 4 since I thought that seemed a bit much. Also I would check it to make sure it it not over browning.

Mothering

2011-06-22T21:54:00.000-07:00

Mothering, what does it mean mothering?

To be a mother is the most important unselfish act a woman can do. It is the most terrifying, fear ridden, heart stopping, nail biting, demanding, sleepless journey. It is the most absorbing, life-altering, soul searching, moving, love fest ever.

I am in transition. Like in giving birth I feel I am in transition. I thought when I gave birth that stage was unyeilding and overwhelming but now in my fifties this transition seems to put me in that state of confusion and fear of going forward. I can't stop going forward to my next stage of being a woman, I have to go with confidence knowing that on the other side of this step will be a calm or an acceptance of my new stage in life. The contractions of my mothering now is to allow myself to let my grown children be. To understand that they are no longer in need of my protection like when they were children. They need to make the mistakes that I tried to shield them from because I knew what the outcome would be. No, now I must watch their highs in life and their lows. I must be constant and supportive. I must learn to hold my tongue yet hold my arms open and let them discover their own journey in life. If I fight this, I can feel the beat in my heart thump faster and fear sets in. The mother warning lights begin to flash. My arms, my wings want to gather and hold them though I know this to be unwise. Did I not teach my children while young, of life? Did I not share daily as we played, read, lived what to understand of life they might encounter? Hold my hand while we cross the street, careful how high you climb because you will need to climb down without falling but I am here to catch you if you do fall, knives are sharp and scissors are too.

In giving birth to my babies, that stage of transition was what appeared to be an insurmountable wave that kept getting higher and higher. Each contraction brought more instability and undermined my true faith in giving birth.   Just when I felt I couldn't go on, that I couldn't let my body do what it knew how to because I thought it was too hard, too painful, it was "too" everything, the shift came. The calm of being at last over the wave, into the calm, brought back to the shore. The next wave I knew I could handle because my babes tiny sphere of their crowning heads came to view and played with my heartstrings as they would appear and disappear, each contraction more closer to my arms, to my sense of smell and taste. With a whoosh their emergence to welcome cries and a swift flow to my open arms. That first kiss sealed our bond. While their umbilical cord was cut and ceased to nourish them, my breasts inside called out for my mother's milk to flow. That cry of a babe to begin the let down reflex, the tingle in my breasts, where we once again were held together, no longer in utero, but our skin touching linking us forever. I became the mother I was born to be. As in love and fiercely protective as one could be.

Yet I had to let go of the babes. I had to let them test their wings though it was hard. My invisible hand and arm stretched out to hold on but I couldn't let them see that I wanted so much to hold them. I wanted to sing my lullabies and rock them to and fro, the rhythm of the rocker that would became the beat of our hearts. I had to let go with a smile and trusting knowledge that they could and would handle whatever obstacle that came to them. My Love and I sometimes held each other with tears trickling down from our eyes to fall on our bed, the bed they were conceived upon, as we soothed ourselves knowing that those years of parenting were a gift that was of unimaginable measure. Whatever would be, we all would ride the swells of waves in storm and calm.

Now I am facing the ascension of age. I find myself confused at times in observation of my relationship with my mother. The woman who now openly talks of loving me in her limited way. The woman who did not do this with conviction or my comprehension of feeling this. I find myself mothering her. How can this be? It happens so naturally to do. As though automatically my inner mothering emotion to care comes forth. To be calming, gentle, loving to this failing woman, my mom. The rise of fear to know that I am not on the threshold of youth but on the threshold of elderhood does not escape me. I am not willing to step over yet to see the possibility of my being like my mother. I do not want this.   And so I am thrust with transitional trepidation. I fear to see her die, I fear to see the continuing progression of aging though I know I should not be. It is all a part of that circle of life. I cannot stop this circle but only ride it like the pangs of labor. Not to always think of the difficult times but think of the blithesome times. Perhaps not to even try to define this time but let it be.

My children, my darling children whom I adore, treasure, I only ask your patience to me while I take baby steps right now. I am in no hurry as I was to see you learn to roll over, sit up, to walk then run. I am in no hurry whatsoever. Let me take my time and breathe in the wonders I let escape my view before. Let me run my fingers, slowly over the petals of a rose, so soft like the feel of your baby skin so long ago. Let me linger over a walk in the woods, to inhale the denseness of the wood there. Watch the way the light falls between the limbs and leaves, to see the shadow play. It is only now that I at last see such beauty with it's purity. Before I would watch and listen as you each would run over the padded forest floor and hear your voices echo off the trees. Now let me be. Share this time with me. All I ask is for you to hold my hand, let me feel your presence beside me, let me grow up because I am still doing this just as you are.

Let me birth this woman inside me.

Being alone...is lonely

2011-06-18T21:22:00.000-07:00

   I am on day three of being alone.

     I am not use to this at all.

   I have been married for almost 34 years (this July!) and my Love and I have almost, except for the two weeks he went to Mexico (who he and R. are with right now near Joshua Trees) but I had M. and R. at home at that time, so I really wasn't alone. Now I am alone...A. L. O. N. E.....

   What have I been up to? Oh much. Let's see...on Thursday I went shopping. Girl stuff. Shoes...didn't find any. I hate shoe shopping. I did find some cute capris though.

   Thursday night I had it all planned to try a new recipe. Oh I bought everything I needed at Whole Foods, stuff like Garbanza flour...what is garbanza flour?

Garbanzo Flour is a protein-rich flour made from dried chick-peas (garbanzo beans). Oh...

   I came home and read the recipe at 6:00 PM and realized I couldn't fix that recipe tonight. I saw it in Sunset Magazine called "Chickpea Cakes with Fava Leaves and Arugula Salad". Sounded good and healthy and I wanted to make something I knew the boys wouldn't eat. I couldn't find Fava Leaves so I substituted spinach leaves which was an option. I decided since it would need to chill for awhile that I would start the recipe and have it the next night. This is what it looked like before I put it in the fridge to chill. I have to say I sampled the "dough" of chickpea flour and it tasted yucky. I was hoping that once it was cooked it would taste wonderful.

This put the other Sunset recipe up for dinner called "Spiced Lemon Quinoa". I made some changes and would still make some other changes now that I have tried it. It presented well and I enjoyed the flavor though it seemed dry.

   I sat outside with the poochies as it was a lovely evening.

     Friday found me off to visit my mom and then to do some errands afterwords. Mission accomplished! Did laundry and managed to change all the beds and wash Annie (my Golden poochie).

     I was excited to try the Chickpea thing and took it out of the fridge. The recipe told me to invert it onto a cutting board, where once inverted I am to slice into triangles and then I will lightly fry in olive oil. My inverting went PLOP! It did not firm up and was just disgusting. I felt like I was cleaning up doggie vomit. (Sorry for the graphic word.) Dinner became fresh eggs from our hens, scrambled with toast and homemade strawberry jam. Yeah! I really wanted the eggs anyway. Forget that recipe!

     I watched "So You Think You Can Dance" that we had on the DVR and then crawled into bed with Stewie. It was breezy and the house was creaky. I couldn't sleep and I kept seeing Stewie with his ears all perked up like he was hearing something. Finally after a half hour I fell to sleep and Stewie went to his own bed.

    Today cleaned house. I also realized I am not talking much. Is this what happens when you are all alone? I find myself (I do this anyway) talking to the dogs about what I am doing..."I'm going to vacuum the kitchen", "I'm going to clean the bathroom"...on and on...and I don't like that I have no "person" to talk to. I miss my boys....   :(

     I decide that I am going to take out the old home movies and watch them. The really old ones. This is my desk and all my movie stuff out:

I found that the bulb to the projector is out and find the replacement one we have stored. Low and behold it too is out. Bummer. I have an editing machine and thankfully the bulb in it works!

So here I have sat and gone through a gazillion home movies. Not as easy to watch as this is an editing unit and the clarity is how fast you are turning the wheel. Too fast and it is a blur, to slow and the film comes off the gear wheel. Movie magic happens as I spin away.....

I thought I would look up the price of a replacement bulb. ebay....$50!!!! Crazy!!!! Note the price of this bulb on the box. I wonder what year that was?

I realize it is getting late and the poochies are looking at me wondering "when is she going to feed us?".

I feed the critters, get the fresh eggs from the hens for today and grab a bottle of vino from the wine cellar. Hey, no reason I can't have a nice glass of wine! I pick this out...my Papa use to buy BV ...seems like a good choice.

I had marinated a chicken breast simply in soy sauce and thought I would grill it on our panini grill. I rarely use this and I know why. Cleaning is a pain. Still the chicken breast came out lovely! I toasted a slice of rustic wheat bread, brushed a bit of mayo on it, added sliced avocado on top of the chicken breast and sliced some tomatoes with a little kosher salt and fresh ground pepper. Voila!

Simple and utterly perfect for me tonight. The poochies kept me company on the deck for another lovely evening....by ourselves.... :( (miss the boys)

So here are my companions...Annie

And Mr. Stewie.....

     I mean, really...aren't they just the cutest...dinner companions?

     Let's see...I have two more dinners alone...thank goodness E. and I will go see a movie tomorrow! I will have a real live human being to be with! I get to go to my sister by marriage for breakfast tomorrow for Father's Day...not with my honey...but waffles! Hhhhhmmmm. And people!!!!

     Miss my boys....did I say that already?   Guess I better clean up the movie stuff....I was going to watch Toy Story 3 but it is getting late and I was woken up this morning by Luna (our kitty) purging somewhere near the bedroom. Lovely...

Storytelling....

2011-06-16T10:57:00.000-07:00

A fine storyteller died last weekend. Kathryn Tucker Windham grew up in Thomasville, Alabama and later moved to Selma, Alabama, my mom and dad's home town. I learned a little about Kathryn on a visit to Selma back in the 1990's. My mom had taken me on a grand tour of spots that she wanted to share with me of her town, one of which was Sturdivant Hall. A grand old home that has been restored. There was a gift shop in the old detached kitchen and cook's quarters out back where I found Kathryn's books on ghosts of Alabama. I brought back a book for my girls then realized I already had some of her books from other times my mom had visited Selma and brought them back.

My girls loved a good ghost story and Kathyrn's filled a spot with her collected stories. She was a storyteller, who learned this from her father. No TV or high tech gadgets to interfere with sitting by her father as he wove a tale. Thus was her beginnings of collecting and sharing stories from others that their parents or family had told them, passed on to any that would hear them. She has many books and up until her death at 93 was still receiving more stories. If one gives up the gift of storytelling and sharing of them, how many stories will die? How many will go unsaid? I guess that is why I write.

Maybe my family have too much to do than sit and ask me to tell them a story of when I was growing up or about their ancestors. Maybe I don't know how to share a story that makes them want to listen. Storytelling has to be drawn out and said slowly and clearly. I just know that the older I become the more that I wish I had my Nan to have shared some stories of her life. I wish I had any of my grandparents to have told me about their lives. Something that would let me understand who my ancestors were, what they did, who they married, who their children were and so on. I have fragments.

So the photos I have here are from another decrepit photo album of an old home in a box from my mom's house. I am not sure if this is the home my Grandfather wrote of that burned down that is in Marion Junction or this is the old homestead of Mud Hall between Marion and Marion Junction, though even that home doesn't exist any longer. Both homes have been replaced and my mom lived in the rebuilt one in Marion Junction till her father died. I just know that looking at these photos I am absorbed by the unknown. The old photo quality that doesn't have the sharpness of digital, let alone color, but what it has is a story. I don't know who the people are in the photo on the bales of cotton but I am sure they are relatives. Unknown but they are not forgotton...not by me.

Hearing Kathyrn's voice in the video brings up memories of the voices of Selma I have heard. I think of my Nan and her Southern voice...it calls me...I am sitting waiting for my story...

I don't understand the evolution of time in my life...

2011-06-12T19:55:00.000-07:00

Since when did looking at family photographs cause me to ache with the passage of time? How dare that happen!

Since when did I know exactly the feel of my children at the age I see in a photograph, and know the smell of their hair , the feel of their soft skin, the silly faces they might make, the tender hugs with not so big arms thrown around my neck in loving embrace?

Since when...did the faces I am looking at...are now gone? Those faces full of life, friends of my parents, doing silly parties, wearing party hats, or silly outfits for an event...since when did seeing them, remembering them, make me sad?

Looking at photos always made me feel good. Always made me smile and laugh.

I remember that day. I remember that dinner. I remember that birthday party. I remember putting the swing set up with my parents at their home...I was nine months pregnant and round and heavy with child. I remember that day.

Am I really getting old? Has the passage of time slipped by in the wink of an eye?

We use to go to the parents for dinner, now they can't do those dinners we enjoyed so much. Now my mom can't drive and my Love's parents I don't want driving after dark.

We use to do more dinners together with the family, casual nights of playing croquet on the lawn on a warm summer evening. Being silly, cheating, laughing, being...just being together. Our kids, nieces, nephews, grown, some with family of their own, busy, away.

We use to play games like Trivial Pursuit which I really didn't like but played anyway. We use to play UNO which I did like and still do. We use to play Monopoly on vacations playing late into the night, well I did with the kids, my Love long in bed snoozing.

Vacations...ah vacations. The time to connect back with the family unit. No TV. Just us. Always asking who wants to come along, always getting a place that can hold a group. Some of the best times we have had was going to Tahoe when the kids were young. How I loved having the extended family along to hang out with. Sitting on the beach being as lazy as possible. Watching the kids and what they would do or come up with doing. Looking and listening for bears at night. Sitting in a hot tub if the place had one as we swatted mosquitoes, looking at the starry night. Hikes. Going down the Truckee River, splashing water, laughing, such times were had.

Transitions. I don't like that all my kids don't live near us. I miss the times together. I don't feel needed or thought of. It sounds selfish, I know. I just want to rekindle those good times we had. I just want to sit around and let what ever comes to our heads and talk. I want to make s'mores. I want what was to be. I want the memories to still be important and to create them.

Transitions. What happened? I know the family grew. So many more little ones now that the kids started having kids. How can every one fit in a single place anymore? How can everyone find the time? The economy has screwed too much up. Who has the money or time?

Time. I believe, and will always believe, you have to make the time for memories and good times to have a chance to happen.   You have to be available. No assumptions, no judgement, no predictions. You have to see the possibilities and potential. You have to let it happen.

Such crazy times I have been a part of from the first years of dating my Love and going to or having family events. Such memories we still can laugh at....

Crazy #1 :   Too cold and windy at the beach in Santa Cruz after we started our BBQ on the beach on a small BBQ grill...bright idea of Uncle Doc to bring the BBQ back to the family cabin (the old cabin) in the back of the truck. Yep. Getting on the road back to the cabin with a hot, HOT, BBQ in the bed and the sparks are flying with a bunch of us in the back with it (yep..before it was illegal to let people sit in the back of a open truck)...yep. BBQ is trying to slide around and how do you hold a hot BBQ?.

Crazy #2 : My niece and her friend on Lake Tahoe on a simple raft...floating too far away without a paddle. Yep. They had to be rescued by a friendly boat.

Crazy #3 : Finding ourselves lost in London while walking around. Found our way back to where we could get a Taxi.

Crazy #4 : Convincing my Love to don a wig, wear a grass hula skirt, and coconut top and perform for his mom's birthday. It was hysterical! Of course he has done this before so it wasn't too hard to get him to do.

Crazy #5 : Every Halloween Party where we dress up. R. and my Love making the Wizard come to life for the little ones. Yep. My Love dressing up again.

Maybe those memories aren't crazy but they were definitely memorable experiences that would never happen if we didn't get together.

I am feeling melancholy that R. has missed out on so many of those memories, not to mention my great nieces and nephews. I can't fully explain why.

I am determined to keep trying to present the opportunity for gatherings though. I am going to believe that there only needs to be a nudge in the right direction. I am going to believe that our family does want to have this still happen.

As the saying goes, "Friends may come and go but family is forever". I believe this....

Tahoe 1988 ~ w/ Sue and Joe in the meadow from Ellen F. on Vimeo.

The Bon Bon Club 1985 to 1987 ~ part 3

2011-06-08T17:14:00.000-07:00

   Linda's home was ground zero for Janice and I and frankly most kids seemed to feel the same way. Her home always had kids there. It was the one place that my baby M. would fall asleep at. I would sit in her rocking chair and within minutes M. would be sound asleep. I could be at home and she wouldn't want to take a nap period. I thought about it and decided it must be the type of rocking chair, one with a little creak, and vowed to find one as close to it as possible (I did!).

   It was at her house I got addicted to "International Cafe ~ Cafe Francais". From there on out I had to have a hot cup daily. Janice, Linda and I would be chatting it in the kitchen around her breakfast table and our kids would be upstairs in her daughters room or downstairs in her family room.

   Those girls were so creative. I think Lisa was the creative force of becoming the "director" of their put together dramatic plays they practiced doing. Even my little E. and Linda's little Julie, all of three years old, would be included in their big sisters and friends play. There were times I'm sure they would have liked them to go off and leave them alone but truly they were wonderful in all playing together.

   We would get an announcement that we were to come downstairs, to sit on the couch and there was to be a performance for us to watch. We dutifully would do as they asked, waited patiently, laughed a little as we waited and wondered what they would be doing and then their play would start. Oh, how cute they each were. How I wished I had made a home movie of those times. To sit there and watch them put their little hearts into this production just for their mommies to watch was such a gift.

K. on the left with her friend Julia

   I always knew when Linda was home by looking out my big picture window and seeing her car in the driveway. None of us had a useable garage to park a car in. Not to mention the single car driveways were very deep to the rear of the house. I didn't go over daily but my girls as soon as they were home from their respective schools always wanted to know who they could play with. "Mommy can I play with Julia?", "Mommy can I call Lisa?", mommy this and mommy that every day. I loved this after our previous dead neighborhood. I loved hearing them run in and out the front door, and run to the playroom downstairs at our house, the laughter, the fussing over a game or toy. My children were content and happy. I felt like we were living the life all parents dream of.

    I don't know where the Bon Bon Club came from but it became a common phrase that was said when the mommies gathered together. Our dear husbands couldn't imagine what we must do all day with our kids. It was a joke that we must sit around and eat bon bon's all day, never accomplish our wife duties on the home front. Ha! No, the Bon Bon Club was our reprieve, our reward for all we did do!

     Somehow it started that we should all go out to breakfast after our grade school kids had been sent off and whatever children that didn't have preschool would come along. Then other mommies would be included along with their kids. We would descend upon some nearby breakfast spot, take a back large table with other tables added to hold our group and we would just chat away to our hearts content. The little ones with us got their pancakes and were content to color or play with some toys we would bring and it was our escape for girlfriend time.

My Love and E. with our dogs Heidi and Tess ~ Linda's house across the street

      Sometimes we did lunch when those of us with kindergarteners became 1st graders. We all had late birds so they would eat at school. The Bon Bon Club would eat out with whoever could come and we would try different places in our town or the town nearby.

      Those were the years of get togethers for "Discovery Toys", "Jewelry Parties" and "Tupperware".   So many fun times for a good excuse to get out and just be girls. There were times we just went over to someones home and sat down to relax. Our kids were entertained and we had no worries. We were all happy and isn't that what makes a happy home to have a happy mom?

   The year when chicken pox invaded one home, we all decided to just let the kids play together and hopefully get chicken pox to get if over with. It worked at my house as all three girls within weeks either had come down with it or were just finishing the dreaded pox. At week three we were done. I suppose this wouldn't have been a good time for a new neighbor to have moved in with all the chicken pox going on and the kids outside playing together pox and all. What a sight.

     We only lived in the neighborhood for two blissful years. My Love had fixed our house up by remodeling the old kitchen into a fully functional new one with all the modern conveniences of dishwasher, disposal and a large gas cooktop. We took out the breakfast nook and made it into a bedroom for K. I tried to spruce up the front yard with flowers but I wasn't much of a gardener and tried hard to not kill them. My Love and I decided that it was the right time to move with K. ending 1st grade and before E. would be starting Kindergarten. We didn't like the public middle school or high school and couldn't afford to go private. There had been a few robberies at one of the local shopping centers in broad daylight and I already started driving to the nearby town to do my shopping.

Little M. in our 1965 Mustang, our dog Heidi and me out in front of our house.

At one of our Bon Bon Club get-togethers at a neighbors house I broke the news that we were putting our house up for sale and that we were moving. It was a hard thing to do because I loved where we lived. I only wish we could have picked up this neighborhood and moved it to where we wanted to move. I hated the thought of making my girls leave their wonderful friends but I knew that they would make new ones. I only hoped that the new neighborhood would be a little bit like what we would be leaving. I was determined to not lose my ties especially with Linda since our girls were so close. I didn't want to lose these wonderful women who I laughed with and shared mommy advice. What would I do without them?

Linda, Janice and I still get together, sometimes once a year sometimes twice for breakfast or lunch. After over 25 years our friendship has remained. Our kids are all grown up, though I do have one at home still. Linda is a grandmother and Janice's oldest son just got married. They both moved to the town we moved to over the years but only Janice lived sort of close to me, still not the same neighborhood, and Linda across town. It never seems like it was that long ago that we were young moms under the age of 30 with a bushel of kids to watch, a home to take care of, and car pools to take the kids to and from school. There are many stories we each could share and laugh about still fresh in our minds. We were lucky moms and wives to have the dearest of husbands who joked about our Bon Bon Club. Linda's husband Mike coming home from work to find a house full of kids and us wives sitting over a cup of coffee or tea, simply living in the happiest of times.

The Bon Bon Club 1985 to 1987 ~ part 2

2011-06-07T14:09:00.000-07:00

       How can I describe the comradery the women of this neighborhood had? Our neighborhood was a throw back to life on a "Ozzie and Harriet" or "Leave it to Beaver" sitcom. I fell into welcoming arms of women, like me, these stay at home moms, with two plus kids in our postage stamp size homes and yards.

     Within days of settling in our home our two daughters had friends. Girl friends, boy friends, friends younger and friends older, they all played together. The street was their street and we were outnumbered multiple times by all the children in that neighborhood. The first day of school soon would start and my daughter K. would have friends in Kindergarten. Every child on the street talked with the adults as though we were just an extension of children their own age. This was the first time that I was referred to as Mrs. F. and I have to say it made me feel a bit old, as well as it sounded odd and yet was very respectful.

This was a neighborhood where we could leave our doors unlocked during the day without any concern. Open to children who knocked on your door or called out through the screen door "Can K. and E. play?".   Little Aja and Praire, who lived two doors down didn't even bother to knock, they just walked in to see what we were up to. That day they walked into my bathroom while E. and I bathed in the tub together (much easier to bath a two year old together when your pregnant instead of leaning over a tub with a big belly) where I was surprised and shocked but they didn't skip a beat of chatting away to me. I thought in the future I might lock the bathroom door when I am in there instead of being caught off guard.

     The day our daughter M. was born was a school day and I managed to give birth before school was let out. The Indian summer day was so hot our french doors were wide open in an attempt to cool me down. I am sure amongst my new found friends that they were able to keep up with my labor progress by all the sounds I was making that drifted outside. By the time the kids had walked down the street past our house and begun playing outside, our new family of five was getting to know our new daughter with glasses of wine, apple juice, and cheese and crackers.

   With any neighborhood the children came up with their own stories of who lives in what house. Next door to us lived a widow who very rarely came outside. Even I began to wonder about her via the stories the kids would tell. She seemed to be in the "scary house" on our street even though the house was tidy and neat. The week after M. was born a lovely baby gift came and I met this very sweet lady for the first time. Thereafter my girls never thought of her in any other way but a sweet old lady and would wave to her and smile.

    On the other side of our house lived a family with one teenage daughter. They kept to themselves with their windows always covered. I am in question of homes with windows covered all day and night Reminds me a bit of "Boo Radley" in "To Kill a Mockingbird". My Love had met them and reported back to me that the husband was a photographer.   We didn't see or hear from them much but the wife had plastic surgery on her nose and she wouldn't come out till it was healed.   This seemed to go on for a long time so either she wasn't happy with the surgery or she was self conscious. We kind of felt they were oddballs only because they didn't seem to enjoy hanging outside like the rest of us but they were harmless. We even had their daughter babysit on occasion.

     Aja and Praire lived on the other side of the Photographer's one house up. They went to a private school and were the smartest two girls. They talked about such intelligent subjects and knew much more than I did. Or maybe it was just the way they spoke.

   Across the street lived Linda and her family. She had three kids, Kenny being the oldest, Lisa who was K.'s age and Julie who was E.'s age. They were a busy family with Kenney playing basketball and baseball. I can still be reminded of hearing his basketball bouncing to this day on their driveway. His friends would ride over on their bikes, tossing them on the lawn while they played outside. Their children all when to the Catholic school in town while K. went to the public school nearby.

     Around the corner lived a little boy Arin who was K.'s age. He was a sweet little guy and had a younger sister. His grandmother from Iran had come to live with the family and spoke not a word of English. She insisted on making them soup that at first they refused to eat but like all good children they started to enjoy the home cooked Persian food she made and voila, life with a Grandmother they had not known became quite normal. I know their mom was secretly delighted to have help on cooking and watching the kids as well.

      Up the street lived a boy near Kenny's age named Ross. He always wore shorts whether it was cold or hot. Quite the friendly guy who often would knock on the door and ask if he could take M. for a stroll in her stroller. We would let him as long as he stayed near our house.

   I had a girl friend Debbie, who was the opposite direction down our street who had been neighbors with us years before. I was really excited to be near her again though she seemed to have moved on with a different group of friends, and while she was nice she didn't seem to want to get chummy like the other moms. So though I did see her on occasion we never really renewed our friendship like I had hoped. Sometimes that just happens.

   Another family with two boys lived a few homes up from Debbie. I had meet her through Debbie once, but saw more of her through the new girl friends I met. Theier block of kids seemed to stick more to themselves than come up our way or our kids go their way. Kids seem to have their own set of unspoken rules and I wonder if that was one of them.

     Janice who I had met at the garage sale we had, lived on the street directly behind Linda. They shared a gate that could be opened to go back and forth and often I wish I could live on their side of the street and have a pass through gate too. Janice had a daughter Julia that was K.'s age and two boys Michael and Matthew who were younger. K. and her Julia loved to play Barbies at our house and Julia seemed to really like our dogs Tess and Heidi.

    A couple of houses down from Janice lived Paula. She had a daughter Becky who was K.'s age and twin daughter's that were older than our daughter E.   Becky had the longest, most amazing blonde hair that came easily past her tush. I wondered how long it took to wash and dry and how hard it was to comb out. I was a wishing my hair could grow that long as my style was a longer version of Princess Diana.

     There were only five ways into our neighborhood of four streets that ran parallel with each other and four short side streets. It wasn't a large neighborhood which is why it was ideal for families. We were close to a shopping center that had a grocery store, a bakery, a donut shop, and beauty salon which was important for us moms. At the end of the street there at first was a meat market that turned into a produce market that was a real treat in comparison to the grocery store. I could take our little red wagon and go farther to the local garden center.

     Once my busy days of taking care of a newborn, and taking E. to preschool two mornings a week, and getting K. to and from Kindergarten I was at last able to get to know the neighbor women and find that to my hearts relief, I had many I could talk to for advice and support than I had ever had before.

     With that the beginning of the Bon Bon Club for me began.....

The Bon Bon Club 1985 to 1987 ~ part 1

2011-06-05T14:30:00.000-07:00

     My body was swollen with child when we moved into the house on Bridge Road. I was almost seven months pregnant and useless when it came to moving unless you call pointing to where a box was to be put.   My ankles were swollen and if I laughed I potentially would pee in my pants. I cried easily and often before, during and after our move and wondered what kind of personality my unborn child would have with such an emotional mommy.

   We had bought this wreck of a house that needed much work, just the type of house my Love and I could buy to fix up and eventually sell with a profit. I however, was wanting a home and was willing to settle for this sad house knowing that my Love would make it a place that would become a home. Because a house is just a place that you can see in any neighborhood but a home is where we can nest and fall in love all over again.

   When we brought the families over to see our new home I saw the look on my mom's face that fell like a souffle. My father believed in my husband and his family always believed in him knowing his construction abilities. Of course my mom was already bothered with me for being pregnant with my third child. I had upset the "apple cart" by having one more child. How would three fit into her Mercedes Coupe, I projected of her thoughts.

   The house was tri-leveled, old and neglected. I believe the previous owner had died and I hoped that he or she did not die in the house owing to my belief in the supernatural. Upstairs in the future nursery and our master bedroom were wide cracks starting from the middle corners of some of the walls reaching towards the ceiling. Our bedroom had french doors with a faux balcony and his and her walk in closets. The kitchen had no disposal let alone a dishwasher with dingy painted cabinets, but on the bright side it was large and had a breakfast nook. The living room had a charming fireplace that at last I could place Arleen and Clark's andirons they had given to us several years before. There was a bonus room on the lower part that would be perfect as a playroom for our daughters multitude of toys. The backyard was tiny but the swing set my Love had built would fit.

   Prior to our moving in we painted, scoured and scrapped wallpaper, and did deep cleaning of the bathrooms and kitchen, leaving our two girls at their Grandma's home since it was close by. It was especially appreciated of her always having a hot meal for my Love and I when we were done working. My Love had rented a steamer for us to attempt to get the horrendous wallpaper off the walls. Yes, there I was on a step stool, holding the steamer plugged into the wall with an extension cord while it emited hot humid steam, with my huge belly having Braxton Hicks contractions and trying to be as careful as I could not to fall.   I was mad at the former owner for putting this paper on only to find another layer underneath. Some days I would go alone and I would cry in this house while I went up and down, over and over to attempt to peel off the wall paper, wondering if this was the best we could have found for us to live in. I was overwhelmed by a move while this far into my pregnancy and feeling bereft of my mom and her attentions.

   I don't know what the neighbors must have thought of our comings and goings. We took our time fixing and cleaning and the day of our move felt like a tornado had dropped our belongings there. Since I couldn't pack like I would have the organization of what were in boxes was not done. My brother by marriage and father by marriage assisted with the move and toys were throw into boxes like we were running out of town on a fast escape. Once again I sat on the floor crying in our new home, trying to find the doll that my little E. wanted and was afraid didn't get moved. Moving is hard on children who just want to see their belongings and feel secure. I prayed my dishes didn't get broken with every box that was dumped on the floor.

   To welcome ourselves to the neighborhood my Love and I had a garage sale. What better way for the neighbors to get to know us than by seeing what we were getting rid of! My Love and I sat on our camping folding chairs while kids rode by on their bikes, back and forth, their curiosity finally driving them down our deep driveway to check us out. And really, that is how we all got to know each other. It was the kids who met us first, followed by my first new neighbor girlfriend- to- be Janice. She had three kids, one our oldest daughters age and two boys. And with that our house became a home.

Gifts from the box

2011-06-03T16:05:00.000-07:00

Those cleaned hankies and my Nan's nurse's cap...yes, I said I was able to get all the spots off. I did, but some have come back...oh well. I am just as happy to have them at all.

To you my Nan....just because. I love you.


B is for "Bebe" my Nan's nick name

Hearts for someone who was so full of love

Dainty....

G is for "Gilmer" her married name

Nan's Hankies and Nurse's Cap

2011-06-01T06:28:00.000-07:00

The boxes are emptied, the photos in piles. I've gone through the newspapers and clipped what I felt I would keep and tossed the rest. My dining room table is still in a disarray but what a treasure hunt!

That box that said "Bebe" on the side, the one that had the oddest collection of my Grandmother's, my Nan's belongings is the one I hoped to find and I did. It didn't contain all that I wanted but I found the photo I was looking for in another box and that put a smile on my face and heart. My Nan in her nurse's uniform. You see my Nan was a public nurse. I had heard she would go to folk's homes to tend to them when they were ill, driving her car to where they lived. All by herself with no doctor, on quiet country roads. Perhaps she even did a bit of midwifery for the country ladies. Later she worked in hospitals as a Surgical Nurse. I would love to have heard her stories of those times. I think she tended folks too poor to see a doctor as a Public Nurse. My Nan had such a good bedside manner. I never really minded being sick as she would bring me my meals on an aluminum tray as I was propped up in my bed with pillows. She took my temperature and kept me comfortable with all the love a Grandmother could give as well.

     What I didn't expect to find was her Nurse's cap. Still stiff with heavy starch. It was spotted with a rusty color all over it and smelled of that musty odor that my nose wrinkled up too. My Nan's cap. Those were the days of the white cap, white uniform dress, white hose and white shoes. She was a registered nurse that was given much respect by her peers. She had years of experience.

     I took that cap and brushed it with my special mix of hydrogen peroxide mixed with powdered Oxy Clean to make a thin paste. I let it sit all day and then soaked it all night in a bowl of cold water and Woolite.   The next day nary a spot was in sight. My Nan's cap pure white. Tomorrow I will press it stiff just as she would have. She would have put in on her head with hair pins to hold it in place for her hours of work.

     I found a pile of hankies, equally spotted and stained. I did the same with them as the cap. No spots to mar them. Each different and dainty.   I can't say that I saw her use them all the time but I know she used tissue that she would tuck in the sleeve of her sweater to dab her nose. I wonder if I gave her one of these hankies that I have in the pile?   The one with tiny red hearts around the edge? The one with little flowers of blue?   Just the kind of gift a little Granddaughter would give her Grandmother.

     That box contained an old bra, a girdle, two pair of hose, two slips with one of white and one black, and a pair of her glasses in a gold cardboard box with a pink paper flower on top. Why my mom saved her under garments I do not know and I never will. My daughters were intrigued by these relics.

     As I attempted to make order in my dining room by separating the stuff I had trashed into recycle and garbage boxes, I came upon some wad of paper stuck to the bottom.   I don't know what made me try to get this out but I did.   It was unrecognizable of what it was, a foot long and a smashed roll of stiff paper with some rot on the bottom that was black. Not good. I tried to open it without success as I could see that it was more than just one paper. I don't really know why I even kept trying but I gently rolled it between my palms and low and behold a seam opened. I was able to unroll it and what I found was my Grandmother's Nursing credentials. Two of them from 1925 from the school she went to in Tennessee!   How did they wind up so smashed up?   Why weren't they in a frame or rolled in a tube? All those years buried at the bottom of a rotting box and I just happened to give that box one more look before I took it out to the garbage.

     I don't know why I have become the custodian of the family treasures. I do think I was destined for this though. I am the keeper. The older I become the more protective I become of what was "special" long ago. I don't know what will become of what I so eagerly try to archive but I will take all the care in the world to help it find a safe spot of honor while I breath in this world.

A family in mourning

2011-05-25T17:04:00.000-07:00

She left her home on Monday with a bright red sweatshirt on, riding her bike and went to school. She didn't stay but got on a Bart train heading to San Francisco. A photo of her exiting the station shows her with her bike, wearing earphones for an iPod. The last image of a beautiful young woman.

What happened to Allison? What triggered her to leave with the intent to end her life? I am torn up inside with the questions. She was 15 years young the same age as my son. She felt she had no friends is what my son heard. They went to different high schools in our town, he didn't know her. My son tells me this as we drive home from school today.

I want to hug my son but I am driving the car in the crazy school traffic outside the campus. I tell him what he already knows, that he can talk to his dad and I anytime about anything. That we love him so very much. That he is loved by all his family.

Allison left a trail. I want to believe she wanted to be found and did not want to end her life, for why ever else would she have done this? On her computer it showed directions from the Dublin Bart station to the Golden Gate Bridge. Her bike was found, locked, in the Presidio area in San Francisco near the Golden Gate Bridge. She left a suicide note at home and was considered "at risk". Was she "at risk" before or because of the note?

They know she went onto that bridge because they have found footage of this on the two cameras at either end of the bridge. She never walked off.

So now her family waits for the discovery of her body. The pain they all must be feeling. The pain Allison must have felt to plan her last day, her last moments.

I have never been so sad or depressed to feel that I can not live in this world any longer. I can't know that pain. I only know that I wish that she could have been helped to know she was loved. That she had a full life ahead of her. She was in sports and will be missed by her teammates. She will never get to go to Junior Prom or the Senior Ball. She will never graduate from High School or go to college. Never travel, never explore. She will never find the love of a soul mate or have children of her own to love.

I hope that in the sweet hereafter Allison is being held in loving arms. Surrounded by those who will let her know how loved she is. I hope that her family are surrounded by loving arms as well because their deepest pain has only just begun.

Today started off rainy and grey and they gave way to blue skies and puffy clouds flying by. The green leaves on the trees dancing and swaying in the gusty wind. How can life be so beautiful but not beautiful enough? Oh Allison I am holding you in my arms and wanting to sooth your troubled brow. I want to rock you and let you know life is more than precious. It is more than words can say.

Clearing the head

2011-05-25T12:47:00.000-07:00

My doggies and I had a lovely gentle hike yesterday. Blue skies with a gentle breeze. There is nothing like a walk in nature to clear ones head! Just some photos so share and a short video of what we saw.

The birds were singing, the once green grass is slowing drying out into the golden brown grass of a California summer. We saw a lot of cows. Young ones I would say, all lazy and not eating the grass that is so bountiful. Maybe they have had there fill for that time of day.

Annie and Stewie doing the "doggie pant". Oh do they love a walkie!

Me too needing some sun on my pale winter skin. I love where I live!

Walking with the poochies from Ellen F. on Vimeo.

Goodbye but never farewell....

2011-05-16T14:42:00.000-07:00

I have no words only images. Cherished moments held as close as possible, never will they leave my eyes, memory or heart...

Love you Arleen and Clark

For dear Arleen and Clark... from Ellen F. on Vimeo.

Mmmmm comfort food...

2011-05-14T07:29:00.000-07:00

Comfort food....oh today I need comfort food. I have no idea why curry gives me comfort. I am not Indian or Thai yet the aroma of curry and coconut has this way of making me feel hugged. I love to wake up the next morning still with the aroma of these two scents in my home.

I am sharing a wonderful soup that spells comfort out so well. C-o-m-f-o-r-t...try it and tell me if you feel the same way.....

Curried Carrot Coconut Soup

2 T butter
1 small onion (I like a sweet one)
2 garlic cloves, pressed or minced
4 tsp curry powder or paste
1 tsp kosher salt, (not table salt!)
2 lb. organic carrots, chopped
4 C good chicken broth
2 cans (15 oz each) coconut milk
1/2 C plain yogurt, homemade preferably

1. Melt butter in a large soup pot over medium high heat. Cook onion, garlic, curry powder, and salt until fragrant, stirring often, about 2 minutes. Add carrots and broth and cook, covered, until very tender, about 12 minutes.

2. Puree soup until very smooth, using a blender and working in batches. Stir in coconut milk and heat until hot. Serve in bowls of soup with a dollop of the yogurt on top.

Breathe in the lovely smell of curry and coconut and r-e-l-a-x.......