Debz Talkin

This Lil’ Vegan had Me Some Crabs!

2010-11-29T21:09:00.001-08:00

It’s been just over a year since I switched to the vegan lifestyle. I’ve surprised myself by becoming very devoted to a very new way of nourishing my body. Even over the recent Thanksgiving holiday I managed to eat vegan about 95% of the time – even while away from home.

However.

Sometimes a big ol’ exception has got to be made, and tonight’s dinner was one of those times.

Michael, his cousin Rafael, and two of his friends, Kyle and Chris, went crabbing today. Around mid-morning I got a text message from Michael:

“Be advised we have 50 crabs. Pound and a half each or so. Be hungry!”

No way was I missing out on THAT meal!

Clockwise from Michael (in the back), Kyle, Mike, Rafael, and Chris. We had to expand our table to hold all the bowls of crabs, bowls of melted butter, bowls for the shells, bowls of coleslaw and mixed vegetables, and a plate of cornbread.

By the time the crabs (and the guys) arrived here the crabs had been cooked, cracked, and cleaned – awesome!!! Some we simply ate cold, others we warmed by steaming them or baking them in the oven.

Since we’d had warning that the crabs would be arriving, Mike had time to make a big bowl of coleslaw, and I made a pan of cornbread when I got home from work. With cocktail sauce, tartar sauce, melted butter, and lemon slices, we were all set for a feast.

Photo proof that I ate crabs! Yeah, that’s a big ol’ pair of pliers next to me. We are not equipped at our house with shellfish pliers so we made do with what we could find. They worked great and the big roll of paper towels was also heavily used!

I have not had crab this good since visiting New Orleans a couple of years ago. In fact - dare I say it - but these California Dungeness crabs were BETTER! Now I know why many people in this area serve up these crustaceans instead of turkey on Thanksgiving Day.

We all put away a LOT of crab and yet we still had at least three bowls like this green one full of leftovers.

I have a feeling I’m going to be an omnivore for a while . . .

Super-Downsizing!

2010-10-17T18:34:00.001-07:00

Not sure we’re quite ready for THIS yet, but it’s something that fascinates me. Tiny homes! Tumbleweed Tiny houses, to be precise. Mike and I toured this one in Sebastopol, CA., last weekend. It’s even on wheels in case you need to move! Jay Shafer owns Tumbleweed Tiny homes and this little beauty is his personal residence. He’s lived in it for about 6 years now.This is the second time I’ve seen this particular little house, but Mike’s first. He was pretty amazed at the size. Two comfy chairs in the living room with an eensy pellet stove in between. Across from them, on the other side of the room is a built-in desk just big enough for a laptop and writing surface, where Jay does all his work and runs his business.

Every inch of space is used: built-in shelves hold office supplies and kitchenware.

A ladder, which can be tucked away when not needed, is the only way up to the sleeping loft. Lovely! The tiny, two-burner stove (probably propane). The crock hold Jay’s water for cooking & dishwashing. Gravity-operated ;-)More storage just outside the tiny bathroom which has a shower and a composting-style toilet. Sorry, no photo.

For better photos visit the Tumbleweed Tiny House Company’s website. You can also check out all of Jay’s other designs. My fave is the Epu. I’m trying to talk Mike into helping me build one of these little beauties in our backyard.

Wouldn’t that be fun?

Keepin’ it Real – in Cubicle-World

2010-10-04T20:51:00.001-07:00

Back by popular demand, this post was originally published on:

Monday, July 19, 2010

Keepin’ it Real – in Cubicle-World

I’ve been feeling a little guilty about my last post. True, I still believe that cubicle-world sucks. And I’d rather not have a day job but, at the same time, I am incredibly lucky to have it, in this economy, when so many people are out of work, and have been for weeks, months, or a year or more. THAT sucks!

And now that I’ve complained and whined about the stuff I don’t like at my new job, let me tell you about some of the stuff I DO like about my new job.

The people. As a group they are great. Very nice – the biggest wig will say hello to you in the hall, and make sure they introduce themselves to new employees. I haven’t seen it yet, but I hear the OWNER of the company shows up from time to time and treats everyone the same – because we are all important.

I know! You hear about that kind of attitude, but you rarely see it. I was skeptical at first until I put that in context with some of the things that have happened in the three short months that I’ve been there.

For example, on the 3rd of July an email came out from Human Resources telling everyone to go home after they’d worked just 6 hours instead of 8. And that the entire next week, following the Monday off, would all be casual days – jeans and tennies! (And if you work in corporate America you know how we worker bees LOVE casual days!)

Then there’s the walking club. The owner and the Big Wigs (and I use that term affectionately ‘cuz so far I haven’t met one I don’t like and who has not treated me with kindness and respect) are all very concerned about their employees’ health and fitness. We have a walking club, anyone can join, we walk as a group (for safety, mainly) on Mondays and Fridays. You keep track of how many times you walk and when you’ve got 20 walks you get a $25 gift card (I forget to where but am sure it’s somewhere cool) OR when you’ve got 40 walks you GET A DAY OFF!!!

A day off! That’s why I don’t know where the gift card is good for - because I’m so focused on getting that extra day off! WOOT!

The company also put on an awesome Health Fair this summer where we got free cholesterol screenings, body fat checks, blood pressure readings, and lots of swag from local businesses like a direct-to-you produce company, Weight Watchers, Jamba Juice, and so on. And there are on-site Weight Watchers meetings for anyone who wants to join that group. Yep, they meet right in our conference room twice a month – how convenient!

Also, there are giveaways. On my first day I was given, in a reusable tote bag made from recycled materials (because the company is making every attempt possible to be “green”), a Paula Deen signature skillet. It’s very cool.

Twice since then I’ve won stuff – cookware, of course, since that’s what we do at this particular company, manufacture and sell cookware. I won some Rachael Ray products in a raffle (yep, we make her stuff, too) and then, at a tailgate party in our parking lot (where the executives did all the cooking, and they even had veggie-burgers!) I won more stuff. Within a year or so I figure I’ll completely replace all the old stuff in my kitchen with brand new stuff!

Oh, and I guess some higher-ranking person or another is a big A’s fan because during baseball season there are free tickets every other day for every reason you can think of and sometimes for no reason at all. AND, get this: if you win tickets and it’s an afternoon game? You get the afternoon off.

You read that right.

You get the afternoon off to go to the baseball game. PAID time off. AND a free parking pass.

Dang!

Birthdays are special. Cubicles are decorated with balloons and streamers so everyone in the building can go by and extend birthday greetings, special coffee is brought in for the birthday “kid,” maybe a gift or special bakery treat, and always a card.

New babies are HUGE. Even the male employees get baby showers (whether they like it or not) with duck-shaped cakes and gifts. Employees who move on to jobs at other companies are sent off in style and wished well and – missed.

So, in spite of my initial complaining and the feeling-sorry-for-myself attitude, I’m quite happy at my new job. If I have to work - and until Mike and I are old enough to collect our Social Security, and until Obama has issued us our “free health care” cards, I do have to work - well, I’m glad I work there.

Oh, and I have pictures in my cubicle now. :-)

Cubicle World Sucks, Comrades!

2010-10-04T20:47:00.001-07:00

Back, by popular demand, this post was originally published on:

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

“Cubicle-World Sucks, Comrades”

I couldn’t very well say that while I was smugly self-employed because, well, it just seemed cruel, not to mention just plain mean.

But now that I’ve re-joined the ranks of the employed, and am again spending my days in a cubicle like so many of you, I’m just gonna come right out and say it:

“Cubicle-world sucks, Comrades!”

Not only do I occupy a cubicle again but someone besides me now controls every hour of my workday. No more lunch in the garden with my cats. No more tossing a load of laundry into the washer anytime I want, and then taking a blissful 20 minutes to hang it on the line, outside, where the sun shines and the birds are singing.

No more sitting on the patio in the mid-afternoon to watch the bees coming and going, enjoying their busy humming. No more naps on the daybed in the front bedroom sharing the sun spot with two cats.

Now I sit sit in a 4 foot by 4 foot square with 3.25 walls, two work surfaces, a shelf and a cabinet surrounded by metal and plastic and industrial-strength carpeting, everything in shades of brown, grey, or black.

I’m still new there so don’t know all the little idiosyncracies of the company yet, but I have already noticed the lack of decoration in the halls separating our little cubies. Seems there’s some kind of managerial decree against posters, flyers, or anything else. The hard outer walls are quite plain, too; not even a clock to be seen. The lack of clocks forced me to bring in a tiny clock of my own because I stopped wearing a watch years ago, and I refuse to start again. I depend on my Groupwise calendar to remind me of meetings, and I use my little clock to let me know when it’s time to go to lunch, or home.

Employees ARE encouraged to decorate – a bit – in their own cubies, with family photos and a trip souvenir or two. I have noticed a few cubicles that are quite crowded with its occupant’s personal treasures but those same people have mentioned that they’ve been called “packrat” or told that their cubicles are “messy.” Yet they keep everything anyway.

I like that bit of rebellion.

So far I have not taken in anything personal except a tote bag that my mom got for me on her recent trip to visit my sister in Australia. It’s bright greens and purples and has a kangaroo on it. I keep my walking shoes and socks in it and hang it from my coathook.

It’s the one bright spot in my little cubie. So far. I do plan to eventually take in some photos. Really. Every morning as I’m getting ready to go to work I think about quickly printing out some photos to take in and display but then I leave without doing it.

I’m just not reconciled to cubicle-world.

Not yet anyway.

Tracking Charisma

2010-08-17T22:06:00.001-07:00

SV Charisma’s “position” in the Pacific Ocean as of 8/17/10
{courtesy of http://www.pangolin.co.nz}

As many of you know my husband is currently at sea. Literally. He is crewing onboard the sailing vessel Charisma, owned by our friends, Alan and Kristen.

We met Alan and Kristen when we participated in the 2007 Baja Ha-Ha, a boat race from San Francisco to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. After the race was over Mike and I turned our sailboat, Mirage, northward, and made our way back home. Alan and Kristen continued on south.

Now, nearly three years later, they are finally coming home for good. Can you imagine the places they’ve seen? Three years cruising and living aboard! I’d be totally jealous if I thought I could live aboard that long myself, without going crazy, or longing for land, or missing my cats and my garden. In my imagination I’d love to do it. But in reality? Not so sure.

At any rate, I saw on Facebook that Alan and Kristen had arrived in Hawaii, their last stop before making the three-week-or-so blue-water sail from there back home to California (they live in Napa). And, because Kristen had had enough sailing, thank you, and preferred to fly home rather than make that long overseas crossing, Alan was looking for crew.

Knowing this kind of long crossing is something Mike has always wanted to do, I figured this was his chance, and suggested to him that he “sign on.” So he did. He flew to Hawaii and now he’s at sea with Alan and another friend, Scott.

I get brief emails almost every day via a satellite link-up (Alan’s boat has way more fancy gadgets than our Mirage ever did!) plus I can see their position via Pangolin at this link: http://www.pangolin.co.nz/yotreps/tracker.php?ident=ki6hui. Each of the little “balloons” in the photo is where the boat was when the position was taken and uploaded to Pangolin. You can also see their latitude and longitude in the larger white balloon, if you are into that kind of thing.

It’s been fun watching their progress!

At the moment their estimated date of arrival is August 24. That’s earlier than the 28th, which is what Mike was predicting last week. With sailing, you just never know. A sailor is at the mercy of the wind, waves, and weather (or lack thereof).

Kristen called on Sunday evening and said there would be a party when the guys arrive in Napa, and that she’d keep me posted on what day and time it would happen.

Since it looks like it will be a weekday, I emailed Mike and hinted that it would be really cool if they arrived after 4:30 p.m. so that I could be there (I get off work at 3:30).

His reply: “

”I'll be sure that the skipper waits till 4:30, just for you.”

He’s good like that.

One Small Step for a Man – Memories of Me Monday

2010-06-07T17:58:00.001-07:00

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “Where were you and what were you doing the day the first man landed on the moon?”

I looked up the date – that was July 20, 1969. So I’d have been 12 years old, living in Redondo Beach, California. That’s plenty old enough to remember watching this history-making event on t.v.

But I don’t.

Maybe I wasn’t very interested, or it just didn’t make an impact on me at that age. {It wouldn’t be until MUCH later in my adult life that I would develop the desire to travel into outer space – in fact, it’s on my List of Things To Do in My Life.}

There’s no doubt that my dad and my brothers would have had the television tuned to CBS for the entire 27 hours that Walter Cronkite covered the mission. In fact, that may be why I don’t really remember it. Since all other television watching had been pre-empted, I probably simply wandered off.

On the other hand, I DO remember where I was and what I was doing on August 9, 1974, when Nixon resigned the presidency.

I was in Sundance Canyon in Utah, enjoying an end-of-the-semester picnic with the instructors and students of the Medical Laboratory Workshop I’d attended at BYU that summer.

We listened to Nixon’s speech on the bus radio, and I actually remember wondering if I’d always remember that moment.

FOR NEXT WEEK: “What do you think brings good or bad luck?”

God Bless America

2010-05-31T19:29:00.001-07:00

And Happy Memorial Day!

I made this quilt a few years back. I love it, and display it year-round.

Because we’ve just been gone for two weeks, Mike and I had no desire to go anywhere this weekend. So, instead, we spent the three day weekend watching movies - “John Adams,” “Ben-Hur,” and “Napolean Dynamite”- cooking up all the delicious produce we got at the Vallejo Farmer’s Market on Saturday, reading, surfing the net, and gardening.

Speaking of gardening, here’s an update on my little Square Foot Gardens. Eensy broccoli heads are forming:

The Swiss Chard is ready to eat! As is the kale and a head of red lettuce:

And the corn is really starting to shoot up:

I also did some baking today. The weather has cooled a bit from the heat of yesterday which just made me want to bake. I found a big can of pumpkin in the pantry so, even though it’s summer and not fall, I chose to make a couple of decidedly fall-like treats: pumpkin bread (with cranberries) and pumpkin pie (sans crust because crust is just too much trouble and Mike doesn’t care if there’s a crust or not).

Here’s the bread, just about done:

Oh, and even though I’m vegan now, I used some of these today:

Sometimes you just gotta have a treat.

Hope your weekend was a much fun as mine!

Sky High – Memories of Me Monday

2010-05-31T16:47:00.001-07:00

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER “What is the most exciting place you have ever been? What made it exciting?”

The Empire State Building! My family visited there while on a cross-country motor-home trip in 1972. I was 15. This is a great photo for those of you who have never seen (or don’t remember) me with long hair!

It was pretty exciting being that high above New York City.

Unfortunately for my two little sisters, Denise and Lisa, my mom wouldn’t let them anywhere near the “edge!” She was too afraid they’d somehow fall.

But the rest of us sure enjoyed the view!

FOR NEXT WEEK: “Where were you and what were you doing the day the first man landed on the moon?”

Memories of Me Monday is on Vacation

2010-05-10T22:28:00.001-07:00

Heading off to the Grand Canyon for 12 days of rafting the Colorado River, and making some brand-new memories!

Memories of Me Mondays will resume when we return at the end of May.

Meanwhile, how about sharing some of YOUR childhood stories??

Groovy, Man! Memories of Me Monday

2010-05-03T21:38:00.001-07:00

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “Describe a favorite outfit.”

Ha ha ha ha ha ha! My mom will know the answer to this before I even write it.

The Pants!

My parents and siblings remember The Pants that I got when I was around 12 or so and wore, and wore, and wore, and wore!

I LOVED them.

Here they are:

Have you EVER seen a pair of pants as groovy as these?? No Way! Bright and bold colors (even back then I was very patriotic), a totally happening & MOD design and, natch (‘cuz this was the 60’s), Bell-Bottoms!

I’m pretty sure these first three photos are all from the same day, a family picnic on a holiday like the 4th of July, or Memorial Day, but believe me when I say that I wore those pants every chance I got. And always with that white polo shirt, bobby sox and my Ked’s tennies.

In the above photo, left to right, are the five of us: Denise, Mike, Steve, Lisa, and me in the back. Below: me, Mike with Denise, and Steve sprawled on the ground.

Here’s a photo of a trip to the beach (is that a flour sifter in my hand?) and I’m wearing The Pants. Of course!

In my defense with regard to how often I wore The Pants, take another look at the photos; Denise is wearing the same outfit so it seems she had a favorite, too, with or without the sailor hat! However, my pants were FAR groovier!

I’m tellin’ ya, they were so boss, they’d probably still be in style today.

I totally wish I still had them.

FOR NEXT WEEK: 2 “What is the most exciting place you have ever been? What made it exciting?”

Don’t Tell Me What To Do – Memories of Me Monday

2010-04-26T21:12:00.001-07:00

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “Talk about an embarrassing experience from high school.”

It’s my blog and my rules so I’m going to take liberties with this one and write about an embarrassing experience from elementary school. For one thing, it’s too hard to come up with just one embarrassing experience from high school (or junior high, for that matter!) and, for another thing, there’s a particular incident that happened during second grade that I’ve never forgotten.

At that time I was attending Hermosa View Elementary School in Hermosa Beach, California. Reading was one of my favorite subjects and, as I’ve mentioned before, I loved the school library.

One day, early in the school year, my teacher announced that the library was having a contest. It was a drawing contest. Each contestant was to draw and color a picture to “celebrate our school library.” It could be any scene we wanted as long as it had something to do with libraries, books, or reading.

The winner’s drawing would hang in the library all year.

Well, I loved to draw, too. I loved art in nearly any form; drawing, painting, clay, fabric, paper, whatever the medium, I enjoyed any creative process.

So I was excited about the contest. I thought I had a good chance of winning. I fancied myself a great artist (fueled, no doubt, by the parental encouragement I received at home) and I couldn’t wait to show off my skills. I could already visualize my drawing, with my name on it, hanging in the library for all to see.

That afternoon, during free time, as I was gathering up the supplies I would need to draw my picture, the teacher made another announcement about the contest.

It was not optional, she told the class, every student was to draw a picture whether or not they wanted to enter it in the contest.

I froze.

Ok, now this will sound crazy to anyone but me, and I don’t pretend that I had the slightest inkling of why I reacted the way I did at the time, but I’ve learned in the many (many!) years since, that this is just the way I am.

Now that the contest was an assignment, I totally lost my motivation -POOF! - just like that.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to draw a picture anymore. Not if I had to draw one. Not if everyone in the class had to draw one, and not just those who were interested in art and books, like I was. The contest lost all its lustre when it became a chore instead of a way to celebrate some of my favorite things.

I’m just rebellious that way.

I squirmed and struggled and fought against what was now, to me, an unpleasant task but finally, knowing I had to do it, I started to draw.

But I no longer cared if I won the contest. In fact, I didn’t even want to win anymore. I decided to draw such a bad picture that it would be sure NOT to win.

With a brown crayon I dashed off three lines the length of the paper. Shelves. Then with several different colors, I quickly drew some very haphazard-looking books on the shelves, and colored them in. With a pencil I drew some squiggles on the spines of the so-called books, not even bothering to write legible titles.

Done. I wrote my name at the bottom and turned in my paper.

Are you remembering that I started out to write about an embarrassing experience?

Well, here’s that part:

ALL the pictures were hung in the library!

Yep, not just the winner, but ALL the pictures. Including mine, that horrible, scrawling mess that looked like it could have been drawn by my baby sister, Denise, who was still in diapers at that time.

Worst of all? My picture was just below and to the right of the winner, which drew everyone’s attention because it was so nicely done, so no one missed mine either! With my name on it.

Like I said, I’ve never forgotten that incident, and probably never will! I’m still rebellious – the harder someone tries to convince me to do something the harder I dig in my heels – but I did learn a very valuable lesson that to this day I follow:

If you’re going to do something at all, do it the best you can!

FOR NEXT WEEK: “Describe a favorite outfit.”

Update on our Outdoor Projects

2010-04-25T22:41:00.001-07:00

BEEKEEPING:

We’ve got four beehives now! One day when Mike and I were both at work the beekeeper left a message on my cell phone that he was going to go to our house to “check on the bees.”

Well, when we got home we found he had not only checked on the bees in the first two hives, but left two more hives! We now have two white, one yellow, and one blue beehive, as you can see in the below photo: Here’s a closer look at the two newest hives: In this next photo are the original two hives, now with an addition. The box on top, with the lid partially open, we believe is what’s called a “super.” It is provided to give the bees more room to store their honey. At the moment we have lots of flowers in our garden for the bees. Here is a Pride of Madera plant in the cat’s garden – a honeybee favorite! We dug this up, as a tiny plant, on Angel Island a few years ago. Now it’s attempting to take over the entire garden!California poppies in our front yard:GARDENING:

Our Square Foot gardens are doing great! In the back you can see the corn, peas and beans coming up. On the right side second square from the back are turnips. Other squares in that row are broccoli or peppers. The front two rows are radishes, spinach, brussels sprouts, and lettuces.Spinach:A radish, peeking through, ready to eat! Young swiss chard: A variety of lettuces, with kale behind them:It’s going to be a great salad season!

How’s YOUR garden doing?

The Principal is Your Pal – Memories of Me Monday

2010-04-19T19:45:00.001-07:00

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “Do you have one particular experience about school that sticks out in your mind, above all others? Describe it.”

Oh, yeah. Sure do.

Spring 1970. Sixth grade. Franklin Elementary School in Redondo Beach, California. My best friends, Judy Rich and Jill Brunson, and I were on the playground after lunch.

We were way at the very back of the blacktop area, jumping rope, or just chatting, or some such thing. Minding our own business, definitely.

Two boys from our class approached us. I wish I could remember exactly who but I don’t. Anyway, they ran up to us and started calling us names. Why? Who knows! It’s just what boys did.

We were three against two, and Jill was always brazenly brave, much more so than either Judy or me, so we began insulting them back.

That just made them mad and one of them kicked me in the stomach, hard. The kick would have been bad enough. Even worse is that his foot got caught in the waistband of my skirt, which was a wraparound style fastened with a single button at the waist and an oversized silver pin about halfway between waist and hem.

Neither button nor pin held up against the boy yanking his foot back.

My skirt dropped to the ground.

I screamed, horrified.

Judy screamed, too, equally horrified. Jill shouted and ran at the boy, fists flailing.

I grabbed up my skirt and held it around me. My face burned with embarrassment.

A playground attendant ran over to see what the ruckus was all about. She grabbed the boys each by an arm as they tried to take off in the other direction. The five of us were sent directly to the principal’s office.

But wait. Here’s the really memorable part.

In Mr. Cleminger’s office we sat girl-boy-girl-boy-girl and got treated to one of his lengthy scoldings complete with his jabbing finger in our faces and his scowls and his pacing back and forth in front of us and his laying on thick the guilt, humiliation, and remorse, and especially the “what-would-your-parents-think???”

Finally, he wound down and went behind his enormous desk to reign from his straight-backed wooden chair.

“Well?” he asked us. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

Silence.

Someone squirmed and their chair squeaked. A foot moved along the dusty floor and created a sound like a quiet sigh. A car honked somewhere outside.

The huge wall clock ticked.

Mr. Cleminger glared at each of us, one at a time. I was last. When his piercing blue eyes bore into mine I could no longer hear anything but the blood pounding in my head.

The clock ticked again. Someone swallowed loudly; it may have been me.

The very next instant, as one, all five of us kids burst out laughing.

We laughed and laughed and laughed; the kind of laughter that forces you wrap your arms around your middle because your belly hurts so much, the kind of laughter that makes the muscles in your face spasm and jump uncontrollably, the kind of laughter that won’t stop until tears are rolling down your cheeks and you’re gasping and choking and hiccupping.

As we finally wound down, and were wiping our faces and noses, Mr. Cleminger sat in his chair, his face totally impassive, and said, “I don’t see anything to laugh about.”

And totally set us off again!

FOR NEXT WEEK: “Talk about an embarrassing experience from high school.”

Beekeeping for Dummies

2010-04-19T11:11:00.001-07:00

We’ve got a new project at our house, or should I say, yard? Beekeeping! Here is a photo of our very first two hives: They are located in the “Cat Garden” which, as many of you already know, is fenced off with special prison-yard-like fencing to keep our cats from roaming the neighborhood; it also keeps them safe from cars and other animals. The same fencing will protect these hives from such predators as raccoons who, apparently, love to eat bees and will raid a hive if they find one.
It’s also fairly well sheltered from the infamous Benicia breeze and the large birch tree will provide shade in the hot summer months. We took these photos the day after the hives were installed. They are owned by a beekeeper by the name of Roccus (not sure of the spelling, and you pronounce it with a rolled R sound – he is from Lithuania). Roccus will do all the work necessary to take care of the hives as well as collect the honey, while we simply provide a location for them. Roccus has also offered to teach us as much as we want to learn about beekeeping. When Roccus brought the hives in the back of his truck they were just empty boxes. The bees were in separate wired containers. Once the hives were in place, using a smoker to calm them, Roccus simply dumped the bees into the hive, added the queen, and then placed the lid on top. I got to manage the smoker which I pointed mainly at the little slit at the bottom of the boxes.
It was late in the day so the temp was cool, which causes the bees to slow down, and the smoker was doing its job, so Mike and I didn’t worry about not having a “bee suit” and Roccus, though he was wearing the suit, didn’t put on the netted helmet part of it. Roccus got stung a couple of times but he did have his bare hands on the cages and hives, and he hardly seemed to notice the stings. Mike and I didn’t get stung at all. We just moved slowly and if a bee landed on us we simply waited for it to fly off on its own or gave it a very, very light nudge. It’s surprising how unscary it was to be in the midst of a big crowd of flying bees but we could tell they were pretty calm so we stayed calm, too!
The queen bee and the thousands of worker bees were recently purchased via mail-order and don’t know each other yet. So the queen bee was in a tiny wire cage with a “candy” plug at one end. Over the next few days she will eat her way out of the cage. During that time she and the bees will become familiar with each other’s scent and they’ll all be willing to set up housekeeping together.
Already, the bees are busily learning their way around our yard and the surrounding neighborhood, searching out the best nectar and water sources.
I don’t mind admitting we’re pretty fascinated with them! I love to stand out there near the hives and listen to the humming, and watch the bees flying in and out. I also had to run right over to the library and check out a couple of books on basic beekeeping so that we can learn all about what’s going on inside those hives!The cats were interested, at first, in the new addition to their garden (that’s Scout, in the photo above), but it wasn’t long before they were just ignoring the hives and their occupants.
If all goes well we will get two more hives in the next couple of weeks. Roccus has promised us 6 pounds of honey per year from each hive, in return for providing the space for them.
Seems to me we’re getting the better end of that deal!

Say “Uncle!” (Memories of Me Monday)

2010-04-14T11:05:00.001-07:00

{Uncle Jerry Lutes and me; March 1995; CSU Fullerton}

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “Talk about your favorite uncle.”

Ok, I hate it when I’m expected to choose one, out of a group of things or people, as my “favorite.” Who can pick their favorite from a basketful of adorable kittens? Each one has its little quirks and personality and one might have a crooked tail, or one especially cute ears or coloring. They’re all favorites, just for different reasons.

That’s how I’ve always felt about my uncles. I have two on my Mom’s side of the family, and three on my dad’s. I’d love to talk about each one of them (and eventually will) but for this post I’m going to write about the one I was closest to while I was growing up; my Uncle Jerry Lutes.

Uncle Jerry, or Fritz, as many people called him (though not us kids; we always called him Uncle Jerry) came into our lives when I was around 10 or so. He began dating my mom’s youngest sister, Bonnie, who at that time was in her 20’s and had recently graduated from BYU. (It’s weird to think how close in age Bonnie and I actually are – we’re probably only about 10 or 12 years apart!)

I first remember meeting Jerry Lutes at a family picnic. It may have been on the 4th of July around 1967. We were all at the park with Grandma Ware and Bonnie brought Jerry as her date. I liked him immediately. He was very friendly, and very playful. He played ball with us, and wrestled with us, and paid attention to each one of us kids in a very kind way. I liked that because often grown-ups ignored kids once the introductions were done, or said annoying things like “My, aren’t those freckles cute?” or asked pat questions like “What grade are you in, and do you like your teacher?” Like they were even interested in the answers!

And Uncle Jerry always treated me with respect, like a young lady, not a kid. I loved him for that, for sure!

So anyway, Bonnie and Jerry dated for quite some time. Then, as the story was told to me by my dad (who loves romance in all forms and told this story with great relish), Jerry asked Bonnie to marry him.

Bonnie was just not sure.

She asked for some time to think about it. A lot of time went by. Jerry got tired of waiting and moved somewhere far away (I think maybe Utah to attend BYU?).

Bonnie realized how much she missed him and wrote him a letter:

“I miss you. I love you. Marry me.”

I’m tellin’ ya, I remember this word for word. I thought it was SO romantic! Hey, I was at that age, remember? Ten or so? Give me a break!

Jerry came back and he and Bonnie got married. They lived in Utah for a time, then returned to California with their first baby, Stephanie. I sometimes babysat Stephanie which was always fun, she was a cute baby, and very happy and easy to take care of.

Over the years Jerry and Bonnie had 8 (yes, eight) more children, my cousins Jeremy, Erin, Elizabeth, Joshua, Emily, Ashleigh, Andrew, and Heather (not necessarily in birth order). With my other cousins in the Bisk family - Brian, Stacy, and Laurel - we had great fun gathering at my Gram Ware’s house for Easter Egg hunts, Christmas Eve parties, and Thanksgiving dinner, just to name a few.

Uncle Jerry was always there, and often in the thick of things with us kids. Like my dad, he was young-at-heart and joined in the games with as much enthusiasm as the youngest children. If Gram Ware organized us into baseball teams Jerry was the loudest cheering from the sidelines, or he’d coach third base where he’d urge us to steal home whether or not it was a good idea!

One of the things I loved about Uncle Jerry was his artistic abilities. I loved drawing, painting, and other types of art myself, and admired anyone with talent in those areas. And he had talent. He drew portraits, designed many of his kid’s birth announcements, and painted a series of lighthouses for a collection he called “Fingers of Light” for his Master of Arts exhibit at UC Fullerton (see photo at top of this post).

And, get this? For some years he worked at Disneyland! First, he did caricatures of people – how fun is that? And then! He worked in Gepetto’s Toy Shop on Disneyland’s Main Street where he drew Mickey Mouse and other Disney characters. These original drawings were then shrunk down to fit inside the face of a watch and sold in the store. Can you imagine? Truly, you couldn’t get any cooler.

{Uncle Jerry at work in Gepetto’s Toy Shop – Disneyland}

I just wish I’d had a chance to buy one of those watches. Not too long after he started that job Uncle Jerry died suddenly and very unexpectedly. It was a huge shock to us all.

My life is richer for having had him in it. I still miss him very much.

FOR NEXT WEEK: “Do you have one particular experience about school that sticks out in your mind, above all others? Describe it.”

The Tom-Boy and The Princess

2010-04-08T10:58:00.001-07:00

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “Were you responsible for any household chores? What were they? Which did you enjoy the most? Which did you hate the most?”

I’ve always thought I started helping with the dishes when I was around eight or nine years old. My mom says no, I never did dishes that young. So maybe my memories of standing on a kitchen chair with my hands in a sink full of soapy water are not of times I was washing dishes, but just of times when I was playing at washing dishes.

By the time I was in junior high, though, I KNOW I washed dishes, and often. I didn’t mind too much, and I still don’t mind washing dishes. I didn’t like the clearing up part; the moving of dirty dishes from the table to the sink, putting away bottles of salad dressing and the salt and pepper, and wiping down the table. But I’ve always kind of enjoyed washing dishes by hand.

When my family moved to Woodland Hills in early 1973 for the first time we had an automatic dishwasher. It’s a story in Hansen family lore now of the first time I ever used the dishwasher. My mom wasn’t home and I was babysitting. I had also been told to clean up the kitchen and wash the dishes. Well, I naively squirted liquid dishwashing soap into the dishwasher’s soap receptacle and turned it on.

A half hour later I came back to find the entire kitchen floor 6 inches deep in sudsy water!

As a teen I did a lot of babysitting of my three younger siblings. Steve was no problem; he was a laid-back easy-going little boy who played quietly with his trucks or building set or watched t.v., or just dug in the dirt:

Denise and Lisa? Whew, different story!

Denise and Lisa were close in age, only around 15 months apart, but they couldn’t have been more different in personality.

Denise was a tom-boy: and Lisa a little princess:Those two didn’t agree on anything, fought about everything, and always chose any occasion when I was babysitting to have a knock-down, hair-pulling, screaming-banshee battle.

Sometimes I wished they’d just kill each other and be done with it!

I have to admit, babysitting those two was probably my most hated chore!

A close second would be vacuuming. Not sure why I didn’t like to vacuum. It was just so boring pushing that heavy vacuum cleaner around on the carpet, including the difficult stairs, and sometimes my mom would find spots that I’d missed. I still hate to vacuum! I do enjoy the result of vacuuming, the clean carpet, but I heartily dislike the actual task.

Chores that I enjoyed, believe it or not, were the ones that took place outside. I enjoyed yard work. I loved to mow the lawn, and weed, and wash cars. I was jealous of my brothers because they were usually the ones called upon to do the outdoor tasks while I was mainly relegated to the inside chores, in the traditional male/female roles of those days.

But sometimes, on a Saturday, the whole family would team up to attack the lawn and weeds, clean out the garage, or wash the family cars. I especially enjoyed washing my dad’s fancy lime-green Mangusta: Whenever I needed extra money I’d ask my dad if I could wash and wax that car and he would always give me $5 for the job.

FOR NEXT WEEK: “Talk about your favorite uncle.”

From the Memory Jogger Jar

2010-04-04T21:28:00.001-07:00

Wow, last Monday when I wrote the “Memories of Me” post I totally forgot to draw a new slip of paper from the Memory Jogger Jar!

So here it is now, for tomorrow:

“Were you responsible for any household chores? What were they? Which did you enjoy the most? Which did you hate the most?”

Read my response tomorrow!

Happily Lost in the Stacks – Memories of Me Monday

2010-03-29T12:54:00.001-07:00

{Redondo Beach Main Library}

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “Describe how you feel about libraries and talk about some of your experiences surrounding them.”

I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t love libraries. I learned to read at an early age, influenced by my parents and my big brother, Mike. My dad especially read a lot; I have many memories of him reading a book at the breakfast table, or on Sundays in between Sunday School and Sacrament meetings.

I was read to as a child, every day and, even after I learned to read on my own I often sidled quietly into my little sisters’ bedroom to listen while my mom or dad read them a bedtime story.

Somewhere along the line I discovered libraries; most likely my mom took us kids to the neighborhood library when I was small. I was in awe that there could be an entire building devoted just to books! Shelf upon shelf of books, and I wanted to read them all.

In elementary school my favorite days was library day. The entire class trooped down the hall to spend an hour or so inside a special room set aside to hold what seemed like a million books. And we could choose any of them that we wanted to borrow, and we could actually take them home for awhile. I have a specific memory of discovering “Caddie Woodlawn” and “The Wheel on the School” at the Franklin Elementary School library.

In the fifth grade I was chosen to be a library helper. I got to straighten the books on the shelves, making sure they were aligned perfectly with the edge of the shelf, and that they were in the right order. This is when I learned about the Dewey Decimal System. The following year I learned to use the card catalog and yet another world opened up to me. I could choose any topic I was interested in and look it up in the card catalog and find all the books in the little school library on that topic, or all the books written by a specific author.

I also discovered the Encyclopedia Brittanica and made the goal to read every book in the set from cover to cover. (No, I didn’t accomplish that goal, though I held onto all the way through high school!)

During the fifth and sixth grades, at Franklin Elementary School, we also had a visit, I believe it was every other week or so, from the Bookmobile. It would park on the street next to our playground and we were allowed to go out the gate and up the steps into the library on wheels. There, we had the choice of even more books, books that were not available in our small school library. I remember clear as a bell one day in the bookmobile, coming across a book called “Brighty of the Grand Canyon” and it was also in there that I discovered and fell in love with “Misty of Chincoteague” and went on to read every book I could find by Marguerite Henry.

My best friend, Judy, loved libraries as much as I did, and in her family reading was as important and loved an activity as it was in my own home. Sometimes I was invited along when Judy’s entire family piled into the car, on a Saturday afternoon, and headed to the large main branch of the Redondo Beach library system. It was located near the beach, on Pacific Coast Highway, and it was such an adventure to go there. It was huge, especially in comparison to our little neighborhood branch library or the school library. I felt I could get (and stay!) happily lost among the ceiling-high stacks for days and not be lonely or bored.

I still feel that way when I go to a large library but I must admit, I love the little libraries the best, the more snug and personal the better.

As long as there are plenty of books.

Smitten with Kittens

2010-03-26T13:51:00.001-07:00

The foster kittens are growing fast. These photos were taken last Thursday and I can see a huge difference between the way the kittens look then, and they way they look now, just over a week later.
One of the most noticeable things is their ears. When they are born, kittens’ ears are folded forward, and flat against their heads. The ears gradually stand up more and more. In these pictures the ears are about halfway up. This morning I noticed the ears are all now straight up! (I’ll post more recent photos very soon so you can see the difference!)
They are also walking around a lot more, and a lot less shakily. Sometimes I see two or three in a very unsteady wrestling match. It’s pretty funny. They haven’t started chasing things, like a ball or piece of string, but I expect it won’t be long.
Yesterday Mike and I moved them into a large mesh-style cage loaned to me by a friend. They have a lot more room in there and, when they aren’t napping, will be able to watch what’s going on around them.
They absolutely charm everyone who sees them. My friend, Susan, brought her daughter, Jenny, and granddaughter, Maggie, to see the kittens. Maggie was especially enchanted!

She was very gentle when we let her touch the kitties, almost like she was in total awe of them.

Kitty, kitty!

They are nursing very well now, even the brown-striped kitten (center of photo, above), who was the slowest to catch on. Kinda strange since she’s always been the biggest of the bunch and the very smallest kitten, the little calico, was the first to catch on to the bottle.

Ozzie

Isabel

Mindy

Of course, they are still spending most of their time SLEEPING!
Awwwww!
{Thanks to Susan & Jenny for these great photos!}

He was once a Little Green Ball of Clay – Memories of Me Monday

2010-03-23T15:59:00.001-07:00

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “What do you think of television? Describe a few of the shows you have liked or disliked, and why.”

The earliest t.v. shows I can remember watching were The Mickey Mouse Club (of which my brother, Mikie, and I were both card-carrying members), and Howdy Doody (“Say kids, what time is it?” “It’s Howdy-Doody Time!”).

Yikes, that was in the late 50’s! Makes me wonder whether I truly remember watching them, or were just told about it. I’d have been less than three years old.

Here are some of my fave shows during my growing up years, in no particular order:

The Wonderful World of Disney
Dark Shadows
The Flintstones
The Jetsons
GumbyI Love Lucy
Bonanza
Mannix
Mr. Ed
My Three Sons
The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriett
Father Knows Best
Alfred Hitchcock Presents
Dragnet
Leave it to Beaver
Lassie
The Twilight Zone
The Brady Bunch
The Red Skelton Show

I know there were many more, but I don’t want this post to be simply a list of t.v. shows from the 50’s, 60’, and 70’s. There are lots of websites where you can find a list like that; click here for just one of them.

I have special memories of some of these shows, though. For example, The Flintstones.

The Flintstones came on shortly after I got home from school in the 5th and 6th grades. We kids would watch it while we had our after-school snack, usually home-baked chocolate chip cookies and milk. Often my mom, who sewed most of what we three girls wore, would be in her sewing room (which was really just a tiny corner of the laundry room) just off the den where our t.v. was. Whenever she pressed the foot pedal to run her machine it interfered with the t.v. signal and the picture would get staticky. Before we could even groan she’d call out to us, “I’m almost finished!”

Funny, the things you remember!

Then there was Dark Shadows. This soap-opera type show about vampires came on at 4:00 p.m. when I was in junior high school, and the memory of watching it is linked to the memory of my mom in the kitchen getting dinner ready. It was a double happiness kinda thing; I loved the show ( it was dark and moody and romantic and what jr. high school girl doesn’t like that?), and while watching it I also had a yummy homecooked meals to look forward to.

The Wonderful World of Disney was a family favorite for years and years. We all gathered around the t.v. every Sunday evening to watch this show, hosted by Walt Disney himself, and which featured documentaries, cartoons, and educational shorts, all original programming from the Disney studios. It was a much looked forward to hour of family time, a great show, and a last weekend pleasure before a new school and work week began.

Finally, although I’m currently focusing my Memories of Me posts only on my childhood years I can’t resist including this last little anecdote which occurred only around 10 years or so ago.

My sisters, Denise and Lisa, and I went to San Francisco to see The Phantom of the Opera at the Orpheum Theatre. We had a fantastic time and, on our way back on BART, for some reason that I can’t now remember (maybe we were talking about the t.v. shows we’d watched as kids??) we burst out in song:

“He was once a little green ball of clay. . . GUMBY!

You should see what Gumby can do today . . . GUMBY!

He can walk into any book, with his pony pal Pokey, too,

If you’ve got a heart, then Gumby’s a part of you . . . . GUMBY!”

Then we collapsed in laughter while all around us other passengers grinned and smiled.

Isn’t it great how the theme songs from favorite childhood t.v. shows stay with you for the rest of your life??

FOR NEXT WEEK: “Describe how you feel about libraries and talk about some of your experiences surrounding them.”

Is Your Life in Balance?

2010-03-19T13:46:00.001-07:00

Orphaned kittens, five of them around 2-3 weeks of age, are consuming my life right now.

Interestingly, it reminds me of having a newborn in the house.

It’s very similar; there’s the mixing of formula four to five times a day, the bottle feedings (including the 3 a.m. shift), “diaper” detail, endless loads of laundry (towels and blankets used as bedding and for keeping the kittens clean), the snuggling, the kissing of sweet little heads, the not being able to plan any significant time away from the house, and the working all my other activities around the little ones’ schedule.

And completely postponing some of my other, less important activities.

It has occurred to me that the balanced life I’ve worked so hard to create for myself has, well, slipped out of balance.

But I’m ok with that.

In looking back over the years of my life I’ve realized that a “balanced life” doesn’t mean that every day is balanced; instead it means that over the course of my lifetime the overall net result is balance between time spent doing what we must, and time spent doing what we want.

Perhaps that’s why we talk about working to achieve a balanced LIFE instead of a balanced DAY.

In a few weeks I’ll re-devote many of my days to job-hunting. I’ll also spend some entire days just creating digital scrapbook products and layouts, gardening, or trying new vegan recipes.

But for right now, I’m all about kittens.

~ Deb

Job Hunters: Please Absolute your Bacon Requirements

2010-03-16T09:47:00.001-07:00

Holy unemployed, Batman!!! Why do I have the feeling Chinese scammers using an automated (and poorly performing) language translater are now targeting the desperate job-seeker? Check out the following job posting on craigslist:

***

Opes Advisors, Inc., an apart endemic Mortgage Banking and Investment Administration close is currently gluttonous a abounding time Receptionist for their Palo Alto accumulated office.

Job Responsibilities:
* Greet clients
* Answer admission calls and absolute appropriately
* Assist in accident planning/preparation
* Clerical abutment for Investment Administration Division
* Provide aback up authoritative abutment to President's Executive Assistant
* Report to President's Executive Assistant

Job Qualifications
* Superior accounting and exact advice skills
* Knowledge of MS Word, Outlook and Excel a must. Powerpoint a plus
* Ability to multi assignment in a active ambiance with little supervision
* Project oriented
* Prior acquaintance in appointment administration a audible plus
* Excellent chase through is a must

*** This position will activate as acting with the absorbed to catechumen the acknowledged and advantageous applicant to a abiding employee.
By allotment Opes Advisors, Inc. you are allotment to be allotment of a aggregation apprenticed by arete and committed to success! Also included in this agitative befalling is a aggressive bacon and allowances package. Please absolute all resumes and bacon requirements to: resumes@opesadvisors.com or fax: 650-319-1610.

***

Um, I’m really not interested in becoming an “allotment to be allotment of a aggregation apprenticed by arete and committed to success!” What’s “arete” anyway or, for that matter, “catechumen??” I will admit that the “aggressive bacon and allowances package” sounds great!

Is this kind of job posting just a LITTLE discouraging?

Nah. I have no intention of looking for a job on craigslist, of all places, craigslist being one of the premium websites for scammers to hone their skills. This posting came up in a Google Alert that I have set up and I looked at it just out of curiosity. And I did get a rollicking laugh out of it!!

Job-hunting is harder than ever these days. Even setting aside the impact of the current high unemployment numbers (aka lots of competition), the fact that most of it is done over the internet with very little feedback from potential employers (seldom even a “we received your resume” auto-reply (what’s up with that?), just equals a very lonely task.

It’s discouragingly clear that it’s totally an employer’s market.

How I miss the days when you could simply walk into a company, freshly printed resume in hand, and ask to see the hiring manager!

When Air Travel was FUN – Memories of Me Monday

2010-03-15T12:49:00.001-07:00

{approx. 1966; me, Mike, Denise, Steve and Lisa at LAX}

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “What is your favorite form of travel (plane, car, etc.)? Describe one vivid memory of a car trip you’ve had, and one vivid memory of a plane trip.”

Airplane travel was a Big Deal when I was a child. It was expensive, a luxury that most families couldn’t afford, and people dressed up to fly. In the photo above I am about 9 years old. I have always thought that we 5 kids (in our Sunday best, notice) were at the airport waiting for my dad to return from a trip, but my mom recently told me that, no, we were waiting to board the plane ourselves; we were returning to Minnesota after a trip to California to visit my grandmother.

I don’t remember any of that which is amazing; you’d think I’d remember my first airplane trip!

I do, however, remember my second. I had gone to Washington state to visit my best friend from 5th grade, Teri Fiscus. Teri’s family moved there the summer between 5th and 6th grades. I think I was about 12 when my own family, on our way back from a trip (to Canada?), dropped me off there to spend a month with Teri’s family. At the end of the visit Teri and her parents took me to Seattle where I saw the Space Needle and boarded an airplane for home – ALONE.

All by myself at 12 years of age!

That’s what makes the trip so memorable. I felt very grown-up, yet at the same time a bit terrified. I wasn’t afraid of flying – I’m not sure I had enough smarts to even realize that airplanes sometimes crash. I was only nervous because it was all so new, and strange, and exciting.

After I first boarded I sunk down into my seat, put on my seatbelt and gripped the armrests tightly. Then I realized that other people would notice and know that I was scared, and new at this flying stuff. So I relaxed, sat up straight, crossed my feet neatly at the ankles and took out a book. I think I may have even put my nose up in the air, just slightly, as I impersonated a worldly young girl who, oh, goodness, travels all the time by air!

I loved every minute of that flight, from the stewardesses in their matching outfits (dresses and heels and hair swept up), to the compartmentalized (metal!) lunch tray that held a breaded chicken breast, a ball of mashed potatoes and gravy, mixed vegetables and a square of yellow cake with chocolate frosting. The grandmotherly type lady in the seat next to me gave me her cake and I ate it, too!

I’m pretty sure I only flew on an airplane four times while I was growing up. The third and fourth times were the summer between my junior and senior years of high school. I flew to Utah and back.

{I’m at the top of the stairs, just behind the guy in the grey suit; Salt Lake City airport – amazing – we boarded from the tarmac!}

While there I spent about two weeks attending a medical laboratory class at BYU. It was a blast. I stayed in the dorms, learned about how to type blood, run tests on urine (we used our own), and made a lot of new friends. At the end of the course we travelled by bus to Sundance Canyon where we had a picnic and listened to the bus radio as Richard Nixon resigned the presidency. It was 1974.

FOR NEXT WEEK: “What do you think of television? Describe a few of the shows you have liked or disliked, and why.”

A Toy Story Birthday

2010-03-10T12:23:00.001-08:00

Last Saturday was my great-nephew, Ryan’s, second birthday. His mom, Heather, threw him a “Toy Story” themed party. The cake was awesome, and Heather made it herself. Here is a close-up of it (before the candles were added). How cute are Buzz Lightyear and Woody laying on the pillows??

Apparently, Ryan was totally primed for some gift-unwrapping action that day because when my mom and dad and I got there we were the first guests to arrive and when we put down the gifts we’d brought, Ryan ran right over and began to tear into them! Ha ha!! We decided to let him open one (mine) and it turned out really cool because I got to see him open it and even get a few photos before the house filled with people, kids, confusion and dozens of brightly-wrapped gifts.

Great-grandma Hansen helping Ryan get the truck out of the box:

A little help from great-grandpa to figure out where all the pieces go:

Heather had a nachos bar; popular with both adults and kids:

There were cupcakes in addition to the Toy Story cake: Sucker treats as a party favor for the kiddies:AND, a full beverage “bar!” Mother Nature didn’t cooperate and the party, which was planned to be held in the backyard had to be moved indoors. Still, the kids had fun with face-painting in the bedroom, clay at the child-size picnic table, a fabric tube to crawl through:and lots of riding toys. It was bumper-car heaven {except for the adults whose toes were at great risk}!

Ryan got lots of gifts:

and lots of attention from some of his favorite people . . .

Grandma and great-Grandma Hansen:

Auntie Megan and Great-Grandma Hansen:

Great-auntie Debbie, and Great-Grandpa Hansen:

Auntie KiKi:

Auntie Jessica:

And a whole houseful of other family and friends!

Everyone had a great time. Well done, Heather! {Um, your grandma and I were wondering, though, how are you gonna top that next year??? LOL!}

Happy Birthday, Ryan!

Check, Please! Memories of Me Monday

2010-03-08T21:38:00.001-08:00

Today’s Memory Jogger: “Where do you like to eat out, and what do you order?”

Growing up in a family with 5 kids and a stay-at-home mom we didn’t eat out much. In fact, I really can’t remember a single time we all went to a sit-down type restaurant together until I was in my mid-teens and then my mom, shocked at the unexpectedly high San Francisco prices (we were on a trip and passed through the city), whispered to us kids, “Don’t you dare order anything!”Last weekend, when I mentioned to my mom that I remembered going to a neighborhood A & W Root Beer drive-through for root beer floats she said, “You must have been with your dad.” My dad loves root beer floats!

During the years we lived in Minnesota we sometimes went to Dairy Queen for dilly bars – a disk of vanilla ice cream on a stick, dipped in chocolate and adorned with a cute little curly-cue on one side. And, of course, there was McDonald’s, every kid’s dream dinner. In 1968, when I was 11, a hamburger at McDonald’s cost 18 cents! Even in the mid-70’s you could still get a hamburger, fries, and a Coke for less than a dollar. Sounds great until you take into consideration that minimum wage then was $1.60!One of my FAVORITE restaurants in my early teen years was Bob’s Big Boy:My best friend, Judy, and I were obsessed with going to Bob’s Big Boy – on our own. We were probably 12 or so when we began doing this. We’d save up our money and when we had enough we’d go there for lunch on a Saturday. We always had the Big Boy Combo; Big Boy hamburger (huge, with cheese), fries (tons, dripping with catsup and sparkling with salt), and a chocolate shake (which arrived in a stainless steel . It was heaven!

(I can’t remember for sure but it seems our combos cost us each around $3.99. I think! Do you remember, Judy? I’m pretty sure we waited until we each had $4.00 so that we’d have enough to also cover tax and tip.)

As much as we loved the food, I think what we enjoyed even more was how grown up we felt, dining a a restaurant unaccompanied by adults. We loved being waited on, giving our orders, having the food delivered piping hot and creamy cold, we even loved leaving the tip. That grown-up feeling lasted for hours afterwards, too.

It was so worth the 16 hours of babysitting at 25 cents an hour!

FOR NEXT WEEK: “What is your favorite form of travel (plane, car, etc.)? Describe one vivid memory of a car trip you’ve had, and one vivid memory of a plane trip.”

Snow Days – Memories of Me Monday

2010-03-01T20:39:00.001-08:00

{February 1966 – Hopkins, MN}

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “Did it snow where you lived as a child? What kinds of things did you do in the snow?”

I grew up in southern California so, no, it didn’t snow there. However, as I’ve mentioned before, my family spent two years in Minnesota where it most definitely DID snow.

In fact, the snow is the very reason that those two years stand out so sharply in my mind. And the tornadoes. We didn’t have either one in our California beach city!

. In the photo, from left to right, Steve, Mike, Denise, and me. I was nine. That’s our house in the background. You can just make out two very dirty cars in the garage (from driving in the snow) and I think that might be baby Lisa peeking out of the living room window.

We kids loved playing in the snow. We loved “snow days” even more, when the schools were closed and, if it snowed hard enough, so were many companies. Sometimes my dad got to stay home, too!

We did all the usual snowy things; built snowmen, dug snow forts (although that was discouraged due to the danger of cave-ins), rode disks and sleds down the back hill, I seem to remember ice skating on a pond but I may have either dreamed that, or made it up! My brother, Mike, did a little skiing, mainly down our back hill. And of course we had snowball fights! I don’t remember ever doing any shoveling to clear the walks or driveway; Mike might have, but it was probably mainly my dad.

My dad also made us a toboggan out of a long narrow piece of plywood curved up in the front and, much to my mom’s dismay, he’d pile all of us kids on it, climb on himself, and off we’d go down the hill with no way to steer. It was AWESOME!!! {Thx, Dad!}

There was a pond across the street from our house that always froze over in the winter. This is where I think we may have ice skated. I know for sure we ran across the ice and slid around on it in our boots. I also remember standing at the edge of it when it was newly frozen over, with my little brother, Steve. I told him to try walking on the ice and see if it would hold his weight. “If it’ll hold you, it’ll hold me,” I told him, “because I’m bigger.”

I’ve always had a talent for backwards logic.

FOR NEXT WEEK: “Where do you like to eat out, and what do you order?”

In Which I Join the Great Unwashed

2010-02-26T16:18:00.001-08:00

Ok, so it’s confession time regarding where I’ve been this week, and why there’s no “Memories of Me Monday” post, or any other post for that matter.

I am job-hunting.

‘Nuff said?

Yes, I’ve had to make the difficult and depressing decision to go back to work.

And I do mean difficult and depressing. I was in a total funk for several days (ask Mike, if you don’t believe me). I didn’t want to do anything, go anywhere, cook, clean, exercise, or even eat. In short, I was pathetic.

I guess I felt like a failure.

Finally, I realized that bigger companies than mine have “fallen” in this economy. And there are a lot of people who have NO income right now, and no savings to fall back on.

At least we have some savings, and Mike is working right now, and we have already put away the funds we will need for retirement, so we just need to earn enough money to pay our living expenses (and the “extra” that I need for all the trips I want to take).

So, on Monday I put on my big girl panties (as my mom and sisters would say), pulled myself up by my bootstraps, and started looking for a job.

I got a haircut. I got out my interview suits and tried them on, and they FIT again thanks to my vegan lifestyle! I polished up my shoes and my resume. I set up Google alerts for jobs in my town, and nearby. I started networking.

I’m in the swing of the job hunt now.

This doesn’t mean I’m totally folding up my business (which, if you don’t already know about it, you can read about at my Webajeb blog) – no, I will continue to design products, and do some custom-designed layouts and albums but, because business is so slow and my employer (me) doesn’t offer health insurance coverage, and the premiums for our individual policies will be going up yet again, and I want to have money to travel, I have joined the huge throng of job-hunters, also known as The Great Unwashed.

But, man, it’s tough out there!

I attended a job fair, the Solano County HirEvent, in Suisun City on Tuesday. It was PACKED with job-hunters but with fewer than a dozen companies and probably only the same number of actual open positions. That’s scary. Channel 7 News was there and I watched as the news reporter spoke into the camera, reporting that the jobless rate in Solano County is 11.9 percent. Yikes.

I’ve got a tough road ahead of me. Wish me luck!

Would you like a Donut with those Ants? Memories of Me Monday

2010-02-15T22:08:00.001-08:00

{photo from flickr, by kaszeta}

TODAY’S MEMORY JOGGER: “"Which of the following would you characterize as your taste: sour-crunchy, sweet-sugar, or sugar-fats?"

Hm! That’s a tough question . . . because I think I’ve been ALL of those at some point in my life {and for most of my life I’ve been all of them all the time} but, because I’m still focusing these posts on my growing up years, and because I have very limited time this evening to get this post written, I’m simply going to mention a very (and I mean VERY) funny thing that happened when I was about 12 or 13 years old.

There was a chocolate donut involved.

When my family lived in Redondo Beach, in the late 60’s and early 70’s, I had my own bedroom (a benefit of having been born smack in between two brothers). My bedroom was the smallest, because I was the only of the five kids who didn’t have to share with a sibling. It was located at the front of our house, just inside our front door. In fact, my louvered window opened onto our front porch (handy for sneaking out late at night, but that’s another story). The only disadvantage was that my room also held the door that lead from inside our house into the garage, so to go into the garage without having to go outside and open the big double garage doors, everyone passed through my room.

Most of the time it was no big deal. My mom and dad always knocked first, and I know they tried to minimize the number of times they came through out of respect to my privacy. Sometimes summer Saturdays were a pain, if the younger kids were home, because they’d be constantly running in and out from the garage and their bikes, to the kitchen to get snacks or to the den to watch t.v., and dragging half the kids in our neighborhood with them.

Still, it wasn’t that big a deal, and they never bothered any of my stuff.

My brother, Mike, however, was another story. He had sticky fingers.

For money, for school supplies if he happened to need a notebook or pencil, for notes from my friends which he loved to read and then tease me about, but most of all – for anything sweet.

Candy bars, gum, licorice, Hostess fruit pies, anything with sugar, had to be hidden or the next time he strolled through my room to the garage to get his bike? Gone.

One evening I had in my possession a chocolate donut with chocolate frosting and liberally sprinkled with chopped peanuts. My all-time favorite donut then, and still my favorite. I remember deciding to save the donut to eat the next morning and placing it carefully on a small plate on my nightstand.

Early the next morning, just as it was getting light, I was awakened by my door opening and swinging silently inward. Someone came into the room. It was Mike. He walked quietly past my bed and though slitted eyelids I watched him stretch out his hand to open the garage door.

His hand stopped mid-reach. In the dim light he’d spotted that donut.

Before I could say anything or stop him, he’d grabbed it up and taken a huge bite. More than half my donut disappeared, just like that.

Then he let out yell. Threw the remaining donut back onto the nightstand. Spit out what was in his mouth. Slammed out through the door.

I sat up. What the heck?

I switched on my bedside lamp and began to laugh.

The donut was a seething mass of black ants.

In the darkness they had been impossible to see.

I got a lot of mileage out of that incident! Finally, something to hold over my brother’s head, to throw back at him whenever he teased me, something that sent me into endless bouts of hysterical laughter every time I told the story, or even thought about it.

Still does.

I lost far fewer sweets after that.

{hysterical laughter}

FOR NEXT WEEK: “Did it snow where you lived as a child? What kinds of things did you do in the snow?”

Always a Good Time When Bryce & Bradley Visit

2010-02-13T21:11:00.000-08:00

Cousin Laurel had a lunch date last Friday so I she let me keep her boys for a few hours. Bryce was at school, so Bradley came over on his own first. We had pizza for lunch and then Brad made a sock puppet.

When it was time for Bryce to get out of school Brad and I walked over to meet him. Well, I walked and Brad rode in the stroller! Brad helped me figure out which gate Bryce would come out of. When we finally saw Bryce he had on a backpack almost as big as he is!

When we got home Bryce made a sock puppet, too.

They put on a cute puppet show just for me. Then. . .

they discovered my electronic keyboard!

Brad plays so fast his hands are blurred! Next, Bryce took over the keyboard and Bradley did the dancing. Check out the video! (You need to be my friend on Facebook to view it - due to the security I have set up there - so if you can't view it, go on Facebook and "friend" me. It's hilarious so it'll be worth it!

Ha ha ha ha ha!!! Told ya!

UPDATE - My Dr. Oz 28-Day Vegan Challenge RESULTS!

2010-02-13T16:38:00.000-08:00

{one of my fave lunches: vegan chili on a bed of crisp greens, topped with raw sliced almonds}

I first blogged about taking on Dr. Oz's 28-day Vegan Challenge on November 12, 2009. My intent was to see if a vegan diet would lower my cholesterol, which at that time was 230 according to doctor-ordered lab tests in 09/2009, and I wrote that I would post an update after I'd gotten new cholesterol test results.

Today is February 12, 2010, three months later. I guess my "update" is a little overdue??!!

I had my cholesterol checked in mid-December, shortly after the 28-day timeframe was over.

It was 201.

A 30 point drop! In 28 days.

I guess you could say I was sold on the vegan diet!

I have remained on the diet {which I now call a lifestyle instead of a diet} and I feel better every day. I'll be getting my cholesterol checked again by the end of this month, and will be interested to see if it has dropped more. I'll only have a total cholesterol number, not a complete breakdown of the HDL, LDL, etc., because to save money I've been getting my cholesterol checked when I donate blood (the blood center currently does a cholesterol check as a courtesy to donors). I plan to get full lab work done later this year, maybe mid-summer, and at that point I'll be able to do a comparison of my lab work from last year.

I have a feeling my doctor is going to be very pleased with me.

Freckles Rule, Boys Drool - Memories of Me Monday

2010-02-08T11:02:00.000-08:00

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "What is the most outrageous thing you did as a teenager?"

Heh. I really don't want to go there. Yet. Not to mention, I did so many outrageous things as a teenager that I simply can't decide which one to write about! So I'm going to take creative liberty and write about the most outrageous thing I did before I became a teenager.

If you've been following my "Memories of Me Monday" posts you already know that I was very shy as a child. So shy that my older brother, Mike, was able to tell his friends that I only had half a tongue, which was why I never talked, and they believed him.

That's why what I did one day at the age of nine really can be called outrageous. How did I have the nerve?? Why would I have ever thought to do something like that??

But first, let me set the scene:

Just up the street from us, in a large corner house, was a family with six or seven boys, all in a row, all mean, and then finally, a girl, perhaps a year younger than me. They were the Snedigers. Like I said, they had a LOT of boys, all older than me, and all mean, hateful creatures. One or more were probably pals with my brother, though I really don't remember for sure.

I do remember that they were all mean to me. On the schoolbus or around our neighborhood, whenever they saw me, the taunting began. At nine years old I had realized that pretty much every kid got teased about something, but I still thought I had more than my fair share of things to be teased about, that I somehow was still less OK than other kids.

First of all, I was a girl. That was the Snediger boys favorite topic: "little girl," "girly," "baby," and "crybaby" were among the names I was called. As you've probably already guessed, I refused to answer back. I just kept silent.

Secondly, I never spoke when they were around. Ever. Fuel to that fire was my brother's claim that I only had half a tongue. It was endless, the things they tried, to get me to open my mouth and stick out my tongue so they could get a good look at it. No way would I do that. Instead I endured what seemed like very long bus rides to school, on the days that I was their target. Thankfully, this didn't happen every day. In fact, I think I may have been their last resort tease. If the Snediger brothers and their friends hadn't found someone to pick on before I climbed on the bus, then I was It. The best days were when they were already fixated on someone else.

Finally, I had freckles. Boy-howdy, that was like a goldmine to those boys. "Freckle-faced strawberry" was something I heard a lot, thanks to the Kool-Aid flavor of the same name. But more hurtful was just the stuff they made up, like that I had some dread disease that produced the spots on my face, and that everyone should stay away from me or they'd end up spotted, too.

Yeah, those Snediger boys had the goods on me. I remember being relieved when the school year ended and summer began. It would be three months before I had to ride the bus again and, by then, maybe the Snedigers would have moved away. Meanwhile, I planned to avoid them all summer.

It couldn't have been more than three weeks later that I saw the youngest Snediger kid, the girl, out riding her bike. I was in our front yard, just wandering around in the tall grass, swinging a stick at the heads of dandelions. I think I may have been a bit bored. Then I saw the girl on her bike; she'd just exited the driveway of her family's home, and was heading down the street toward me.

I have no idea now what was in my head that day, as I strolled toward the street edge of our lawn, my eyes on the girl. As she reached our driveway, I reached the street. Our eyes locked as she pedaled closer, until her front tire was just about to pass in front of me.

With one swift motion I thrust my stick between the spokes of that front tire. As the wheel continued its forward rotation the stick jammed against the frame and the bike flipped completely over, and so did the girl.

She let out a short, sharp scream and then landed with a dull thud in the street. I just stood there, the stick still in my hand, for about two beats of my heart.

Then I ran.

From the living room window I saw her pick up her bike, get back on, and ride toward home, wobbling a bit. She looked back, once, at my house. My heart was in my throat. What had I done? And how badly were those brothers of hers going to beat me when she told them about it?

I was terrified.

I was also horrified that I'd done something so mean and hateful, to someone younger than me, and who had never once been mean to me. Her brothers had, yes, but she hadn't.

Looking back with an adult's intelligence I have to wonder if what I did came from months of pent-up anger against the teasing I'd endured, and that I finally saw my chance at retaliation. If I couldn't get my revenge directly against the brothers, I'd take it out on their little sister.

Or, maybe I just have a mean streak.

FOR NEXT WEEK: "Which of the following would you characterize as your taste: sour-crunchy, sweet-sugar, or sugar-fats?"

Happy Lasagne to Me! Memories of Me Monday

2010-02-01T15:57:00.000-08:00

{May 1958 - My First Birthday}

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "Describe at least one family tradition that you remember from childhood. Do you have a favorite tradition?"

EASY! Definitely, birthdays.

On our birthdays we ruled the day. My favorite part was not even the gifts . . .

. . . my favorite part was dinner!

The birthday person got to choose what we'd have for dinner that day. My dad always wanted my mom's special meat loaf and scalloped potatoes. He still requests that. Strangely, I don't remember what I chose for each of my own birthday dinners but I do remember, as I got older, that I usually requested my mom's lasagne. MmmmmMMM!

Lasagna was a big deal, a special meal, at our house. It's labor-intensive, as anyone who has ever made it knows. Especially if you make your own sauce like my mom did (none of that bottled stuff!). Then the layering of the noodles, cheeses and sauce, and the topping it off with yet more cheese. Then it had to be baked for an hour or so. Finally, it came to the table bubbling and fragrant and accompanied by a huge green salad and garlic bread. Wow! In my mind it even eclipsed the cake.

{My 9th birthday}

Our birthday cake was always homemade, too, by my mom. It was usually a round, two-layer cake, carefully frosted, and with the appropriate number of candles. It's funny, but I don't remember what kind of cake I usually had, though I'm sure I requested chocolate as often as any other flavor, but I sure remember that lasagne! Thanks, Mom!

FOR NEXT WEEK: "What is the most outrageous thing you did as a teenager?"

Uh oh.

Are you Drifting?

2010-01-26T22:48:00.000-08:00

I mentioned in an earlier post that I have a trio of goals for 2010 based on three books, one of which is Gretchen Ruben's "The Happiness Project."

Well, Gretchen Rubin came to town!

To Berkeley, to be exact, and since that's only 25 minutes from me, and I already own Gretchen's book (and how cool would it be to meet her and get it signed?), I decided I wanted to go and I have had it on my calendar for a couple of weeks.

Well, in typical "me" fashion, when today rolled around I wavered. It would involve leaving my house at night and driving to Berkeley by myself (in this cold January weather!), to a bookstore I'd never been to before (Books, Inc.) and wasn't exactly sure where it was located or what the parking situation might be (it's not unusual in Berkeley to have to park several blocks away from your destination and walk). I'd asked a couple of friends if they wanted to go with me but neither were available.

Last evening I asked Mike if he wanted to go. He never did give me an answer; over the years I have learned that silence means "no."

But I really wanted to go. I didn't want to just say, oh well, maybe next time, as I do so often, and then regret it later, as I inevitably would. One of the (as yet unwritten) goals of my own "happiness project" is to actually follow through when I have found something that I want to do and have gone so far as to put it on my calendar. Ok, I thought, I'm going, no matter what, but I also decided to give Mike one last try.

When Mike got home from work I informed him he was going with me because, since he hadn't answered me one way or the other the night before, I had assumed his answer was "yes."

What could he do but smile and agree to go?

One of the things Gretchen talked about, and that's not in her book (another reason I'm glad I went!), was "drift." I found this topic very interesting and true of so many people; in some areas of my life, true of me as well. This is where you just sort of drift into a decision . . . instead of making a conscious one. Gretchen's own "drift" consisted of taking the LSAT and passing it. Well, since she'd passed it she might as well apply to law schools. Well, she got in, so she might as well become a lawyer. Then she was a lawyer.

But over time she discovered that was not where she belonged; that what she really longed to do was write.

How many of us have done the same thing? When I was in college, as a Business major I was required to take some sort of computer-related courses. So I took a programming class. It was fun, so I took another. I did well in them, too, it was like solving puzzles or a secret code. I figured since I did well in them, and that there was money to be made in that field (this was in the 90's, before the dot com bubble burst), I'd concentrate my studies in the computer field.

I graduated with a Business Administration degree and a concentration in Management Information Systems and went to work as a systems analyst/programmer. Over the next twelve years I made a lot of money but with each subsequent year it was more clear that I didn't fit in. I didn't mind the programming so much as the rest of the high-tech corporate stuff; the committees, the meetings, the travel, the politics, never enough vacation time, inept and clueless supervisors, harrassment from co-workers, and the never successful task of pleasing end-users, customers, and management.

For a creative, changeable (ok, moody), unpredictable, and routine-resistant person like me, it was hell.

All because of drift. Making careful, conscious decisions is a lot more work than simply drifting into decisions or, as Gretchen mentioned, not making a decision at all which is a kind of decision in itself.

Finally, two years ago I made an actual conscious decision to take charge of my own happiness and I left the corporate world to pursue a more creative line of work. It was hard, really hard, to leave the security of a job, even one that I hated, and face a totally uncertain future. I still don't know how everything will ultimately turn out, whether I'll find success, or simply manage to get by while doing something I truly enjoy.

But I do know one thing for sure; I'm back to being me - the real me - and I'm really happy to see me again.

Back to School Way Back When - Memories of Me Monday

2010-01-25T21:45:00.000-08:00

{Franklin Park - formerly Franklin Elementary School; Redondo Beach, CA.}

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "Describe the grade schools you attended (what were the buildings like, the area; did you walk or bus), and physical descriptions."

Most of my grade school years were spent in the suburbs of Los Angeles. All southern California elementary schools looked alike in those days. Three or four classrooms were strung together in long rectangular buildings separated by concrete walkways and some grass and trees. At one or the other end of the classrooms were the bathrooms, and sometimes an audio-visual room. One row would also have the library, which was the same size as the classrooms. Another long building usually stretched perpendicularly across one end of the row of classrooms, with space between for walkways. This was the administration building and the front of the school.

There'd be a huge square of asphalt behind the school, that was the playground. It was partitioned off into a number of zones: the kindergarten play-yard was always separate from the other kids; there was another fenced off area where we parked our bikes and which was closed and locked during the day; an area closest to the classrooms held the playground equipment (slides, swings, monkey bars, parallel and chin-up bars, teeter-totters, and a merry-go-round); there was a grassy area in a back corner with a baseball backstop where we played ball games; the rest of the playground was either open space, or were painted with lines designating basketball, tetherball or dodgeball, hopskotch, and foursquare.

There was no cafeteria. We all brought lunch from home and if you forgot yours, hopefully your mom would bring it to you, or the teacher or other students would share theirs with you. We had metal lunchboxes with thermoses and our moms packed tuna or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cookies, and fruit, and milk. No one had yet come up with the bright idea of installing soda or snack vending machines on school grounds. You ate what your mom packed or you traded with the other kids.

That would've been a pretty typical California elementary school in the 1960's. All of the students walked to school, or rode their bikes. No one lived so far away that they had to be bussed or driven to school. We went to school with the same kids we were neighbors with. Our parents all knew each other. Our moms were active in the PTA and were our Room Mothers. Our dads volunteered in the Boy Scouts, put us to work in the yards or garage on weekends, and did all the home repairs.

There were no drugs at school, except maybe an aspirin from the school nurse if you were running a fever. But even that was rare; our moms were at home so if we got sick, they came and got us.

{a school similar to how I remember Eden Prairie Elementary School}

I attended the 3rd and 4th grades in Minnesota where the schools were very different. Instead of rows of classrooms with outdoor walkways, in cold-weather Minnesota the elementary schools were one huge multi-floored brick building. Classrooms lined either side of long dusty hallways. The bathrooms, or washrooms, as they were called, held rows of stalls (at least in the girl's, I never saw the boy's facilities) and, in a large open area at one end was a round, free-standing sink, about belly-height to a 9-year old. Girls could gather all around the edges of this sink, step on a chrome ring that circled it at floor level, and hold their hands under the sheet of water from the round faucet in the center.

I loved that sink! It was very social. We girls would stand there letting the warm water run over our hands, and chat. We had a great time in there, sharing secrets and giggling. There was a lot of camaraderie. The teachers often had to run us out of there. I've rarely seen "communal" sinks like that since those two years in a Minnesota grade school. It's really a shame.

In California we had huge windows on both sides of our classrooms, a hard sheeting on the floor that always seemed dusty, and a small closet for our coats and lunches. You could tell what time of the year it was, or what the class was currently studying, by the drawings and projects taped to the windows. The teacher had a large desk at the front of the room, where huge blackboards covered the wall. There was a white projection screen, and maps, that could be rolled down out of metal tubes above the chalkboard. Our desks were one piece with plastic chairs, a laminate surface for the desktop. and a basket under the chair to hold our books and papers. I can't remember for sure whether the laminate tops were hinged and opened into a storage well, but they probably did.

Our desks in Minnesota were similar in that they were all one piece, but there was no basket underneath, and they had had a very deep well for our books under the hinged wooden lid. The lids had inkwells so obviously they'd been around a long time! Just inside the well was a tray for our pencils and crayons but we used them for another purpose as well.

Eating powdered Jell-O gelatin was very popular then; we'd sneak a box out of our mom's kitchen and take it to school. There, we'd carefully pour a small mound of the green, red, yellow, or orange powder onto a corner of the pencil tray. Then, throughout the day we could slip a moistened finger inside our desk and then nonchalantly bring that finger to our mouths for an sneaky treat. It got so popular that it was bound to be found out, and jello was soon banned from our classrooms. I remember well my 4th grade teacher, Mr. Lindgren, striding up and down the rows of desks checking every student's fingers for tell-tale stains!

In Minnesota, like in California, we taped our special papers and projects to the windows. But the windows were a lot smaller and when your classroom is on the 2nd floor there isn't going to be anyone walking by outside to see the papers, so we taped them facing in toward the class instead of out. Our classroom floors were wood, and so were the long hallways. Inset into the walls outside each classroom was a long bench with hooks above and space underneath. This is where we sat to remove our knit hats, mittens, scarves, boots, and snowsuits when we arrived at school on a winter morning, and where we again sat at the end of the day to bundle back up. The same routine was repeated to go outside to the playground, where we went on all but the coldest of days. There was also a large glassed-in display window, similar to what you'd see at a department store. The back opened into our classroom. There were glass shelves. This is where we displayed some of the projects we worked on; usually art projects.

Once, during a arts and crafts period, I got creative and made some 3-dimension animals out of construction paper. I had horses and cows, dogs and cats, and even an elephant. Mr. Lindgren was so impressed he dedicated the display window of our classroom to my creations for two whole weeks. I was very proud.

Minnesota was much more rural than where I'd lived in California. Houses were further apart from each other, there was no little corner store, and school was definitely not within walking distance. We were bussed from our housing subdivisions to school. Can you imagine how long it must have taken my mom to get three of us out of the house in full winter regalia? Not to mention keeping an eye on my two little sisters, who weren't in school yet. Actually, it was just Mike and I who took the early bus; Steve was in Kindergarten, and his bus came about an hour later. Which was a good thing because whenever Mike and I didn't manage to get out of the house and over to the bus stop in time, we simply waited and got on the bus with "the little kids." That was embarrassing, though, and we had to take notes, from mom, so we'd be excused for arriving late.

I didn't like riding the bus, either one. I was so shy that it was a daily challenge to screw up my courage and climb those steps. Our bus was crowded and I never knew if there'd be an empty seat next to a child who wouldn't tease me or pick on me. Boys were the worst, the 6th grade boys, a terror. Bullies gravitate to children who are timid so I got my share of pokes, jeers, and rude comments. They often tried to get me to talk but I'd grit my teeth and just stare straight ahead. I don't remember ever saying a word on the bus. My brother told the other boys that I only had half a tongue, and that's why I never spoke. They all wanted to see that for themselves but I never gave in.

Our bus passed by a golf course. Every day I'd stare out the window and try to see down into the ditch between the road and golf course. The older kids had passed the rumor that there was a decapitated corpse in that ditch. I wished desperately to catch a glimpse of it, but was also terrified of that wish might coming true.

In Minnesota we had a huge cafeteria at school. My brother and I usually brought lunch from home but now and then we were thrilled to be given 25 cents to buy the school lunch. You collected a plastic tray at one end of the long metal counter. As you moved down the counter you were handed a plate of food, perhaps a small dish of jello, and a piece of fruit. At the other end was the cashier who also presided over racks of milk cartons. You were allowed one carton of milk with your lunch. If you wanted another carton of milk it cost a penny.

Yes, a penny!

There was a small white dish at the cashier's table for us to put the pennies in. This way she didn't have to stop ringing up the student's lunches, taking money and giving change, and could keep the line of students moving. We also didn't have to wait in line again.

I don't know where I got the bright idea that I could just pretend to put a penny in the dish. I like to think it was my brother, Mike's, idea, but I have to confess I think it was actually all my own. I only did it a few times - I'd walk up to the cashier when she was very busy. I'd have my thumb and first two fingers pinched together as though I were holding a penny. Then I'd pretend to place it in the dish, at the same time giving the existing pennies a little swirl to create the tell-tale rattle of coins.

Then I'd pick up my carton of milk and head back to the lunch table. I thought I was pretty dang clever!

Yeah, it's hard to believe I was brave enough to do that. It seems totally out of character but maybe it was a way to make myself feel better after the crap I'd get handed on the bus nearly every day. A way to prove to myself that I wasn't a complete retard. I wasn't brave enough to ever tell anyone, though . . . 'til now. . . gee, I hope that school doesn't come after me for their three cents.

FOR NEXT WEEK: "Describe at least one family tradition that you remember from childhood. Do you have a favorite tradition? Describe that one. Which did you like the least? Describe that one, too."

Vegan Tamale Casserole

2010-01-22T14:01:00.000-08:00

I spent a lot of time in my kitchen yesterday. It was a rainy afternoon, and I enjoyed the warmth and comfort of my kitchen while I cooked lentils, chopped fresh herbs, and threw spices around. I was trying out yet another new vegan recipe, which I found sometime back on VegWeb (one of my new fave websites).

When I was a kid my mom used to make a ground beef/green bean casserole with a mashed potato topping that I loved. When I ran across the "Vegan Tamale Casserole" recipe, it immediately reminded me of that dish that my mom used to make, but with a southwestern flair, and it's vegan. Perfect!

Here's the recipe:

Vegan Tamale Casserole

{original recipe here}

Serves 6-12

Prep time: 1 hour
Cook time: 1 hour

INGREDIENTS:

1 cup lentils
28-oz. can tomato sauce
14-oz. can diced or petite diced tomatoes
1 small can green chilies
14-oz. can black beans, drained & rinsed
8-oz. frozen corn or 14-oz. can corn, drained
1 medium or large onion, chopped
2 cups cornmeal grits (polenta)
cumin (to taste)
onion powder (to taste)
garlic salt or garlic powder (to taste)
oregano (to taste)

DIRECTIONS:

Rinse lentils, combine lentils and 2 cups water in saucepan and bring to boil. Stir, cover and reduce heat; simmer 30 minutes. In a large mixing bowl, combine lentils, tomato sauce, tomatoes, chilies, beans, corn, onion, and spices.

Bring 5 cups water to boil in a saucepan. Mix 2 cups polenta in 1-1/2 cups cold water. When water in saucepan starts to boil, slowly stir in polenta. Reduce heat to medium, continue to stir until polenta thickens.

Pour lentil/tomato mixture into a 9 x 13 inch pan or casserole dish.

Pour polenta on top, spreading to cover. Bake in a 350 degree oven about 1 hour.

A couple of changes that I made. I added a LOT more green chilies (we love 'em) and I added some sliced black olives and a huge handful of chopped fresh cilantro to the lentil/tomato mixture.

Next time I make this I will halve the recipe; this makes a huge amount, way too much for just Mike and me. I ended up freezing more than half of it.

I thought the polenta topping was a bit bland; next time I'll add either chopped cilantro (for both color & taste) or a teaspoon or so of sea salt, or both.

I thought the lentil/tomato mixture was a bit runny. I think I'd cut back on the tomato sauce and perhaps add some barley and/or quinoa to thicken it up a bit.

In spite of the minor flaws, I LOVED this casserole, and will definitely make it again. It's a totally comforting dish and was a lovely, lovely dinner on a rainy evening. And so colorful alongside a salad of bright greens, red, and orange.

Got any recommendations for vegan dishes and/or websites? Would love to have 'em.

Have a great day, every day!

I Forgot to Call in Sick

2010-01-20T13:17:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry! I've been down with the flu (thankfully, not H1N1).

"Memories of Me Monday" will return next week!

Roasted Yams - Easy Delish Vegan Dish

2010-01-14T21:08:00.000-08:00

One of my new favorite dishes; so easy and soooo yummy. You don't need to be a vegan to enjoy this. You'll never crave french fries again!

Roasted Yams

"Roasted, thinly sliced yams or potato of your choice, quickly adds a yummy side-dish to your meal. Best when served with chicken, steak, or a mild fish."

Ingredients:

1 large yam, peeled and cut into 1/4 inch thick

slices

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons olive oil

Directions:

1.	Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Line a baking sheet or shallow baking dish with aluminum foil.
2.	Arrange slices of potato in the prepared pan so they are overlapping slightly. Season with salt and pepper and then drizzle olive oil over them as evenly as possible.
3.	Bake in the preheated oven until potatoes are tender and have begun to wrinkle around the edges, about 30 minutes.

Printed from Allrecipes.com 1/14/2010

A Trio of Goals for Twenty-Ten

2010-01-14T14:45:00.000-08:00

This year I'll be focusing on three areas of my life, based on these three books:

"The Happiness Project," by Gretchen Rubin.

"Unclutter Your Life in One Week," by Erin Rooney.

"All New Square Foot Gardening," by Mel Bartholomew.

Join Me!

Short Skirts, Pompons, and Go Go Boots - Memory of Me Monday

2010-01-12T15:22:00.000-08:00

{1972-Redondo Union High School drill team}

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "Were you in a band, drill team, pep squad in high school? Describe your experience."

As I wrote in an earlier post, I tried out for the drill team in the spring of my freshman year at Redondo Union High School, and made it, and so did my best friend, Judy. That fall we performed at every home game for the football team, the Seahawks. The above photo shows our uniforms. We had crepe-paper pompons that we made ourselves, and we wore white tennis shoes and red bobby sox. We had red wool sweaters with our names embroidered on them to wear on cold evenings. Unfortunately, because they were made of wool, if it rained we had to take them off and put them under the benches so they wouldn't get wet!! Why? Well, have you ever smelled a wet sheep? Not good! Someone goofed up when they chose wool for our sweaters!

We also had a "Friday uniform" which we wore every Friday to show our school spirit. The outfit was a red-and-white gingham bodysuit-style blouse under a short white skirt. While our "official" uniforms were issued to us, each girl sewed her own Friday uniform, or found someone to sew it for her. Judy and I both made ours and we loved wearing them since that was the only time we were allowed to wear our skirts shorter than 2" above our knees!

I remember when I finished sewing my skirt and tried it on with the blouse. I was horrified to see that the red and white gingham fabric showed right through the thin cotton of the skirt. It looked ridiculous and stupid. I hadn't lined the skirt because I was still a beginner at sewing, and putting a lining in just looked too hard. It was the night before the first day we were to wear the Friday uniforms, was late, and I was tired. I burst into tears.

My mom took the skirt from me and told me to go to bed. In the morning when I got up there was my skirt, fully lined, and it looked great. My mom had taken it all apart, added the lining, and then re-sewn it. I was thrilled. My mom wasn't up yet and I was being picked up to go to an early seminary class, so I wrote her a quick little thank you note. I don't remember exactly what I wrote, but I do remember being in tears again. It was a great day!

Football games that fall were always very exciting and a lot of fun. I loved being part of the drill team and, naturally, I had a boyfriend who was on the football team which made the games even more fun to watch.

In the middle of my sophomore year my family moved from Redondo Beach, CA., to Woodland Hills, CA., and I transferred to Wm. Howard Taft High School. I wasn't happy about the move; the teen years are a tough time to have to leave your friends behind and try to make new ones. The kids at Taft were very different from Redondo. At Redondo most of the students were just regular kids from average-income families; we rode our bikes to school or took the bus. At Taft many of the students had their own cars with speedboats to match! Instead of a beach party they held car & boat shows. Yeah, I didn't really fit in.

Still, I did have a small group of good friends, Laurie Thatcher and Nancy Solomon were my two closest, and I tried out and made it onto Taft's drill team. We were the Toreadors. Here's a photo of my squad (there were about 10 squads in all) from our yearbook:

{1974-Wm. High School Drill Team}

I'm in the back row, second from the left. I didn't think the uniforms were nearly as cute as the ones at Redondo High, and we wore white gloves, of all things! Still, I had a lot of fun.

But guess what? My high school drill team experiences weren't my first! I was also a Sailorette at Adam's Junior High!

{1971-Redondo Beach, CA.; Adam's Jr. High Sailorette Drill Team}

How 'bout that gold trim & buttons, sailor collar, and go go boots??? Ha ha! Unlike high school, where we performed at football games, the Sailorettes team marched in parades and performed at school rallies and other events. Let me just say those boots were NOT for marching! I always had blisters afterwards, but I did think they were really boss. It's too bad you can't see the back of my head in the photo. We were all required to wear our hair pulled back into a pony tail and we wore hairpieces! Yep, I had what we called a "fall" of bouncy curls that I pinned on and that matched my own hair color. I remember my mom had to take me to a special shop to buy it. It was expensive, too, and it was probably tough for my parents to afford it.

The Sailorettes didn't just have pompon routines; we also twirled flags AND rifles. The rifles were my favorite. They weren't real rifles, of course, just rifle-shaped pieces of lightweight wood and painted white. But if was fun to twirl them, toss them in the air and catch them again, and "present arms."

This drill team also differed from high school in that our program expenses (equipment, parade fees, etc.) were not covered by the school, instead we had outside sponsors, one of which was the local Elk's Club. One of the first times I performed with the team was at the Elk's Club. It was on a bright, sunny weekday afternoon. We lined up outside and then marched single file into a huge dark room. A haze of smoke hung in the air (this was wayyy before cigarettes were banned from bars & clubs in California). The center of the room had been cleared for us by crowding the round tables and chairs around the perimeter of the room. Every chair was occupied by men, most of them with large bellies, heavy jowls, and a cigar or cigarette in hand. I remember being terrified and not really knowing why. I didn't yet know the word "leer;" if I had I'd have been able to perfectly describe the way those men were looking at this group of 12 and 13 year old girls in their short skirts and go go boots!

FOR NEXT WEEK: "Describe the grade schools you attended (what were the buildings like, the area; did you walk or bus), and physical descriptions."

Life Lessons from my Siblings - Memories of Me Monday

2010-01-04T14:35:00.000-08:00

{back, left to right: Steve, Lisa, Denise, Mike; front, left to right: Debbie, Kristen, Karen, circa 1994}

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "Talk about, describe, the oddest or most unique person in your family tree."

This made me laugh. How would I ever pick just one?? There's just no way. Even among just myself, my two brothers, and my four sisters, you're going to find some of the oddest and most unique people you could ever hope to meet. And we're all so different from each other that I can't for the life of me figure out how we ended up in the same family.

Politically diverse, opinionated, competitive, independent, and at once both rebellious and loyal, we argue over who has the better claim on Dad (I do), we each think we're Mom's favorite (pssst: she secretly told me that I am), and every one of us would rather fight than switch. We're our parents' greatest joys, and their worst nightmares. Family get-togethers can be calm and loving or erupt into screaming fights with someone jumping up and down on the couch or slamming a door, but most of the time they're somewhere in-between: boisterous, rowdy and loud!

Over the years I've learned a lot from each of my sibs. I've watched them go through tough times and good times, lose jobs, find new ones, get into trouble, cause trouble, help each other out of trouble, change careers, change direction, better themselves, move to different states (in one case, to a different country), marry, divorce, start businesses, buy homes and cars, and raise kids. It's been a wild ride at times, but no matter what, we've always come through for each other, and always will.

For each of my brothers and sisters, I've listed just one of the many little life lessons I've learned from them. Here they are, in birth order:

#1 Mike: If you're a square peg living in round-hole world, then be the coolest & hippest square-peg the round-holed world has ever seen.

#3 Steve: Surround yourself with people you love and who love you, and cook great big meals for them.

#4 Denise: Casual, throw-a-meal-together entertaining is just as much fun for guests as the formal three-full-days-of-preparation kind, and it's a lot more fun for the hostess.

#5 Lisa: No matter your age you can always look fabulous and have gorgeous feet.

#6 Kristen: Let your emotions out; you'll feel better and everyone around you will know exactly where they stand.

#7 Karen: There's nothing so terrible that can't be made better by spending a quiet afternoon with knitting needles, yarn, and one or more cats.

I wonder what my siblings have learned from me?

FOR NEXT WEEK: "Were you in a band, drill team, pep squad in high school? Describe your experience."

OMG! Best Minestrone Soup EVER!

2009-12-30T15:29:00.000-08:00

click here to go to the Clean Eating website}

For Christmas my BFF, Judy, sent me (among other things) a copy of this magazine that I'd never even heard of, but is it ever a-may-ZING! Just check out that cover photo - does that soup look GOOD! I read it from cover to cover and dog-eared the pages for the recipes I wanted to try. The first one was that soup on the cover - Minestrone Soup with Quinoa.

I rushed out immediately and bought the ingredients. Now, I've made minestrone soup before, and it was good, but this recipe is different. Not just the quinoa, which is a new food that is in my vegan diet (and I love it), but there were other differences as well. FRESH herbs instead of jarred, fresh tomatoes, not canned, and fresh spinach, not frozen, and cut chiffonade. (Luckily, the magazine included an explanation on how to do that: stack the leaves, roll tightly, slice across w/a sharp knife, then fluff to separate. And fennel, both bulb and seed.

Fennel. Huh?? I vaguely knew what that was, but had never purchased it. I had to read the tags on the various bins at the market to make sure I bought the right thing! My first fennel! Then I had to look up on the internet how to prepare it. We did have fennel seeds already in our spice cabinet - I don't think I've ever used them, though. The fresh fennel has a very pleasant and mild anise taste, as well as a delicate crunch. (We've since used it tossed with other greens in salad and it's delicious.)

As you can see, there's a lot of slicing, dicing, and chopping to be done for this recipe. Not just the vegetables, but the herbs, too. I have a pot of basil, and there's thyme growing in my garden, so I did some harvesting. Nothing like the feeling of eating something you've grown yourself! I'm also really getting into the zen of the washing, peeling, and chopping of fresh produce. It's become a relaxing and enjoyable activity, instead of a chore. I guess that's a good thing since, these days with the vegan diet, I'm processing a LOT of fresh produce!

I also needed to crush the fennel seed. Back to the internet! I read that I could either use a bowl and pestle, which I don't happen to have, or a coffee grinder. I have a coffee grinder so I got that out and whirled those seeds around until they were a nice fine powder.

Carrots, fennel, onion, garlic, bay leaves, thyme, and the ground fennel seeds sauteeing in olive oil. You just won't believe the delicious aroma that rose from this pot! After about 8 minutes I added 6 cups of water, cannellini beans, the tomatoes, and quinoa. I brought that to a boil, then reduced the heat and let it simmer gently until the quinoa was tender, about 20 minutes.

Doesn't it look gorgeous??

At that point I removed the bay leaves and seasoned it with sea salt and fresh-ground pepper. Just before serving I added the spinach and basil. This last step, I found, made a huge difference in retaining the color of the spinach (eye appeal!), as well as allowing the flavor and scent of the basil to be released right at the time of serving. Is your mouth watering yet??? Grab a spoon because here's the finished product:

I didn't, but you can choose to garnish your soup with grated Parmigiano Reggiano, as the recipe suggests. Isn't that a gorgeous bowl of soup? The bright colors of the spinach and carrots, the plump beans, the rich-colored broth. I gotta tell you - it tasted as good as it looks. I don't think I've ever made a better-tasting soup.

Here's the recipe:

Minestrone Soup with Quinoa

{from Clean Eating magazine January/February 2010}

INGREDIENTS

2 tbsp olive oil
2 medium carrots, peeled, cut into 1/2-inch dice (about 1 cup)
1 cup fennel, cut into 1/2-inch dice
1 cup red onion, diced
2 large cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 bay leaves
2 tsp fresh thyme leaves, chopped
1/4 tsp fennel seeds, crushed
1-1/2 cups cooked cannellini beans (white kidney beans), drained
2 cups fresh plum tomatoes
1/3 cup uncooked quinoa
Sea salt and fresh ground black pepper, to taste
1 cup fresh spinach, cut chiffonade*
3 tbsp basil, thinly sliced
2 ox. Parmigiano Reggiano, finely grated (about 1/2 cup), optional

INSTRUCTIONS:

In a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven, heat oil over medium heat. Add carrots, fennel, onion, garlic, bay leaves, thyme and fennel seeds, and cook, stirring often, until vegetables are tender, about 8 minutes. Add 6 cups water, beans, tomatoes and quinoa. Increase heat to high and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer gently until quinoa is tender, about 20 minutes. Remove bay leaves and season with salt and pepper. Stir spinach and basil into soup just before serving in warm bowls. Garnish each with 1 tbsp cheese, if desired.

Nutrients per 8-oz. serving (including cheese): Calories: 137, Total Fat: 5 g, Sat. Fat: 1 g, Carbs: 19 g, Fiber: 2 g, Sugars: 3 g, Protein: 5 g, Sodium: 70 mg, Cholesterol: 0 mg.

Give it a try; I think you'll love it!

My Secret to Good Health - Memories of Me Monday

2009-12-28T14:57:00.000-08:00

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "What is your secret or recipe for good health?"

When I was in the 6th grade I joined a diet club to lose weight (I've always had the vaguely held idea that if you stayed slim you stayed healthy). Actually, my two best friends, Judy Rich and Jill Brunson and I created the club ourselves. We were the only members. We planned to meet once a week at Jill's house. During our first meeting we weighed ourselves and wrote the date and our weights in a little notebook. I had a tiny calorie-counting book that I'd bought at the dimestore that we carefully studied, picking out the foods with the least calories and planning to only eat those foods. But when you're an active 11-year old girl it's a little hard to just eat lettuce and radishes, especially when you don't even like radishes!

The club didn't last long. We went on to create other clubs, the three of us, including a plant club where we all purchased tiny seedlings and measured their growth each week, a writing club (we were all working on novels), and a music club, where we kept track of the songs we heard on the radio each day, and how many times we heard them (a practice Judy and I continued for several years even after this club went the way of the others).

Truth be told, however, my "secret" to good health was my parents. The food we ate was predominantly freshly prepared and homemade. Spaghetti sauce was made from scratch, as was mac 'n cheese (no blue box full of preservatives), beef stew, fried chicken, sloppy joes, enchilada casserole, meat loaf, and creamed tuna on toast. Sometimes we kids got hamburgers while my mom and dad each enjoyed a steak. My mom was too thrifty to cook steak for us; it was too expensive, and we were surely too young to appreciate it. Now and then when my mom was too busy to cook we ate Campbell's Pork 'n Beans and boiled hot dogs, a meal we called "weiners and beaners," or Campbell's tomato soup & grilled cheese sandwiches.

As for vegetables, we kids mainly got served canned peas, canned peas & carrots, canned green beans (my most despised veggie), or canned corn; once in a while we got creamed corn. Potatoes were baked in the oven and had a hard, sometimes crispy skin (which we kids wouldn't eat); sometimes they were mashed or boiled. My parents ate cauliflower, broccoli, spinach, and lima beans, but my mom seldom bothered trying to serve them to us - I expect she figured why waste good food and money when we were sure to refuse to eat them? I don't think I ever saw a brussel's sprout, fresh spinach (instead of frozen), kale, mustard greens, any kind of squash, or even knew that peas grew inside a pod until I was an adult.

Salads were iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and radishes, with Thousand Island dressing. Grocery stores hadn't yet begun offering the vast variety of leafy greens you see now. Arugula? We'd have thought that was some kind of exotic, foreign dish!

My mom did go through some phases with our family meals. There was the time period when she was grinding all her own wheat in the basement of our home in Minnesota. I think that only lasted a few years, but she baked bread my entire childhood (at the time I had no idea how lucky I was). Then there was the "Spam phase." We got spam-burgers, spam and eggs, spam casseroles, and spam loaf. I liked it best fried 'til crispy with eggs (to this day I get the occasional craving for Spam 'n eggs). Another time she experimented with a soy meat substitute that I remember as being the consistency of mealy ground meat. It wasn't bad tasting, but it was hard to get my siblings and I to even try anything new, let alone accept it as part of our "normal" family meal routine. As soon as we knew it wasn't really beef, we rebelled against it.

My dad cooked, too, but he was mainly a breakfast kind of guy. He was the one who made Spam 'n eggs most often, usually on weekends. He also like to fry up slices of bologna. He was our designated pancake-maker, and he was the one who most often wrestled with our heavy waffle iron, forcing it to give up perfectly crisped waffles. He fried eggs and scrambled eggs and, when he didn't feel like cooking, got out the Cheerios and Corn Flakes and poured us each a bowl with sliced bananas and whole milk.

My mom packed our lunches for school, too, not to mention my Dad's lunch that he took to work every weekday for over 50 years. Our sandwiches were nearly always on my mom's homemade bread (which we didn't appreciate then, but sure do now); tuna w/mayo and a bit of lettuce, or peanut butter and jelly or, less often, bologna. There was always a piece of fruit, an apple, orange, or banana, and two homemade cookies, usually chocolate chip. I remember having a lunchbox off and on during my school years, with a thermos of milk, but I remember a lot more years of just using a brown paper bag and buying a carton of milk in the cafeteria. In Minnesota, in the 60's, I can remember that milk costing just one penny!

We may not have had fancy meals, but we had well-balanced meals. Mom kept up with the current info on what constituted a well-balanced diet, and she made sure we were fed appropriately. Apart from the usual childhood illnesses (measles, mumps, and chicken pox), and the occasional bout of 'flu, I was hardly ever sick.

Thanks to my "secret" to good health. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

FOR NEXT WEEK: "Talk about, describe, the oddest or most unique person in your family tree." Uh oh!

Free Red Gold Here

2009-12-22T21:06:00.000-08:00

The Universal Donor ~ aka "Red Gold"

Ok, so sometimes I'm too sensitive. Sometimes I let my feelings get hurt too easily. Maybe I have an overdeveloped need to be appreciated. Maybe I was just grumpy. Or depressed from all the overcast, cloudy weather (I'm solar-powered, you know). Coulda been any of those things that made me feel slighted by the woman at the bloodmobile.

I had received yet another email begging me to donate because, as usual at this time of year, "the available supply of O-negative blood is dangerously low." I'm O-negative; also known as the Universal Donor because a person of any other blood type can be given O-negative blood if their exact type is not available, even a person with a positive blood type. (Unfortunately, it doesn't work both ways - I can only be given O-negative blood.)

Mike and I have been planning to donate anyway. He routinely donates about every 8 weeks, and I used to, until about two years ago when I began having trouble meeting the minimum requirement for iron. But, the blood center is currently offering free cholestrerol screening with each donation and, since I've been on the vegan diet for about 2 months now and want to have my cholesterol re-checked - and I don't want to pay for it (my insurance won't pay for another lab test yet) - so I decided I'd take iron pills, eat spinach, raisins, & broccoli, and drink orange juice (the vitamin C helps the body absorb iron more efficiently), so that surely my iron level will be high enough to donate.

I used the link provided in the last email message from the Blood Centers of the Pacific, and Mike and I made appointments to donate at 5:45 p.m. yesterday, in Vallejo. That was on Friday; I rec'd several more emails - appointment reminders - from the blood center; they didn't want me to forget! I hadn't. I was just as anxious - I wanted my new cholesterol numbers.

So Mike rushed home from work, picked me up, and we got to the Bloodmobile a couple of minutes before our appointment time of 5:45 p.m. When we walked into the vehicle, it was packed with people. All the beds were full, the little cubie where histories are taken was full, people were in the eensy waiting area, and we ended up standing in the entryway, looking around, and wondering what to do. A moment or two later two more people came in behind us. We attempted to make room, but there was nowhere to go.

A woman with a clipboard approached us from the front of the bus, looking frazzled. Without even a "thank you for coming" she immediately lit into us with "we can't have this many people in the bus at once. I realize most of you probably have appointments but you can't wait here."

Ok.....so, what do you want us to do? Mike and I both tried to ask where we should wait (it was cold outside on the sidewalk!), or should we come back later, but the woman didn't even take the time to listen to our questions, she simply turned away and went back to tend to those that were in the process of donating. Mike and I just looked at each other. I was incredulous, but at times like these I tend to react in one of two ways: 1. just give up and go away, or 2. pitch a fit.

Mike hates it when I pitch a fit and, to be honest, I don't like it either because it can get pretty ugly, and then I feel bad about it for a long time. So I clenched my teeth, turned, and yanked open the door. We paused for a moment outside, considering our options; hang around and see if maybe we eventually get called back in, or leave? Knowing I was in no mood now to be patient, I said let's just go home.

Today Mike called and got us donation appointments tomorrow at the actual Blood Centers of the Pacific building in Fairfield where I assume there are plenty of beds, a warm place to wait, lots of workers to process us through, and a welcoming atmosphere. (It's unfortunate that we have to go all the way to Fairfield but the small donation location on Redwood in Vallejo closed this past year.)

Cross your fingers for me, though, that my iron is at a high enough level for me to donate, and that my cholesterol is back down to a healthy number!

See you there?

If At First You Don't Succeed

2009-12-21T20:46:00.000-08:00

{Zzzzzzzzzz}

Sorry if you're looking for the "Memories of Me" Monday posting....today was crazy-busy, and then we had a disappointing trip to the Bloodmobile this evening. I need to do what Jack and Scout are doing.

I'll try again tomorrow.

Girl Jockey

2009-12-14T11:07:00.000-08:00

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "What did you want to be when you grew up? Why?"

THIS!!

Because I loved horses (don't all young girls?)....

But then I grew too tall so I decided to be a writer.

But writing didn't pay so I eventually became a computer programmer/systems analyst.

I made a lot of money, but writing computer programs almost completely destroyed my creativity.

I've spent the last two years trying to get it back.

I'm almost there.

Maybe I'll dig up that half-finished novel and ... well ...

... finish it?!

FOR NEXT WEEK: "What is your secret or recipe for good health?"

Every Life Should Have Nine Cats

2009-12-07T12:21:00.000-08:00

1971 - Patches the Cat gives birth in my bedroom; me, Lisa, Denise, and Steve

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "What is your favorite animal, and why?"

If you know me at all, you already know my answer to this question:

TIGERS!!

Yep. Really. They are my favorite animal because they are SO cool, so regal and gorgeous, and they are the only Big Cats that actually LIKE water (there are white tigers at Discovery Kingdom in Vallejo, CA., that dive underwater!) but, since I can't have a tiger as a pet I, have settled for my second favorite - CATS! Orange-striped cats, to be exact - just like tigers! And the pair of orange-striped cats that currently live with me also like water.

{I do have to mention that my fondness for orange-striped cats also came about because of a very special cat that was part of our family from about 1992 to 2000. OJ. However, because I'm spending this first year of Memories of Me posts concentrating on my childhood years (up to age 18), I'll defer writing about OJ, or Jack and Scout, until I'm ready to write about my adult years.}

I haven't always had orange cats. Growing up in the 70's I had a grey-and-white cat named Sam. Sam was a tomcat back when it was OK to be a tomcat. Sam roamed the neighborhood every night, got in fights, and came home bloody and with torn ears. Sam stole pork chops right off the family dining table. Sam fathered numerous litters of kittens among our neighborhood's female cats. Sam only liked me. My mom didn't like Sam, she was scared of him, and rightfully so since he'd growl at her if she came into my room and tried to move him from my bed. I loved that crazy cat.

One evening Sam went out for the night, as usual, but when morning came around he hadn't come home. I never saw him again. I didn't put up "Lost Cat" posters around the neighborhood, or spend a lot of time looking for him. I think I just knew he'd probably fought his last fight, or didn't quite make it across the street ahead of a car. I understood that cats, especially male cats, lived violent lives. I had always secretly admired his bravery, independence, and adventurous spirit, even while I worried about his safety.

Another cat that we had was Patches. She was a small female tortoise-shell cat and, as I've already mentioned, there wasn't much spaying or neutering going on back then so, naturally, Patches got pregnant. She had her kittens on my bedroom floor. We kids all gathered around to watch. Being city kids this was our first experience at seeing animals give birth, and it was fascinating. Patches had five kittens. Four were tabbies or solid color but one, a female, was a pretty little calico - her coat had a snow-white background with patches of orange, black, and brown. She was a real beauty. The kittens eventually went to the local animal shelter, to be adopted out, but my mom has always expressed regret that she didn't keep that little calico, she was that pretty.

It's interesting to think about how far we've come, as a society, in the treatment of animals, just in my own lifetime. When I was a kid it was not considered irresponsible to let your cats - and dogs, in many cases - to roam the neighborhood. Nor was spaying and neutering an integral part of animal guardianship. I don't know whether there were relatively fewer homeless animals then or not, or whether animal shelters are as overcrowded as they are now. It was also an accepted part of life that animals often died from being struck by automobiles, poisonings, or fights.

I'm very glad things have changed so much, and most people now consider themselves "guardians" of their animals, instead of "owners."

Are you wondering whether my life has had nine cats?

Let's see:

1. Sam
2. Patches
3. Callie
4. Bo
5. OJ
6. Leah
7. Tony
8. Jack
9. Scout

YEP! And the plan is to have {at least} nine more.

FOR NEXT WEEK: "What did you want to be when you grew up? Why?"

Hand-Delivered by Santa Himself

2009-11-30T11:26:00.000-08:00

Stevie, 19 mos., Debbie, 4-1/2, Mikie, 6 ~ February 1962

Today's Memory Jogger: "For how long did you believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy? How did you feel when you learned the "adult truth" about each of them? Do you still retain some of that magic feeling as an adult?"

I still believe in Santa Claus, because there really IS a Santa Claus, sheesh, everyone knows that! Many people just won't admit it because they are afraid of being laughed at (which they will be, and I know because I'm laughed at all the time but I don't care, I know what I know). The Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, of course, are just made up, like leprechauns, magic carpets, and genies in lamps. But Santa Claus has always existed, and always will.

I remember very well my first encounter with Santa, and I'm talking the genuine dude, from the North Pole, in his high black boots and red fur-lined coat, not one of the many "helpers" who impersonate him at malls and department stores. I'm pretty sure this is also my very earliest Christmas memory, of any kind.

It happened very, very early on Christmas morning, 1962, in Hermosa Beach, California. (Since he spends so much time at the cold North Pole Santa really really likes California because the weather is so dang nice.)

1220-24th Street ~ Hermosa Beach, CA. (photo taken May 1964)

At that time my family lived on 24th Street, in a three bedroom, 2-story house that's no longer there today (I know because I went looking for it about 10 years ago). The house's second story was an attic converted into two bedrooms with a connecting door. One room (which was my older brother Mike's) was slightly larger than the other and included the opening to the stairs which led down to the den. The attic bedrooms had low, slanted ceilings. On one side the ceiling slanted clear to the floor, on the other only partway where it met a wall about half the height of a normal wall. My dad could only stand all the way up in the center of these rooms. Each room had one window set into the outer wall at its far end. In my room, which I shared first with my baby brother, Stevie, then later with baby Denise, this window looked out onto the flight path for airplanes arriving at LAX. I spent many hours when I was supposed to be sleeping, standing in that window behind the curtains, watching those lights in the sky at first very small and far away, and then increasingly larger and brighter as they followed their set path to the airport.

I was probably doing just that on this particular Christmas Eve, when I was five-and-a-half, since I'd have been too excited to asleep. Sometimes my brother Mike would watch the lights with me, but he was nearly seven years old and already knew how to read, so it's more likely he was in his own room using a flashlight to read a book. Stevie was about two-and-a-half, sleeping in a crib at the foot of my bed, with a cloth diaper tied to one ankle. By the time he was a year old Stevie had learned to climb out of his crib. No matter how many times he was put to bed he'd climb right back out again until, in despair, my mom took a cloth diaper and tied one end to his ankle and one end to the crib bars. After a night or two of howling Stevie accepted his confinement and simply went to sleep. After awhile, all my mom had to do was tie one end of the diaper to his ankle, leaving the other end free and, just like a horse whose reins are simply draped over the hitching post, Stevie still thought he was held fast!

So I'd have stood alone in the window that Christmas Eve. I watched the lights closely, sure I'd eventually see a lone red light among them, Rudolph's nose of course, as Santa made his approach to my part of the country. I never did though and, finally tired, I climbed down and back into my bed where I quickly fell asleep. But then, much later, when the sky was just barely beginning to show the light of the new day, I heard The Footsteps.

Heavy footsteps. Unmistakably the sound of heavy boots clomping across my bedroom floor and into my brother's room. I'm quite sure my heart simply stopped beating for a minute or two while I tried to decide whether or not to open my eyes and get a peek at the big man. I knew I was not supposed to catch Santa in the act of leaving gifts or he'd take everything straight back to the North Pole and put my name on the naughty list! I heard some rustling noises, and then the crackling of paper and then, was that the sound of footsteps treading the stairs?

I sat bolt upright in my bed and opened my eyes wide. In the early morning light I could see that my room was empty, but I was sure I caught the briefest glimpse of a flickering shadow on the wall at the head of the stairs. Then it was gone. My left hand touched paper and there, at my side, was the stocking I'd hung on the mantle the night before, now bursting with toys and a candy cane poking out the top.

With a cry of excitement I grabbed it up. From my brother's room I heard the sound of paper tearing so I knew he was also awake. My feet hit the floor and I ran to Mike's bed where he was ripping open a bag of candy. In his lap was a happy scattering of gaily wrapped little packages, candy, nuts, and an orange.

"Santa was just here!" I yelled, jumping onto Mike's bed, my stocking clutched in my arms.

"I know," he said, cramming chocolate into his mouth.

"You saw him?" I asked.

Mike shrugged, chewing, and began unwrapping yet another piece of candy, "Sure."

I was incredulous. "But we aren't supposed to see him! He'll take everything back!"

"You aren't supposed to see him," Mike said, "I'm older."

In those days, when I was five-and-a-half, that explained everything.

It HAD been Santa! Right there in our rooms, Santa Claus himself, personally delivering our stockings to our beds! I could barely contain my excitement, wondering if at any second I'd hear reindeer hooves on the roof just above my head.

From back in my room I heard the bouncing and squeak of the springs in Stevie's crib and his little voice, "Ma?"

Suddenly Mike tossed back his blankets, scattering candy wrappers, nuts, and small packages to the floor. He'd just remembered that bigger and better treasures awaited downstairs.

"Come on!" he shouted. "Let's go see what's under the tree!"

So, as soon as I'd lifted Stevie from his crib and set him on his feet, I grabbed up my stocking and ran to catch up with my big brother.

FOR NEXT WEEK: "What is your favorite animal, and why?"

Scout's Mouse Came in the House

2009-11-17T21:59:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago Scout met up with this cute little mouse out in the garden. At first the mouse didn't seem to think she was much of a threat. They had a bit of a stare-off.

Mouse decides maybe he'll just mosey along now . . .

Oh, no, you don't!

Not many critters get away from Scout. She's quite the hunter. I often think of keeping a Kill Sheet for her to track the birds, rodents, lizards, giant moths, and even praying mantises that she catches throughout the year. One day a couple summers ago she caught & killed two hummingbirds. Yes, hummingbirds! TWO! Honestly, I didn't know that was even possible but apparently it is!

So anyway, Scout caught this mouse and brought it into the house {of course} and {of course} it got away from her at one point and disappeared behind the tall {& very heavy} bookshelves in the living room. It spent the night behind the bookcase and Scout spent the night crouched under the t.v. watching the crack where the mouse disappeared. In the morning she was still there. I finally had to take all the books off the shelves and then move the shelf enough for her to slip back there. She chased the mouse out, caught it, and then I chased her, with the mouse in her mouth, out the pet door and into the garden where she and Jack harassed that poor mouse for at least an hour.

I decided he'd surely had enough and went out there and chased him out of the garden, under the cat fencing {much to Jack and Scout's disgust and annoyance}. The little guy's fur was sticking up every which way but he looked basically unharmed. He scurried off across the patio to parts unknown, and those rotten cats haven't forgiven me YET!

. . . but that was MY mouse . . . .!!!!

I Raised a Pig Named Wilbur

2009-11-16T11:02:00.000-08:00

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "Describe the perfect winter day. Tell about an activity you would do on that day."

1968. In the living room of our home in Hopkins, MN, was a chair, I guess it may have been a recliner, I can't remember for sure, but it was softly upholstered (burgundy?), it rocked and it turned, and it was situated near a heater vent. My perfect winter days were spent there, on Snow Days when the schools were closed, and we were cocooned from outside noises by the thick blanket of snow covering the ground.

But they weren't just "perfect winter days . . ."

When I think of the word "contentment," I see myself in that chair, my stockinged feet on the wall just above the heater vent to catch the flow of warm air, a stack of books beside me, and my yellow-and-white stuffed bear with the button eyes, Christopher, under an arm. Deep into a book this shy little girl raised a pig named Wilbur, rode ponies on Chincoteague Island, and solved mysteries with Nancy Drew while my brothers and sisters roller skated or played games in the basement, my mom baked bread and made our lunch, and my dad worked a job (or two) to provide for our family.

At nine years old it didn't take much for me to feel completely happy and content.

It still doesn't.

And that, by far, is one of the greatest blessings I've been given in my life.

FOR NEXT WEEK: "For how long did you believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy? How did you feel when you learned the "adult truth" about each of them? Do you still retain some of that magic feeling as an adult?"

Overnight Steel-Cut Oats - Crock Pot Method

2009-11-14T05:06:00.000-08:00

My friend, LaDonna, has asked me to post my recipe for overnight steel-cut oats cooked in the crock pot. It really couldn't be easier, and having breakfast ready and waiting for me when I get up in the morning just makes my day.

If you've made steel-cut oats on the stovetop, you know that it takes awhile, around 25 minutes. That's because these oats have not been processed and broken down into flakes so that they'll cook faster. On the plus side their nutritional content has not been processed out so they are much healthier for your body. And with this crock-pot method they are as easy as instant oatmeal!

All you need is a crock-pot and a container that will fit easily into it:

I use this overly-large mug; it's really meant for soups more than coffee, and it works perfectly for a single serving of steel-cut oats.

For the recipe, just remember the proportion of water to steel-cut oats, which is 4 to 1. So for a single serving, place 1 cup water and 1/4 cup steel-cut oats into your inner container. Add a dash of salt and stir gently. If you like, add raisins or other dried up fruit (I like dried apricots or cranberries); they will be plump and tender by morning.

Now pour water into the crock-pot until the level is the same as the level of the water in your inner container.

Set the crock-pot on low (don't forget to plug it in), and go to bed!

In-process

Ready to eat!

In the morning, your steel-cut oats will be cooked perfectly and need only a stir and whatever additions (dried fruit, raisins, nuts, coconut) or toppings (milk, brown sugar, honey, etc.) you prefer.

*Be careful when removing the inner container - it will be hot! Use pot holders or a dishtowel, not your bare hands!

I have also made steel-cut oats with milk or soy milk instead of water - both taste great. I'm especially fond of using vanilla-flavored soy milk - yum!

For more servings you can use a larger crock pot like this one:

Two bowls sit nicely side by side:

Or use a single, large bowl. Make sure there is space around whatever container you use; you'll need to be able to get your hands (using pot holders) around it to lift it out. And if you are worried you will forget to stir, be sure to get someone to supervise you:

To make a family-size amount simply put the inner container aside and place 4 cups water and 1 cup steel-cut oats (remember, 4 to 1!) directly into an 8-qt crock-pot (the smaller sized one). Add a teaspoon or so of salt (depending on how much you like salt - I tend to go very easy on it) and whatever additions you want. Turn the crock-pot on low and let cook overnight. This makes 4 good sized servings. Leftovers re-warm nicely in the microwave.

One last thing I've discovered: I can buy steel-cut oats in a simple plastic bag at Pedrotti's Produce in Davis, CA., for perhaps a third of the price of my local supermarket. So check your local produce stands, especially those that are open year-round and stock dried beans, fruits, grains, etc., or perhaps you can find them at a good price in the bulk barrels at the larger supermarkets.

Enjoy!

When the Student is Ready the Master Appears

2009-11-12T10:32:00.000-08:00

Day Four - 28-Day Vegan Challenge

"When the Student is Ready, the Master Appears." ~ Buddhist proverb

I didn't even know it, but I've been on a journey toward a vegan diet for at least 10 years, perhaps much, much longer.

I remember my frustration, in my thirties, with the conflicting reports of what constitutes good nutrition. Eggs were bad for you, then they were ok. Fats are bad, then just some fats were bad, but try to figure out which ones! Sugar substitutes caused cancer, then they didn't. Pesticides on the fruit caused health problems, but the rate of those health problems were just as high in people who ate only organically-grown produce, so was there really a connection? I had neither the time (too busy living the over-scheduled & hectic life of the average American family) nor the inclination to search out scientific data; after all weren't there gov't agencies whose job it was to do that and then report back to us, the public?

I wished someone would just give me a list of the exact foods I should eat each day in order to be healthy and I would simply eat them and be done with it!

Last week I learned that there IS such a list!!!

It's on page 243 of "The China Study," by T. Colin Campbell, PhD, and it's in the form of a simple easy-to-read chart. Yep, one. single. page. And the list not only includes the foods of which you can eat all you want (fruits, vegetables, and whole grains), the foods you should minimize (refined carbohydrates, added vegetable oils, and fish), and the foods to avoid (meat, poultry, dairy, eggs).

In short, to quote the title of the chart: "EAT ALL YOU WANT (WHILE GETTING LOTS OF VARIETY) OF ANY WHOLE, UNREFINED PLANT-BASED FOOD."

It's pretty darn easy to determine whether or not a food is animal- or plant-based making it child's play to figure out what to eat!

Why NO meat, poultry, dairy, or eggs??? For the scientific explanations, discussions on the essential nutrients our bodies need and where they come from, read the book. No, no, don't be intimidated - it's written in every day language that's understandable, and makes total sense. I can guarantee you'll have several "ah hah!" moments. I sure did!

I haven't had to struggle with the "Why NO meat, poultry, dairy, or eggs?" question because for years I've noticed that the less I ate of those foods, the better I feel. Being told I had high cholesterol, and knowing that cholesterol enters our bodies via animal-based foods, simply nudged me one step further toward a diet heavier in plant-based foods. Years ago I gave up mayonnaise, butter, and any cream-based soups or sauces, and drastically cut my consumption of ice cream (which I love). These days, if I eat ice cream or something like beef stroganoff with its heavy cream sauce, I get a stomach-ache, and feel crappy for hours. Our bodies know what's good and what's not, if we would just listen instead of reaching for the Tums.

Now that I've learned that "there are virtually no nutrients in animal-based foods that are not better provided by plants" ("The China Study", page 230), this 28-Day Vegan Challenge has taken on even more importance. I'm only 4 days into it and already feel better and, unexpectedly (because I didn't set out to), I'm also losing weight, which is weird because I'm eating more than usual, and more frequently!

Ready to join me???

Vegan Diet - My 28-Day Challenge

2009-11-10T12:40:00.000-08:00

I've been talking about this on Facebook recently and am getting lots of questions, some concerns, and a ton of comments both for and against a totally vegan diet.

Instead of trying to keep up with multiple conversation threads on Facebook, and sending out individual emails answering the same questions over and over, I realized I should be posting to my blog so everyone who wants to, can follow along and see how things go. Not to mention it will be a great way for me to really document this little journey and what I discover from it.

So, on Day Two, here goes!

The #1 Question - Why?

First, let me say I've been surprised to find that the subject of whether or not to eat animals is very nearly as emotional an issue as abortion or gay marriage! My own viewpoint has always been that animals are here on the earth for use (in healthy moderation) by mankind and, while I do totally object to any inhumane method of raising and butchering livestock (yes, I've read Upton Sinclair's The Jungle, and it's horrifying), I have no moral issues about eating animals. A line I still won't cross, though, is eating lamb or veal because I have an emotional objection to eating baby animals, and I consider the way veal is typically raised to be very cruel.

The reason I'm taking this challenge is for my own health.

I'm 5'6" (purt near anyway), 136 lbs. and I have high cholesterol.

I know! I was shocked, too, when my doctor told me a few years ago. I always assumed that if I managed to keep my weight down and exercised regularly there was no way cholesterol would be a problem for me. Wrong. As it turns out cholesterol is manufactured by our own bodies, and how much our bodies create varies widely from person to person, and is hereditary. Apparently, like my mom's, my body is highly proficient at mass-producing cholesterol. So, for someone like me, it is important NOT to consume additional cholesterol because that's when the numbers shoot up to the danger levels.

Guess what? Plant-based foods have NO cholesterol. At all. Ever. Anywhere.

Hm!

At the same time that I was considering how to change my diet to reduce my cholesterol, one of my moms mentioned on Facebook that she was reading "The China Study," by T. Colin Champbell, PhD, and that she was learning a lot about the adverse health effects of the average American diet. I decided to get the book and see if I could learn anything useful. That very same week I happened to catch a portion of The Dr. Oz Show. One of his guests that day was Rocco, a cowboy who had been on the verge of literally eating himself to death. A month ago Dr. Oz challenged Rocco with a 28-day vegan diet. Now Rocco was back to report how he'd done and to find out the results of a post-28-day diet round of blood work.

Not surprisingly, his cholesterol was greatly improved and, according to Dr. Oz, would continue to improve if Rocco stuck to his new healthy way of eating.

Shortly after watching the show I cracked open "The China Study" and, just be an amazing coincidence turned directly to page 231 and read:

"By definition, for a food chemical to be an essential nutrient, it must meet two requirements:

* the chemical is necessary for healthy human functioning
* the chemical must be something our bodies cannot make on their own, and therefore must be obtained from an outside source

One example of a chemical that is not essential is cholesterol, a component of animal-based food that is nonexistent in plant-based food. While cholesterol is essential for health, our bodies can make all that we required; so we do not need to consume any in food."

And, for some us us, it's adverse to our health to consume cholesterol in food.

So that's the why of my new diet. At the end of the 28 days I'll have my cholesterol checked again and see if there's improvement, and how much improvement.

"I could never give up meat!" I'm getting this comment a lot. I don't think I'll have too much problem with that. Mike and I have already been veering away from a diet heavy in meat, and for a few years now I've been tending toward mostly chicken, ground turkey, and the occasional steak. I seldom eat bacon or sausage, and I'm really not a huge fan of fish. I love tuna fish but a tuna sandwich always gives me a stomach-ache (I don't know why). Several years ago when I was first diagnosed with high cholesterol I decided to give almost totally give up mayonnaise and butter. I say almost because I do eat both occasionally, but I'm quite used to not putting butter on cooked vegetables, or mayonnaise on a sandwich. I LOVE ice cream but, like tuna, I usually get a stomache-ache if I eat it (is that my body trying to tell me something)?

I think what I'm going to miss the most is MILK. All my life I have had a glass of milk with dinner. Soy milk just doesn't cut it. Last night I ended up having a half a glass of soy milk and a glass of water with dinner. I really, really missed that milk - oh, and so did my cat, Scout, since she usually helps herself to a bit straight out of my glass.

I guess we're both going to have to adjust!

The Rest of the Story

2009-11-09T02:39:00.000-08:00

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "Tell about a frustrating experience you've had with a car."

A particular memory popped immediately into my head when I read the memory jogger. Here it is, from the days wayyy before cell phones:

I have no memory, really, of where I'd been that evening in 1973; all I can remember is being very, very lost in the hills of the San Fernando Valley, where my family lived, and it was dark and I was alone, and very scared. Obviously, my parents had trusted me to drive myself somewhere that evening and I was on my way home but, being still new to driving, I didn't have a good sense of direction; ok, let's put it out there, I didn't even know (in spite of having been taken along on many, many Boy Scout hikes in my younger years) which direction I was heading in; whether it was south, east, north, or what!

It was pitch black. Somehow, somewhere on the way home from wherever I had been, I'd taken a wrong turn, and was now completely lost. I had no idea where I was.

And I was really scared.

I was driving the family station wagon. I was on a winding, country road, no streetlights, no street signs. I had no clue how to get home from where I was. It was dark; there were no houses around, no lights, nothing, which only increased my fear. I didn't know if I should turn around and go back the way I'd come (especially knowing I wouldn't remember the turns I'd taken well enough to reverse them), or if I should just forge ahead and hope for the best knowing at the same time that I would also be taking the risk of just getting myself more and more lost.

There was nothing else to do but pray. So I prayed. I prayed really hard. I prayed, knowing that I truly needed help, and because I was frantic and beginning to panic. I needed to know where I was; I needed to know how to get home.

I prayed in the way that I'd been taught, first acknowledging the good things in my life, "God, I thank thee for all my blessings, I have so many blessings, but (I was too scared, and too frantic to be more specific before rushing on to what I needed) please notice that I'm LOST, and I don't know where I am, and I'm soooo scared. Please help me find the way home!"

I kept praying, talking out loud really, to God. I kept repeating, "I'm lost, please help me find my way home!"

Although it seemed like hours, I know that it was only a few minutes later, that I suddenly came to a major street. Lights, cars, houses! Even with no street sign I recognized the street and, although I don't now remember it's name, if I were on it now, today, I know I'd immediately recognize it just as I did that night.

I totally knew my way home from that spot.

Coincidence that I arrived at a familiar street so shortly after my fervent prayer? Doubtful, because listen to the rest of the story:

For the next two years, until I left home at 18, I tried to find that intersection again. I drove that major road, its entire stretch, many many times and found not a SINGLE intersection with a road that led up into the hills, and into the pitch black dark that I'd found myself in that night. And on several occasions, when I drove past a particular spot on that road, I received the clear and distinct knowledge that it was the very spot where I'd emerged from my nightmare.

But there was no intersecting road there, no road at all.

It had only existed for that one night; perhaps only for a few minutes. Just long enough to get me back on track, out of danger, and home.

Experiences like this are why I believe in God, and in prayer.

FOR NEXT WEEK: "Describe the perfect winter day. Tell about an activity you would do on that day."

Stand Up, Sit Down, Fight, Fight, Fight!

2009-11-02T15:26:00.000-08:00

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "Do you have a special school memory?"

So many memories come to mind it would be a very long post if I tried to include them all so, since my time is limited today, I'm going to pick just one.

Yes. It was very difficult to pick just one!

I will say, though, the one I've picked is an all-time favorite.

In 1971 I had just entered Redondo Union High School in Redondo Beach, CA., as a freshman. Go Seahawks!!! My BFF, Judy, and I had both tried out for the drill team. We'd gone to weeks & weeks of after-school practice, performed the routines in front of the leaders & current members of the team, and now the day had rolled around when we'd find out whether or not we'd made the cut.

Each girl who had made it would receive notification during one of her morning classes. A current member of the drill team would come to the class, hand the teacher a note, and then leave. The teacher would then read out the name of the girl who'd made the team.

Sounds so nice and personal, right? True, it was much nicer than everyone crowding around a list and then either squealing happily, or walking away dejectedly, but it did make for a very nerve-wracking morning! In every class, every time someone walked by in the hall, or came into the room, my heart would pound and I'd wonder, is this it??? And every time it wasn't "it," I would be sure that I hadn't made the team.

Thank goodness I only had to sit on the pins-and-needles through the middle of my second period class. Geography. In came a girl dressed in the red-and-white drill team outfit to hand a folded piece of paper to the teacher.

"Well, Miss Hansen," he said, and gave me a smile. "Looks like you've made the drill team. That's quite an accomplishment."

Those were his very words, his exact words. I remember them so well because, not only was I super-excited to have made the team, but they were the only words of praise I ever received from this particular teacher -- I didn't do at all well in his class!

I couldn't wait to see Judy at the mid-morning break which was called "Nutrition" but, based on what we all bought from the vending machines, would have been more aptly named "Junk Food." The minute I saw her, though, I could tell by her expression that she hadn't yet gotten her own good news. I tried to reassure her; there were still two more classes before lunch.

As I remember it, Judy and I had 4th period together, the last class before lunch. I don't remember the subject of the class, I want to say History, but I'm really not sure. At any rate, I can recall how sad Judy was in class that day, because third period had come and gone, and now it was fourth period, her last chance to get notified, and by then she had pretty much convinced herself that she hadn't made the team.

I was bummed, too, because I couldn't imagine drill team being even remotely as much fun without Judy there, too; after all, we did everything together! We'd spent hours in our yards practicing the try-out routines and encouraging each other, and it was just inconceivable that we hadn't both made it, we both knew those routines perfectly! We'd even already learned most of the cheers that we'd be screaming from the bleachers, including this one:

Lean to the left,

Lean to the right,

Stand up,

Sit down,

Fight! Fight! Fight!

We'd already made our red-and-white pompoms!

The clock kept ticking relentlessly toward noon, and Judy's head got lower and lower. I knew how bad she felt, and I felt terrible, too. It was just unbelievable that we hadn't both been chosen, that we wouldn't be having this very important high school experience together. If we weren't both on the team I didn't know if I wanted to be on it at all.

I was just beginning to think I'd forego drill team for my freshman year, and then Judy and I could both try out again as sophomores, when the door opened. Ten minutes before the end of class. It was a drill team member and in her hand she carried The Note!

If the Los Angeles Harbor Light had burned out we could've just stood Judy up on top of it to keep the ships safe, that's how much she beamed!

NEXT WEEK'S MEMORY JOGGER: "Tell about a frustrating experience you've had with a car."

I Wore a Monkey Suit - Memories of Me Monday

2009-10-26T11:58:00.000-07:00

The very corner market I frequented as a kid in the late 60's and early 70's; It's still on the same corner, in Redondo Beach, just with yet a different name. {Photo taken in 2001}

Today's Memory Jogger: "What do you remember about shopping with your mother? What particular store did you frequent? What was your favorite store? Did you shop differently with your mom than with your friends?"

This cracks me up. Of COURSE, I shopped differently with my mom than with my friends!

Back in the "day" there was not the ever-present hysteria about kidnapping (although I do remember the same dire warnings at Halloween about poisoned candy and razor blades in apples) and so we kids got to walk to the corner store in our Redondo Beach neighborhood pretty much whenever we had a bit of change saved up from collecting soda pop bottles (no cans then) and turning them in for a nickel a piece. Ahh, those were the days! My brothers and I, or my friends and I, would walk the 4 or 5 blocks to Paul's or Phil's or John's (it changed owners & names a number of times just in the 5 years we lived in the neighborhood) and shoot the works on Hostess fruit pies, 50/50 ice cream bars, peanut butter cups, Abba-Zabbas, Big Hunks, Sixlets, candy buttons, and eensy wax pop bottles filled with brightly-colored sugar-water. There was penny candy, too, that actually cost a penny, or even two-for-a-penny; taffy, bubble gum, lemon drops, and jawbreakers.

Saturdays always found the corner store full of kids, turning in pop bottles, buying candy & drinks, as well as loitering outside. It was a kind of gathering place for the days when you didn't see your buddies at school. And every weekday there was a rush to Phil's for after-school candy. If you didn't have any money you could often score a share of whatever someone else bought. The store proprietor seemed to like us, too, there was never an "Only Two Students Allowed at One Time" or a "Leave Your Backpacks Outside" sign posted on the door (of course, we didn't have backpacks, we carried our schoolbooks in a pile in our arms).

Sure, every now and then there might be a scuffle in the aisle between two or more boys, or outside, but they were short-lived and mainly consisted of an exchange of rude words and then a push or shove. And a few times kids were caught stealing which was a huge scandal. The absolute worst thing you could do was embarrass your parents!

I remember going shopping with my mom a lot. With 5 kids in our family (at that time) someone always needed something, not to mention grocery shopping every week. And Back-to-School shopping was always a big deal. Seems we mainly went to the May Company for that; I'm sure we bought our gym uniforms there, for junior high. Now, those I remember VERY well. They were all-white, one piece outfits with short sleeves, an elastic waist, buttons up the front, and shorts with elastic hems. Yeah, can you imagine? Our shorts ballooned up around our upper thighs and hips, but they were modest! We called them our monkey suits. We also wore white socks and white tennis shoes. I think the boys got to wear blue shorts with white t-shirts, white socks and white shoes, but I'm not 100% certain. Boys always got the better deal!

I liked shopping with my mom. I was always impressed with how she seemed to know just where to go to find whatever was on her list for that day; I couldn't figure out how she did that. We always had two or three of my younger siblings with us, too, and I would help entertain them if they got restless. My sister, Lisa, who was the youngest at that time, would often throw a fit if she couldn't have whatever she wanted; she could be especially bad when we were shopping for clothes. She wanted everything pink, frilly, ribbony, silky, and short. My mom bought practical clothes but Lisa hated practical, she wanted to dress like a movie star or a princess. My mom made most of our clothes, too, so we would usually be shopping for stuff like socks or shoes, or coats, but Lisa would want the store-bought dresses (no pants, even as playclothes!) and the frilly blouses and short-shorts.

Some people never change!

The rest of us kids didn't care that much about what we wore. My mom has always said about me, "I could buy anything and bring it home (or sew it) and Debbie would just wear it."

I haven't changed either, I guess!

I do remember that one of my other sibs was tough to buy for, too, but in a different way. My older brother, Mike. He hated, absolutely hated, to go shopping especially for clothes, and most especially for back-to-school clothes. By the time was in his teens he wasn't keen on even going to school, let alone spending time at a department store trying stuff on to wear to school. He resisted like crazy, and got into frequent arguments with my mom.

One time that I remember quite clearly, because I've never forgotten his reply to my mom's insistence that he go with her to the store and try on some jeans so that she would be able to buy the appropriate size, and because he was "down to just one pair that still fit."

Mike said, "So? I can only wear one pair at a time!"

When I was 12 or 13 there was a new fashion fad that my BFF, Judy, and I were totally into and desperate to own: "Hot Pants." These were short shorts in blue denim with different colored waistbands and pockets and they were soooo boss! Of course, neither of our mothers would buy them for us because they were too short, immodest, and simply not appropriate. But everyone had them! This was around 1970 and the Love Generation of the 60's still had a hold on the fashion industry, and Hot Pants reflected the Flower Child/Free Love attitude, not to mention that we thought they'd be grovvy worn with the peasant-style blouses we had already learned to sew for ourselves. So Judy and I concocted a Plan.

We each saved our allowances and our babysitting money and when we had enough we walked to the shopping center and each bought ourselves a pair of the coveted shorts. They cost $3.99. Then, and this is what floors me now: we wore them to a church picnic! The picnic was being held at El Nido Park, in Redondo Beach, which was walking distance from our homes, so after the picnic started we slipped off unnoticed, ran home, and changed out of our mom-approved long pants into our Hot Pants, then returned to the picnic all puffed up like peacocks & strutting around in our short-shorts. Boy, we thought we were something!

Funny thing is: I don't remember our parents' reactions at all. I definitely don't remember getting sent back home to change, so I'm thinking maybe they just looked the other way and let us have our little moment. I was not made to return the shorts either, and I remember wearing them again that summer. They may well have been the first item of clothing I bought with my own money, but it wouldn't be the last. Within a few years I was buying a lot of my own clothes, and sometimes fabric for items that I sewed (like my drill team "Friday" uniform in high school), and taking great pride in it knowing my parents hands were full providing for the needs of five kids.

Judy and I went "shopping" quite a lot. It was something we really enjoyed. We often walked (sometimes barefoot in the summer!) to our favorite stores, Sav-On and the "Dime Store," to browse, buy a small item like a new writing tablet, a set of colored pencils, or embroidery thread, and then walk back home (unless we stopped at Winchell's Donut shop which I'll write about another time as it's an entire blog posting on its own). We also walked a longer distance to a shopping center where there was a Woolworth's that had a lunch counter. We loved to sit on the red vinyl stools and order Cokes and pretend we were older girls who ate out all the time. We'd try to talk all sophisticated and stuff.

Then we'd buy 5 candy bars for a quarter and go to the 50 cent movies. Usually a Disney flick. Suitable for kids.

NEXT WEEK'S MEMORY JOGGER: "Do you have a special school memory?"

Yes, I do. Read about it next week!

Holiday Fundraiser to Benefit Several Charities

2009-10-20T18:04:00.000-07:00

To all my blog readers, if you are anywhere in the vicinity of Benicia, CA., on Saturday, November 7th, stop by and check out this holiday fair and fundraiser. I'll have a booth there! The event benefits several charities, plus gives many of the self-employed women in the area (like me) a chance to display their products and services.

Be sure to bring the kids to see Santa!

Will do Math for Books - Memories of Me Monday

2009-10-19T12:54:00.000-07:00

My three favorite books of all-time: "To Kill a Mockingbird," by Harper Lee, "Island of the Blue Dolphins," by Scott O'Dell, and "The Giver," by Lois Lowrey (not sure why "The Giver" didn't make it into the photo - must've been a technical difficulty because of course I own {multiple copies of} the book).

TODAY'S MEMORY JOGGER: "What are your favorite books? Describe the best book you have ever read, and also the worst book."

Here are more of my faves from when I was a kid:

Most of these books I've read multiple times; many of them I still re-read every few years. For a lot of them I have some very specific memories.

When I was in the 5th & 6th grades the Bookmobile used to come to my elementary school every other week. Not sure why; after all, we did have a school library, but perhaps it carried books that our library didn't. At any rate, I loved climbing aboard the library-on-wheels and choosing a book from amongst its shelves. That's where I first found "Brighty of the Grand Canyon," by Marguerite Henry. She was a favorite author already since she wrote the "Misty of Chincoteague" and that whole series of stories about the famed ponies on Chincoteague Island. Brighty was not a pony, but a winsome and dear little burro who lived in the Grand Canyon.

I first read "Where the Red Fern Grows," by Wilson Rawls around the age of 10 or 11. If you've never read this book, stop reading this blog, and go get it! It's the most incredibly fascinating and emotional story of a boy and his two hound dogs, and it's absolutely unforgettable. When I was around 14 my mom read the book to my brothers and sisters and me, one chapter at a time, every Monday evening for Family Night. At that time we ranged in age from 7 to 15 but every one of us was mesmerized by the story, and looked forward to that chapter all week long. Even though I had already read the book, it was a totally different experience to hear it read aloud. Even my strong and stoic mom could barely make it through the last, and most emotional, chapter. There was not a dry eye in the room that evening! Both my mom and dad had read to me since I was a baby, but this particular experience, of hearing "Where the Red Fern Grows" read to the whole family, is probably the biggest reason I became a read-aloud mom to my own kids.

Have you figured out yet that I LOVE to read? I can't remember a time when I didn't love to read. I know that I learned to read quickly; I'm pretty sure I already knew a lot of words before I even started kindergarten, and in those days reading was not taught until 1st grade. I had good examples to follow; my mom and dad both read, and so did my older brother, Mike. It was also a way for a very shy child to inhabit many different worlds and cultures, have incredible adventures and, best of all, imagine herself the heroine of the stories!

In my family we kids always got books for Christmas and birthdays. Even now it's just not Christmas without a new book to crack open during the quiet Christmas day afternoon following the high-pitched & noisy excitement of Christmas morning. I grew to love rainy days, and cold winter days (especially snow days in Minnesota when schools would be closed) because it meant I could curl up in a favorite reading spot and indulge in my favorite activity all day long if I wanted.

In elementary school we students could order books via the Scholastic Book Club (through our school) for between 45 cents and $1.25 or so. My mom would give me a few dollars to spend and I would write down the books I wanted from the books listed on the pamphlet, then calculate and re-calculate the prices to get the most books for the money. Those were probably some of the few times I did math willingly!

In the 60's and early 70's, in southern California, most cities had what were called "neighborhood branches" of the public library. These were small branches situated right in housing developments and neighborhoods, making it easy for people to utilize them simply by walking or biking a few blocks. What a shame they are for the most part a thing of the past. I can't even begin to imagine how many times I either walked or rode my bike to one of those little branches. My friend, Judy, and I would ride our bikes and come back with our bike baskets full to the brim with books. I often couldn't decide which book to read first so I'd put them in a stack, read Chapter One of the book on top, then Chapter One of the next book, and so on down the stack. Then I'd start at the top again and read Chapter Two of each book!

In Junior High "Gone With the Wind," by Margaret Mitchell was THE book to read amongst the girls. I bought a copy with my allowance and carried it from class to class the entire school day just so I could read a paragraph or two on my way from one class to another. When I finished it I immediately turned back to Page One and started over, reading it completely through a second time!

Just writing about the books I loved as a child makes me want to re-read them yet again. Maybe I will!

MEMORY JOGGER FOR NEXT WEEK: "What do you remember about shopping with your mother? What particular store did you frequent? What was your favorite store? Did you shop differently with your mom than with your friends?"

Are you writing down your own memories? Share with us -- if you like!

Drama Queens - Memories of Me Monday

2009-10-12T18:38:00.000-07:00

Me, standing in front of the junior high school I attended 1969-71 {photo taken in 2001}

The memory jogger: "Describe the buildings, grounds, etc., of the junior high you attended. What was it like walking to school?"

I have more clear memories of my two years at Adams Middle School than I do of all my other school years combined. Maybe that's because of the huge difference between junior high school and elementary school, or perhaps it's because I attended there during the time I was also going through that wondrous time in a child's life known as puberty but, thinking back, I'm pretty sure the real reason is because it was the most dramatic, emotional, and crisis-prone time in my life.

What was going on? My best friend and I were fighting!

Hey, that's totally serious stuff when you're a 12 or 13-year-old girl!

It's pretty much the end of the world when you're on the outs with your best girlfriend because she's the most important person in your life; she's the one you do everything with because you enjoy all the same things, she's the one you talk to on the phone every day the minute you get home from school even though you spent most of the school day with her, and she's the one person you can trust with your all secrets. When you're not speaking to your best girlfriend, you might as well be the last person on earth because that's how alone you feel.

Yeah, we were quite the drama queens, Judy and I, and also our friend, Jill, who we were very tight with as well during 6th grade, and with whom we matriculated to the Adams Middle School campus. It was either Judy and I, or the three of us, all summer before school, and the fighting, began.

I don't remember the details of many of our fights but most of them did have a common theme:

Charlie.

Nope, not a boy. Charlie was short for Charlotte.

I don't remember meeting Charlotte; I just know it was in the 7th grade. Judy and I had many classes together, and Jill was in some of them, too. So was Charlotte. From early on Charlotte and Judy did not get along. Jill and I tried to be friends with both of them, and that's when the trouble began.

I remember one incident during lunch break. We were outside on the grassy area. Judy, Jill and Charlotte were playing tag. I hadn't wanted to play so I was sitting on the lawn reading a book. Charlotte came over and started saying that Judy and Jill didn't play fair. Judy and Jill heard Charlotte's comments and assumed I agreed with her or something, so they got mad not just at Charlotte, but me as well. I thought that was totally unfair so I got mad right back.

That afternoon, walking home from school, Judy and I walked on opposite sides of the street, arms wrapped tightly around our books, both our noses high in the air, each disdainful of the others' very presence. I have to laugh, now, when I think back on how many times during our two years at Adams we repeated that scene! Sometimes Jill and/or Charlotte would be along as well, if Jill was going to Judy's house, or if Charlotte had once again missed her bus (which I suspected even then was on purpose and just to cause trouble) and begged to come home with me so that my mom could give her a ride home.

The following evening I wrote in my journal: "Judy and Jill were still mad. They had all these wonderful things planned like Judy spending the night at Jill's house and going to the movies the next day. Judy didn't even want to go to Sister Gaine's slumber party! I started crying in Math because I was so sad. In one of the notes Judy and Jill wrote me they said they wouldn't be friends with me as long as I was friends with Charlotte. So I told Charlotte I wasn't going to be her friend anymore and Judy and Jill made up [with me]."

That was on a Friday. The following Monday I wrote: "Today Judy got mad at me. And it's been only 2 days since the last fight. I'm friends with Charlotte again also and I guess that's partly why Judy's mad. Judy's most famous saying is: 'Any friend of Charlotte's is no friend of mine.' And that includes me. In P.E. I gave Judy a good kick in the rump. Then in Social Studies Judy forgot her purse in the classroom and I picked it up. When I got home I marked up all her papers and things that were inside it. I'm really mad at her now."

Unbelievable!

Understandably, when Judy found her purse the next day, in the locker we shared, she was furious, and so was Jill, who had taken sides with her. It seemed we were always either two against two, or the three of us united against Charlotte. Again, Judy and I walked home separately. Later we had a screaming fight on the phone.

The following day, a Wednesday, I wrote: "Judy was mad still, that is until P.E. when she told Carolynn that she was ready to make up. But by then I was mad because in Art which is just before P.E. she made friends with Charlotte, 'cause remember her famous saying, 'Any friend of Charlotte's is no friend of mine?' But we made up in S.S."

It's amazing to think of how many times the four of us repeated the same drama, in a hundred variations. Sometimes Judy's and my parents tried to intervene. I think mostly they just hoped we'd grow out of it.

And we did. We all graduated from middle school and Judy and I went on to Redondo Union High School. Jill and Charlotte went to other high schools (not the same one, though, I don't think). We stayed in touch with Jill, since she lived fairly nearby but Charlotte, who didn't, we lost touch with very quickly. And with great relief, I would imagine!

In all the years since, except for a brief period in high school when we fought over the same boy, Judy and I have remained very close. She's my BFF, my "best friend forever." I know she's going to read this post, so I sure hope she doesn't mind my baring our souls (not to mention our [now] hilariously pathetic adolescent insecurities) to the world!

MEMORY JOGGER FOR NEXT WEEK: "What are your favorite books? Describe the best book you have ever read, and also the worst book."

Reminder: you don't have to use the memory joggers in a literal way; that is, whatever memory is sparked by the jogger, feel free to go with it, if you like. Today's post is a good example; it certainly had only a tenuous connection to today's memory jogger!

Update: If you're a digital scrapbooker get my free "Drama Queen" Word Art (plus an entire "outline" style alpha/number/punctation set) inspired by this post at the Webajeb blog!

Now go make some new memories!

Warm Up America - The Pile is Still Growing!

2009-10-06T17:36:00.000-07:00

Yep, my little stack of crocheted and knitted squares is still growing! I now have 31 in the pile; only 18 more to go and I will begin the process of sewing them all together into an afghan. The afghan will then be sent to the Warm Up America Foundation to be donated to a homeless shelter or hospital.

I've been using yarn given to me by Rose Rich a couple years ago when I was visiting her in Utah. I love being able to put that yarn to good use! Of course, I also have lots of stray skeins, partial skeins, and various sized balls of yarn hanging around from past projects, or projects that I never did get to. I'm digging into it all.

I got tired of the crocheting the same patterns (the ones provided at the Warm Up America Foundation's website), fun though they are, so I started looking around for more stitches to try. I dug up an old (unfinished, natch) afghan project I started a long time back. The pattern I was using is in a booklet called "63 Easy to Crochet Pattern Stitches - Combine to Make an Heirloom Afghan." The 63 patterns all make squares so I've just been modifying them to make a 7" x 9 " rectangle instead. It's been really fun trying out the different stitches.

I've found I can easily crochet at least one piece per evening, if I'm watching television; sometimes I will do more - just depends on how much time I spend in front of the t.v., which usually isn't a whole lot.

I've never actually joined a bunch of squares into an afghan before, so that may prove to be a bit of a challenge in spite of all the tips given at the Warm Up America Foundation's website. It'll certainly be something new to learn.

Any suggestions??

Memories of Me Monday - Postponed

2009-10-06T09:41:00.000-07:00

Due to pulling a muscle in my upper back, and spending all of yesterday on a heating pad, my Memories of Me Monday post did not appear this week.

It will return next Monday.

Meanwhile, a reminder of the memory jogger: "Describe the buildings, grounds, etc., of the junior high you attended. What was it like walking to school?"

The Dog Ate Our Christmas Tree - Memories of Me Monday

2009-09-28T11:35:00.000-07:00

Christmas 1960
Me, my older brother, Mike, and my little brother, Stephen

Today's memory jogger as posted in last Monday's blog: "What tradition at Christmas is your very favorite?"

That's easy - Santa! I LOVE the guy. I always have, and I always will, love everything about him; letters to Santa, sitting on Santa's lap, getting photographed with Santa, his reindeer and his red suit, his sleigh full of presents and his fluffy white beard, his shiny black boots and his hearty "Ho, Ho, Ho!" I even love that he lives at the frigid North Pole, even though I don't like the cold! There's just not a more likable guy and I won't tolerate a word to be said against him.

The best Christmas parties always include Santa. In the early 60's my parents had a group of friends that they were very close to. The Luceros, the Harris's, and the Sessions. They got together with them frequently, so all of us kids saw each other a lot as well. Shelly Sessions was my best friend. (In the years to come the Luceros would move away, Giselle Harris would often babysit me and my siblings, and I would develop a terrible crush on Kevin!)

The adults had dinner parties, played cards, and took us to the beach, the mountains, and, once, camping in Mexico. We probably often got together for Christmas, but the one year I remember well was when we had a party and Santa showed up as a surprise guest!

Christmas approx. 1963
at the Lucero's home in Hermosa Beach, CA.
I'm on the very far right, half-hidden behind Giselle Harris;
others pictured are David Lucero, Kevin Harris, and Shelly Sessions

Another tradition I loved, growing up, was Christmas Eve at Grandma Ware's house:

Christmas 1967
Steve, Lisa, and Grandma Ware
Hawthorne, CA.

Gram always made a huge dinner, had a decorated tree and gifts for everyone, and planned games and activities for us kids. All my cousins came, too, the Bisks and the Lutes, so as our families grew we became quite the crowd.

I will admit that one thing I did NOT like about these Christmas Eve parties was my Gram's Christmas pudding. Oh, it was horrible! The only way I can describe it is as a super-heavy, very dense, fruitcake-y thing with a thick & sugary burnt-maple-flavored sauce poured over it. Apparently, it was a tradition that Gram had grown up with in Canada and that she was determined to continue. On the way to her house each Christmas Eve we kids (and my Dad, too) would be threatened to within an inch of our lives to NOT let on that we didn't like the pudding. We were to thank Gram and eat every bite!

I don't know if Gram ever figured out that none of us liked her Christmas pudding!

Although I love Christmas traditions, I have learned that the most memorable Christmases are the ones where there's something different, new, or unusual. Once, just once, our family had a flocked Christmas tree:

Christmas 1965 - Hopkins, MN

Scary - my brother, Mike, got a BB gun!

It was so pretty; all white with just blue glass balls for decoration. Very different from the usual green tree with construction paper chains, lights, and a variety of ornaments. I can even remember watching as the men at the Christmas tree lot sprayed the white flocking onto the tree. I never knew, until very recently, why we never had another one like it. Turns out my mom hadn't liked it, she thought it was too "cold."

Christmas 1965 or 1966 - Hopkins, MN
Me, our new puppy Elkie, and my brother, Steve

Only once did we ever receive a pet for a Christmas gift. It was a Norwegian Elkhound that we named Elkie. We were so excited! Elkie was trouble, though; we couldn't keep her away from the Christmas tree. She chewed on it every chance she got, as well as our toys and shoes. I can imagine the hassle of housebreaking her in the middle of winter with several feet of snow on the ground. In our neighborhood there were no fences so she ran free most of the time when she was outside. She was not very obedient and would run off whenever she wanted. One day she got run over by the school bus and broke her leg. She recovered and our family brought her with us when we moved back to California in 1968. Our new house in the suburbs of Redondo Beach had a very small yard and she was unhappy there, so we eventually gave her away to a family with more room.

Another Christmas that's memorable to me is the one when I was about 8 or 9. That year I discovered the closet where my mom had hidden our wrapped gifts. I excitedly peeked in every single package! But then on Christmas morning I felt sad because there were no surprises.

I think the best & most memorable Christmases are those with both long-standing traditions and something new or different.

FOR NEXT WEEK: "Describe the buildings, grounds, etc., of the junior high you attended. What was it like walking to school?"

Stealing Succulents and Re-Purposed Pill Containers

2009-09-27T12:15:00.000-07:00

Succulents. They're one of my obsessions. I love them. All different kinds, all shapes, all sizes (though, oddly enough, I know the names of very few). I like them because of their resilience, they don't need to be watered often, they can withstand high temps during the day and cold at night. At my house plants have to thrive on neglect to survive, and succulents are good at that.

Although I have been known to actually purchase succulents, my usual MO is to steal them. Wherever I go, if I encounter a succulent I will quietly and unobtrusively break off a small piece and slip it into my pocket. Or sometimes into Mike's pocket, if he is with me, or one of the boys. On one memorable occasion, I slipped a few bits into my mom's sweater pockets (and she later got poked by a bristle, sorry, Mom)!

People who love me put up with my thievery. I really can't help it. I enjoy my succulents all the more when I steal them because then they also remind me of places I have been, and the people who were there with me.

I've got cactus from all over the U.S., my neighbor's gardens, parks, islands, schools, tourist sites, and even one or two from foreign countries.

My latest acquisition is a piece of a jade plant in Hermosa Beach, just a block from the ocean. It's in the center of this photo:

That one's always going to remind me of the day I met up with a couple of old friends that I'd grown up with, and it will also remind me of all the lovely summer days spent at that very beach as kid, with my family and friends.

The rest of the plants in the above photo are from two places Mike and I visited recently; one is a very famous park in northern California, and the other is one of the historical sites right here in my own little home town.

Oh, that's my succulent "nursery." I recently got the cool idea to re-purpose empty pill containers (of which I'd amassed about 60-70!) and use them as individual containers for my cacti. Mike drilled several holes in the bottom of each one and filled them with potting soil mixed with sand. I then poked a hole in the dirt with a chopstick and popped in a cactus cutting. I'll keep the soil moist so that the cacti will root. Once they've got well-established roots I'll either plant them in the garden or put them in pots. I've placed all the containers on a large tray to catch any spilled water. It also makes it easy to move them from place to place.

Mike used to scold me when I'd bring home my stolen succulents. Now he's usually an accomplice. And sometimes he actually comes home with a "find" of his own.

Learning to Drive - Memories of Me Monday

2009-09-21T12:14:00.000-07:00

"Tell about how, when and where you learned to drive. Any memorable experiences?"

I took Driver's Ed in high school. In those days, the mid-1970's, it was part of the public school curriculum. We had classroom instruction, learned the basics of behind-the-wheel technique in simulators (which we called "stimulators") then, finally, piled into white sedans in groups of 3 or 4 plus an instructor to practice in the school parking lot and surrounding neighborhood.

We also got to watch really gory movies of car crashes. I guess those were to scare us into behaving once we got our licenses and were out on our own!

My mom and dad both let me practice in the family station wagon, while they sat nervously in the passenger seat. From the start I was a pretty crappy driver. I just didn't get the big picture. I understood the driving laws, from the classroom instruction, but the simulators had done nothing to prepare me for a real car, and my behind-the-wheel time at school was limited to about 15 minutes a couple of times a week for only a few weeks.

The simulators were in a small trailer parked on the school property. We sat in chairs with a steering wheel in front of us and gas and brake pedals at our feet. Projected onto a large screen at the front of the room was a movie of an empty road as seen through the windshield of a moving car. We all pretended we were steering our "cars" along the road, pressing the gas or brake pedals as instructed. I suppose the point of the exercise was just to get the feel of putting our hands and feet on the the wheel and pedals.

I passed the class and a few months before my 16th birthday my mom took me to the DMV to get my learner's permit.

During the driving test, I was so nervous I made a left turn in front of oncoming traffic.

Automatic fail; the test was aborted immediately.

More practice with mom and dad and, as soon as I could I went back at the DMV. I had some additional motivation this time because I had invited a boy to the Sadie Hawkins Dance and I wanted to be able to pick him up.

Nervous again, I was unable to properly execute the 3-point parallel parking maneuver.

Fail!

My dad was incredulous. The next time he took me out driving he noticed that I wasn't looking ahead, but down at the ground in front of the car. He asked me what I was looking at and I told him the line in the middle of the road. I was following it! He told me to keep my eyes on the road ahead. That helped me stay more in the middle of my lane, but I still had trouble negotiating turns and parking. Finally, my dad realized I was having trouble judging distances. A trip to the eye doctor revealed I had very weak vision in my left eye leaving me with virtually no depth perception.

No wonder I'd totally bombed when I took tennis in P.E.! Not to mention the two failed driving tests.

I got glasses and I got my license.

FOR NEXT WEEK! "What tradition at Christmas is your very favorite?"

Bodies of Water - Memories of Me Monday

2009-09-14T10:34:00.000-07:00

{The memory jogger for today, as posted last Monday (click here to read last week's Memory of Me post): "Tell about how you feel about water -- playing in it -- seeing it -- tell about the various bodies of water you have seen and an experience or feeling about each."}

I don't remember the first time I saw the ocean, or the first lake that I dipped my toes into, or whether I was ever scared of water as a very young child, but I do remember that my first kiss took place underwater.

When I was ten I had my first boyfriend. His name was Alan Carter, and he was my older brother, Mike's, friend so he'd have been in the 6th grade while I was in 5th. At that time my brother was "going steady" with my best friend, Teri. The four of us used to hang around in the neighborhood acting all big because we were "couples." Of course, the boyfriend/girlfriend relationship at ages 10 & 11 didn't consist of much more than holding hands, and of Teri and I wearing St. Christopher's medals, given to use by the boys, around our necks. Still, it did give us a little boost up the elementary school playground social ladder!

I was quite shy, and so was Alan, at least when he was around me. He pretty much took his lead from my brother who, as a natural-born leader always had followers. One Saturday they came across a yard sale and they bought Teri and I each a stuffed animal. Mike paid 10 cents for the yellow bear he gave to Teri, and Alan spent a nickel for my green floppy-earned rabbit. Teri and I thought they were boss, and displayed them proudly in the center of our beds.

Another time, in early December,we were still outside past dark. I'm not sure how we got away with that; we were supposed to be home as soon as the streetlights came on. On this night, it had been dark for awhile, and the Christmas lights in our neighborhood were all on. It was a crisp and very clear southern California night. In spite of the streetlights and Christmas lights, the stars in the sky shone bright and crystal-white, and it seemed they hung very low over our heads. We could see decorated Christmas trees behind many of the large picture windows of the houses we walked past, and sometimes the movement of people. It was very quiet, and the only sound was the crunch of dry leaves under our shoes.

One house had a waist-high wooden fence covered with ivy and on twined with strands of Christmas lights. These were not the mini-lights, or the dangling icicle-style that you see everywhere now. The lights used in the late 60's were still the larger sized bulbs, painted in bold colors, and they probably used way more electricity than would now be considered eco-friendly. Nor did they stay cool to the touch the way most holiday lights do these days.

My brother stopped at the fence and took up an overly casual stance. Alan, Teri, and I gathered in a loose semi-circle, wondering what was up. Mike had a roguish look on his face that I was quite familiar with; he was about to do something he shouldn't.

Sure enough, he reached out and quickly unscrewed a red bulb. It went dark in his hand, came free of its base, and disappeared into the pocket his jacket. Chuckling, he strolled off. Teri and I stared at each other, momentarily stunned, but then we grinned because we were just as thrilled by Mike's daring than we were horrified at his thievery.

Alan saw his chance to also play the confident & daring bad-boy, and quickly followed Mike's example. He grasped a green bulb, twisted it, and slid it into his pocket. We hurried after my brother, Teri and I clutching each other and giggling almost hysterically. After we'd caught up with Mike and calmed down a bit, Teri moved forward to walk beside him and Mike draped an arm across her shoulders. Alan and I fell into step together and fell silent, shy again.

After a few minutes, Alan took my hand. That alone caused a ripple of sheer excitement to run down my back and warm my belly. Then Alan lifted my hand, placed the still-warm bulb in my palm, and closed my fingers over it. He guided my closed fist into his jacket pocket and slid his hand in with mind, wrapping his fingers around mine.

My knees went weak, and I knew I'd love him forever.

What can I say? I was ten, it was my first experience of what I would later learn to call romance and, as it turned out, it was unforgettable. The underwater kiss? Oh, that had happened at least a couple of months earlier, possibly even before school started in September.

A group of us kids were at the local high school swimming pool which was open to the public when not in use by the school. Alan and I were standing on the edge of the pool. He was wearing one of those nose-clips that hold your nose shut and I was wearing a white rubber bathing cap. Alan was scared of the water which I found endearing and which made me brave enough to take his hand and together we jumped into the shallow end. In the brief moment that we were underwater Alan let go of my hand, grabbed my face, and pressed his lips against mine.

Afterwards I wondered what the big deal was, about kissing. Seemed like a cold, kinda slimy activity to me. Alan couldn't have been too impressed either because, as far as I can remember, we never bothered with it again. In fact, although we exchanged sheepish grins after our kiss, we never acknowledged it again in any way.

But I did love him forever.

Or, at least for the length of a ten-year-old girl's perception of "forever," which was probably two or three months. Whatever activities we were each involved in back then just kept us from seeing much of each other as the school year progressed and one day, without a word between us, I simply handed Alan his St. Christopher's medal as I passed him in the hall at school.

As school neared its end I had second thoughts. Maybe I'd remembered the fun of the summer and fall of the year before, maybe Teri had a new boyfriend and I felt left out, or perhaps I just wanted to feel again the way I'd felt when Alan pressed that warm bulb into the palm of my hand; I honestly can't remember what set me off but suddenly I wished I hadn't broken up with him. I wanted Alan back. I concocted a plan.

I labored over a letter, writing and re-writing it to get what I thought was just the right casual tone, but still making it clear that I missed him and, though I didn't come right out and say it, would like to be wearing his St. Christopher medal again. I took a stamp from my mom's supply and placed it on the envelope which held my precisely folded letter. Then I carefully drew a cancelled postmark, right down to the squiggly lines, copying a real one from a letter my parents had received. I wanted it to look like the mailman had delivered the letter, make it look official and important. I walked the four blocks to Alan's house, looked around to make sure no one was watching, then ran to his porch and slipped my note through the letterbox in the door.

A day or so later I received a reply -- just a piece of folded paper notepaper shoved through our own letterbox and which I just luckily found before anyone else did. Printed in black marker it was short, only a few sentences, and I only remember the very last line, but I remember it perfectly:

"If my girlfriend knew you were writing to me she'd kick your a**."

And that was that. The end of my first romance and the boy who kissed me underwater.

FOR NEXT WEEK! "Tell about how, when and where you learned to drive. Any memorable experiences?"

The Cat Loves Yogurt

2009-09-11T19:07:00.000-07:00

If Scout had opposable thumbs we'd really be in trouble at our house. She does help herself to whatever she wants!

It's National Sewing Month!

2009-09-11T17:13:00.000-07:00

This apron was one of the last projects I worked on before I put my sewing machine away for the summer. My sewing room doubles as our guest room, and that guest room has been very busy with both Rodrigo and Michael coming and going all summer. But now Michael has gone back to China, and Rodrigo's days of school in Sacramento have lessened; he's only here 8 to 10 days a month now. Could it be time to take back the sewing room???

The pattern for the apron is from The Apron Book, by EllynAnne Geisel and is called the Basic Waist Apron. I dipped into my stash of cat fabrics and cut and stitched this up in an afternoon.

Detail of the ruffled pocket and hem:

It was a really fun project. I had hinted at this project in this blog awhile back, but couldn't say what it was, or post photos, because it was to be a gift, and my recipient hadn't received it yet.

Recently my son sent me this photo of his bride, Dianna, wearing her birthday gift:

How cute does that look!!?? I was happy she liked it and is putting it to good use (in the very limited spare time that she manages to carve out of her nursing school schedule). She's making chocolate chip cookies (my fave!) and, whoohoooo! She sent some with Rodrigo the next time he came up. I hid them in the freezer and took them out one or two at a time to eat secretly. I didn't want to share, ha ha ha ha!

Here's my current sewing project - a California King-size quilt. The top is all sewn together now, but I still need to add the borders:

At the moment it's all packed away, but it just may be time to get that baby OUT!

Yeah, I know, there's ALWAYS a cat sitting on my in-progress quilts!

I'm happy about that.

Are you sewing this month? What are you making???

Back to School Already !

2009-09-10T12:11:00.000-07:00

{paper and butterflies by Olga Unger}

I've been working on "Back to School" digital photo (clipping) masks for my lil' biz and, as I'm designing my digital products, I like to use them in a layout. My cousin, Laurel's, 6-year old, Bryce, started school a couple weeks ago, and kindly sent me some photos she had taken.

Her kids are soooo photogenic; I love using their pictures. Just look at that red-headed, blue-eyed boy with the sparkly eyes! If you think he looks both sweet and mischievious, you'd be right ON!

I just know he's going to love first grade and -- how fun is this? His school is right across the street behind our house, so we can look right down on its front lawn. My favorite thing about having school back in session is hearing the kids out on the playground at recess. Boy, does that bring back memories!

Hey, family and friends: got any Back-to-School photos of YOUR kids? I'd love to use them in a layout to showcase my new digital photo masks. Send them to me! I would also need your permission to post them on my blog (I always edit out any identifying info).

Happy Fall!

What Kind of Teenager Were You?

2009-09-07T14:24:00.000-07:00

Age 8 - The Good Girl

Age 16 - The Demon Child
{looks can be so deceiving!}

Today's Memories of Me Monday: "What kind of a teenager were you? Nice, rebellious, etc.?"

I think I can sum myself up as a teenager in one word --> TYPICAL.

And that's all I have to say about that!

Ok, I guess that would be taking the easy way out!

So here's a list of words that describe me during the ages of 13 to 18:

Happy
Sad
Helpful
Stubborn
Friendly
Solitary
Funny
Mean
Grateful
Hateful
Sweet
Sassy
Honest
Sneaky
Obedient
Rebellious
Creative
Apathetic
Joyful
Gloomy
Teachable
Resistant
Neat
Sloppy
Loving
Uncaring
Affectionate
Cold
Optimistic
Gloomy
Stable
Moody
Hard-working
Lazy

As I said - TYPICAL!

I'm sure my parents were continually shocked and appalled by the changes in me once I reached the teen years. I had been such a good little girl! Eager to please, obedient, helpful, and a good student.

Suddenly, I was lying, skipping school, sneaking out at night, running away from home, hitchhiking, chasing boys, experimenting with drugs & alcohol, smoking, and yeah, I even spent a night in Juvie.

It's a bit embarrassing now. Some of my biggest regrets are from that time period. Luckily, I was just skimming the surface of those activities, and I didn't get addicted to drugs or cigarettes, become a homeless runaway, turn to prostitution, or drop out of school.

In the end, I and my parents both survived those years. We can even laugh about them now - mostly. My mom likes to sum it up like this: I was the type of teenager who would nod yes, ok, of course, agreeing to everything she told me to do, not to do, etc. And then I'd just quietly go do as I pleased.

My dad wrote about me in his own life history (a work in progress): "Our second born was such a sweet child." Then. later, "In spite of a firm belief in her own code of good behavior, she could sometimes be led astray."

To date, my dad's life history ends with that second sentence. I hope I wasn't so terrible that he can't even bear to write about it!

Yeah, I know. You want more details. Names, dates, places, the nitty-gritty, the dirty laundry, a complete confession.

To quote the Wicked Witch of the West: "All in good time, my pretty, all in good time....!"

FOR NEXT WEEK: "Tell about how you feel about water -- playing in it -- seeing it -- tell about the various bodies of water you have seen and an experience or feeling about each."

Baby Kayla

2009-09-02T11:04:00.000-07:00

My great-niece, Kayla Cheyenne

Working on a few pages of my family scrapbook this morning. Later it'll be back to work on client projects.

Have a great day!