Like many people, I have the best g'kids in the world. They think like no other kid... they act like no other kid and they are definately the brightest, most clever, best looking got a comet by it's tail kids.  Just like yours, I bet.

Nah, mine are special.

I've written about Mo before; from Gnomes to Roadkill, the kid's a hoot. This weekend he took advantage of the fact that his mum, my dear (really) DIL ambushed me with the dog jacket project. Once I finally finished I popped off to get a cuppa my favorite beverage of choice, well earned too. As I re-entered my dining room, sometimes sewing room, I caught Mo pulling some wadded up black whatsit from his pack and sidle up to my machine. 

Me:Whatcha doing?

Mo:Nuffin.... much...

Me:Show me your "nuffin" kiddo.

Seems the kid has taken a page out of his mother's play book.  His "nuffin much", was his favorite pair of sweatpants, now too short to wear outside but "really suited to nightwear" (Mo's words not mine. Where does he hear this stuff?).

Me:What's the problem, Mo?

Mo:G'ma... they're all blown out in the back and mom won't let me wear them 'cause my shorts show and sometimes she doesn't want my shorts showing. (Eight year old boy... any mom knows why his mom prefers the backside of his undershorts covered.)

Me:And?

Mo:I'm gonna fix um good.

Me:Really?

Mo:Yeah, I'm a man and that's a machine, how hard can it be?

Brave boy, thinking g'ma is going to let him touch her machine.

However....

Together we did the job. He ran the pedal and I handled the cloth.

Afterwards I asked him how he liked the sewing. He laughed...

Mo:Sewin's for g'mas;

if you get yourself a bigger motor that machine could go rrrrreally fast.

I'd push your pedal all day for you, then.

Scamp......

I'm pretty much a Jack (or Jill) of all trades. It comes from being the eldest daughter of a man who desperately wanted sons.... Give me SONS. But, no, I have five more sisters and one intensely spoiled charmer of a brother. Bless him; raised by the older three and waited on, hand and foot by the younger three. Lucky guy all around.

This weekend I got to exercise my diverse talents. The domestic me made homemade apple pie, chocolate mayonnaise cake, and killer banana muffins. The handy(wo)man winterized the pop-up camper, replaced a washer, and mended the back fence. The economic genius, balanced the checkbook and paid bills and since she managed to stay in the "black", invested the extra in stocking the pantry for the up and coming winter season.

So here I sat resting on my laurels when DIL and family fairly explode into my domain accompanied by their two greyhounds. This "Barbie House" quickly became oxygen depleted... their dogs, my dog, their kids, my hubby, her hubby. I mean who brings their dogs with them when they visit? These are not pocket pets. The g'kids expained that Dyson and Chance wanted to see g'ma, too. Yeah... Right.....

Next moment the g'kids are burying me in fabric, what? I knew I should have hidden the sewing machine earlier this week. Now, DIL has many endearing qualities... but a seamstress, she is not. She has been known to pass me needle, thread, shirt and button during church service. I assumed that she was dumping uhhh bringing me this year's Halloween Costume Project to me. Alas, no. Y'all know what they say about assuming. It's only October 9th; she won't show up with that stuff for another two weeks. This jumble was for.. the dogs. Who knew that poodles, peeks, chihuahuas and greyhounds all need winter jackets; exclusive, one of a kind, high class, and individually tailored jackets.

I'm tempted....

sooooooo tempted...................

So it's been a month since the hurricane came through and cleared out the back garden big time. The straight line micro bursts stripped all the leaves from my roses... poor naked, green, thorny canes. Yet, those roses of mine are the harbingers of optimism. How so?  Those little darlings all have late season, beautiful ruby roses on them. Really strange seeing those canes waving, straight green and leafless with vibrant red jewels bobbing in the bright October sun. At least there is something back there now. Almost makes up for the wide expanse of lonely unadorned patio deck, no gazebo, no furniture, bye bye pool,  and so long all my container pots with their veggies. 

Yet...

Each morning as I gaze out my window to the row of rose topped green sticks, the dew sparkling on the petals, I have to smile. Isn't life just like that, the frosting on a cupcake, the froth on my coffee, roses in my garden. 

This past month has been busy. Weekends spent volunteering to help friends, neighbors and complete strangers struggle to recover from the destruction of flooding (and re-flooding), hurricanes and tornadoes. Ninety percent of the homes in some of our communities have been completely destroyed or condemned. We have thousands of displaced persons and winter is knocking on the door... This is the northeast and we have had snow in October. Where are these people going to go?  The counties hit are some of the most economically depressed areas in our state. Unemployment is still 10% and that's the new improved numbers... it was 14%.

Maybe, just maybe, they could send the trailers they are NOT using in New Orleans up north for these homeless persons. Maybe? Probably, not. After all, they told us last week that the money is gone. Gone? So sorry, so sad... next time have your disaster at the beginning of the fiscal year when there is still funds in the FEMA account.

But then...

I consider my roses; my poor naked incredibly beautiful rare October roses. They don't care that the frosts have begun. They simply nod in the wind and shine with the dew. And I smile. And I know that this too shall pass. It won't be easy, and it won't be soon. But it will pass. And October roses on naked canes remind me that life is precious and fragile and fleeting.

First an earthquake

then

A hurricane

then

A tornado

For goodness sakes; this is the Northeast. We don't have earthquakes, hurricanes, or tornadoes. Well, yeah, we do but they are rare occurances. But to have all three all balled up into one week. Man

The earthquake wasn't bad. Mostly a noise maker and a pet shaker.

The hurricane turned tropical storm ripped through the back yard/garden... and bye bye gazebo, bye bye pool, and bye bye all the leaves on my roses. Hello to all the "stuff" migrated into my yard from the neighbors down the line. Still can't believe that we didn't have to play "chase the can" with the trash bin. Any other time, oh yeah, right down the line it goes. Not this time. I suppose I should at least be grateful that the wind came from the opposite direction to normal. A much better class of trash. Once again we were three days without electricity. Still don't understand the engineering marvel that put these six houses all on their own line. Sooo nice to be in the dark hole of Calcutta while the world shone around us.  Usually we fall asleep to the sound of crickets. That week we slept to the drone of generators, the neighbors generators. Ours was spitting and sputtering and making all kinds of racket. Then the man of the house decided to help vent the motor to the outside of the garage by placing aluminum stove venting pipe over the generator exhaust and out the side window. Really. That make sense to you. You ever hear a motorcycle with the baffles removed? Quiet compared to his contraption.

Me... Hon, that's not working.

DH...What?

Me... Hon that's not working.

DH...What?

Me...HON THAT'S NOT WOOORRRRRKKKKING.   YA THINK?

DH disengaged his contraption and came out 'round the back of the garage to find 20 neighbors with pitchforks and fallen limbs on an intercept course with his great invention. New patio furniture next spring; or this fall if we can't find a good sell out, end of season sale. Won't count on it though. Everyone around here will be looking for bargains.

Now don't get me wrong. The people in the valley were hit much, much, worse. I am at a loss to find the right words to convey the correct amount of intensity or to describe the destruction of my hometown. It is beyond comprehension in so many aspects. And now, almost a week to the hour, a tornado scratched it's way across the valley. It started on the south side of the Mohawk River headed north across the river and set down in a sleepy little "don't blink your eyes, you'll miss it" hamlet tucked away in the hollow.  It left a path of destruction a half mile wide and seven, SEVEN, miles long.

It's getting late. I will have to amend this posting with pics tomorrow.

What is the point, IS the point.

Why bother to write. Most anything I find interesting has already been "blogged" by someone else... and usually they have done a much better job at it than I could ever hope to. So why blog at all?

For the comments? Not hardly. Comments are not a fair indicator of the readibility or reliability of the post. Perhaps they can be consisded a fair estimation of content only if  racy, raunchy, riotist, racist, heart wrenching or _____________.  Yet that not necessarily true.  I don't need or crave the attention.

I've never written in anonymity. I've always assumed that somebody out there is going to know who I am. Those who know me, know I write as I speak. The style gives me away. Those with a mediocum of sense simply have to refer to my "handle". No imagination in that one, as I've said many times. So truth and life path must be followed. No other way when family and pastor check in from time to time. I admit that I do use the occasional crass or crude phrase, but I'm human and faulty lol.

Connectivity.

I remember a lot about those handfull (ok, at least two handsfull) of people that I read and follow consistantly. I DO care when you're down. I DO feel your hurt when you lose a loved one. I laugh and cry and jump for joy with you. I even get jealous from time to time. I miss that some of the most honest and transparent witers have fallen off the grid.

So I've decided that I will continue to write as I please. If you feel I've copied you, I'm sorry. If my opinion runs contrary to yours, I'm glad. At least we are all free to have opinions similar or opposite or somewhere in the middle. I DO not have the right to tell YOU how to think... but I Do have the right to tell you why I think as I think. And so do you.

This is MY blog and MY forum. I do this for me even when no one else reads my posts.

Regardless, (yes I know that is the correct English... yet something in me has always liked the sound of IRregardless).

I've avoided certain subjects because I've strived to avoid conflict. Because certain words are 'triggers' to rest of the blogging community. Any number of people out there are guarenteed to react with lips blazing and tongue wagging, eyes popping on the edge of a heartattack

Obama.... AAARRGGHHH     blah blah blah blast swear question your parentage....

Too bad, so sad. Go cry to someone who cares.

Quite some time ago I was made aware of a film project that although world wide in scope included a local focus; my hometown of Amsterdam. Apparently a team of Belgian filmmakers has made it their goal to visit all the cities named after the original Amsterdam, Netherlands or Holland dependent upon your preference.

We were one of four Amsterdam’s that they have visited and included in their documentary.

This is nothing to be proud about. The film is degrading and derogatory highlighting the disintegration of a once prosperous and proud manufacturing city. The fact that Amsterdam is suffering the same downturn that most Northeastern Urban Manufacturing Centers are is not untrue but I can't seem to shake the feeling that these two guys enjoyed our misfortune and used the residents and city officials as dopes and dummies. I know the people chosen. They are good down to earth souls. They have little refinement, though. They were dressed shabbily and spoke, well let's say, not the most grammatically correct English. These filmmakers sought out the dunce, the eccentric, and the dolt. Throughout they were openly condescending and at times painfully rude as if the person being interviewed was unaware of the insult.

They featured the town bigot.
They spotlighted the town museum where the curator openly bragged about how well known our little museum is for having the most inappropriate and inaccurate portrayal of Native American Pre-Revolutionary Life in the Mohawk Valley.
They were given the tour of the city by an official who looked as if he had been rousted from his bed a half hour prior to the interview after an all night kegger.
They visited our Former National Guard Armory, which they repeatedly referred to as a " castle" emphasizing the the current owner had purchased the Armory on EBay.
They showed clip after clip of a decrepit Main Street, boarded up and quietly decaying.
They showed the old obsolete deserted factory building complexes, For Sale signs so weathered that you can barely make out the words.
They showed the blighted ethnic communities, run down residences, closed neighborhood stores and bodegas.
They showed the thriving dives, bars and pubs.

They never did mention the state of the art Hospital or modern shopping facilities now relocated to a different thriving area of the city; or the award winning High School Marching and Concert Bands or any number of bright and positive aspects of our Amsterdam. They did not show the modern fire station and equipment. They have no film footage of the neat, clean neighborhoods and suburbs that still exist populated with intelligent, caring and generous people of all races and religions.

Not one picture of the beautiful, rolling foothills leading north to the Adirondacks and south to the Catskills was offered. They chose to not include any interviews with prosperous business men and women, teachers, students, or medical personnel.

One can only imagine their purpose. I can hardly think that they could in any way be holding a grudge. They were strangers for god's sake. Why trash this little town, once a thriving city now a small rural area so deep in desperate times.

I'm a bit miffed that's for sure. All we are guilty of is sending (and spending) the lives of our beloved fathers, sons and brothers, (twice) to free Belgium.

Some thanks.

Tools Explained

Here's a list of tools and their typical usage.

Anyone who has spent time working on cars will be able to relate to this. 

HAMMER: Originally employed as a weapon of war, the hammer nowadays is used as a kind of divining rod to locate expensive car parts not far from the object we are trying to hit.

MECHANIC'S KNIFE: Used to open and slice through the contents of Cardboard cartons delivered to your front door; works particularly well on boxes containing convertible tops or tonneau covers.

ELECTRIC HAND DRILL: normally used for spinning steel Pop rivets in their holes until you die of old age, but it also works great for drilling rollbar mounting holes in the floor of a sports car just above the brake line that goes to the rear axle.

PLIERS: Used to round off bolt heads.

HACKSAW: One of a family of cutting tools built on the Ouija board principle. It transforms human energy into a crooked, unpredictable motion, and the more you attempt to influence its course, the more dismal your future becomes.

VISE-GRIPS: Also used to round off any stubborn bolt heads the the PLIERS may have missed. If nothing else is available, they can also be used to transfer intense welding heat to the palm of your hand.

OXYACETLYLENE TORCH: Used almost entirely for lighting those stale garage cigarettes you keep hidden in the back of the Whitworth socket drawer (What wife would think to look in there?) because you can never remember to buy lighter fluid for the Zippo lighter you got from the PX in Fort Campbell.

ZIPPO LIGHTER:  see oxyacetylene torch.

WHITWORTH SOCKETS: Once used for working on older British cars and motorcycles, they are now used mainly for hiding six-month old Salems from the sort of person who would throw them away for no good reason.

DRILL PRESS: A tall upright machine useful for suddenly snatching flat metal bar stock out of your hands so that it smacks you in the chest and flings your beer across the room, splattering it against the Rolling Stones poster over the bench grinder.

WIRE WHEEL: Cleans rust off old bolts and then throws them somewhere under the workbench with the speed of light. Also removes fingerprint whorls and hard-earned guitar callouses in about the time it takes you to say, "Django Reinhardt".

HYDRAULIC FLOOR JACK: Used for lowering a Mustang to the ground after you have installed a set of Ford Motorsports lowered road springs, trapping the jack handle firmly under the front air dam.

EIGHT-FOOT LONG DOUGLAS FIR 2X4: Used for levering a car upward off a hydraulic jack.

TWEEZERS: A tool for removing wood splinters

PHONE: Tool for calling your neighbor Chris to see if he has another hydraulic floor jack.

SNAP-ON GASKET SCRAPER: theoretically useful as a sandwich tool for spreading mayonnaise; used mainly for getting dog-doo off your boot

E-Z OUT BOLT AND STUD EXTRACTOR: A tool that snaps off in bolt holes and is ten times harder than any known drill bit.

TIMING LIGHT: A stroboscopic instrument for illuminating grease buildup on crankshaft pulleys.

TWO-TON HYDRAULIC ENGINE HOIST: A handy tool for testing the tensile strength of ground straps and hydraulic clutch lines you may have forgotten to disconnect.

CRAFTSMAN 1/2 x 16-INCH SCREWDRIVER: A large motor mount prying tool that inexplicably has an accurately machined screwdriver tip on the end without the handle

BATTERY ELECTROLYTE TESTER: A handy tool for transferring sulfuric acid from a car battery to the inside of your toolbox after determining that your battery is dead as a doornail, just as you thought.

AVIATION METAL SNIPS: see hacksaw

TROUBLE LIGHT: The mechanic's own tanning booth. Sometimes called a drop light, it is a good source of vitamin D, "the sunshine vitamin", which is not otherwise found under cars at night. Health benefits aside, its main purpose is to consume 40-watt light bulbs at about the same rate that 105-mm howitzer shells might be used during, say, the first few hours of the Battle of the Bulge. More often dark than light, its name is somewhat misleading.

PHILLIPS SCREWDRIVER: Normally used to stab the lids of old-style paper-and tin oil cans and splash oil on you shirt; can also be used, as the mane implies, to round out Phillips screw heads.

AIR COMPRESSOR: A machine that takes energy produced in a coal-burning power plant 200 miles away and transforms it into compressed air that travels by hose to a Chicago Pneumatic impact wrench that grips rusty suspension bolts last tightened 40 years ago by someone in Abingdon, Oxfordshire, and...... rounds them off.

Surprise!!!

Hubby's out of work.

So am I...

Not exactly been the most pleasant three weeks without income...

Now to figure out what to do.

Oh, bother

I'm sitting at my computer. Nothing new.. except it's early.. really early for me. It's going to be a busy day and already I've bustled around the house, emptied the dishwasher, started laundry, fed cat, dog and fish. All the little mundane tasks that make up my day.

All winter long I linger in my bed until the last possible moment. I think that some in the household think it's because I'm lazy or maybe because I stay up too late. Nothing could be further from the truth. I'm a sun girl. I love my late nights but no matter how late it may be before I hit the sack, I always rise with the sun. As Winter deepens so does my sleep in time. Then Spring returns and bit by bit every morning, the Sun peeps in my window earlier and earlier, I rise to start may day earlier and earlier. I call it "Sun Time". H on the other hand is always up at the same time every day. He needs no alarm clock or reminders. He's simply up and into his routine. H is content  having the run of the house early mornings. Toilet when he wants, putz around the kitchen, maybe catch a little of the Weather Channel before popping off to work. A very leisurely and predictable schedule. H calls it "His Time".

Sun time and His time finally converged today. Awkward.  This morning I beat him the the bathroom, beat him to the kitchen, turned on the radio not the TV (horrible aren't I?) He simply is not used to my being "in his way".  I threw off the whole tempo of  his day. Poor dear. It's not that I like disturbing his mornings. I had to get moving myself today. So much to do, to do.

Today my temporary sojourner leaves to join her new "temporary" family. Lots of packing and of course the source of today's laundry. Can't let her move on with a (huge) load of dirty clothing, can I? Well, I could, actually. But she did remember to bring it all to the washroom at the last possible moment before leaving for school. I'm glad she did because I would have been embarrassed to send her off with bags of dirty clothing. Yet, I would have let her leave that way. We all have to live with the consequences of our decisions, good or bad. Hopefully, she will begin to put two and two together and decide to make better choices. Did I mention she's 16?

She also intruded on "His time". Last night she made a last ditch plea to me to let her stay home to pack and "stuff". Not going to happen, I told her. So next she asked if I could get her out of school early. Not going to happen, I told her. Well, can you pack for me while you're home today?  Definitely NOT going to happen Disappointed she headed off to bed early... and was up and barricaded in the main bathroom before 6am. Now that put a real monkey wrench in H's day. Poor Dear. He was forced to use the secondary facility.

All this racing around my mind, bumping and jostling for supremacy. Do this, think that, be there... a jumble of ideas becoming a knot of worry. When, in a distracted moment I hear... chirping, bird song, peeps and pips, and a quiet insistence that I listen.  I recognize them... that's a Cardinal, my Cardinal, and a Chickadee. Perhaps a sparrow.. no!  A finch!!  All joyously serenading the day. Glorious and happy and content. I can tell you it's not much of a day outside my window. It's cold. It's gray. It's damp and dreary and not inviting at all. Yet, somewhere, out in the garden there's a raucous celebration of life permeating the air.  It doesn't matter to them that the circumstances surrounding them as less than optimal. They celebrate life regardless.  Something to think about.

This is the first of many weekly challenges or so I hope. Lena, itswhateyeknow, decided to invite us all the join in the first ever "cook it together" event.  The point was that everyone would make the same recipe, photograph it and post within 24 hours. That day was supposed to be  Sunday; but I admit that I cheated and cooked on Saturday. I already had a house full of people due to invade on Sunday and I never, NEVER, experiment with company; family yes.. company no. lol
Family come back no matter what poison I serve.

Her debut selection.. Turkey Chili.

First find all the ingredients.
No beer. I don't put water in my whiskey and no beer in my cooking. I'm a bit of a purist. I also added half of a green bell pepper. The Chili powder I use already has a kick so any extra heat will added at the table to each person's taste.




I started by sweating the aromatics only to find that in my haste I had added all the garlic cloves to the pot whole. You can see one hiding under the spoon handle. Had the scoop them out and chop them. I used four cloves not two. Again I have a pretty good handle on the family's prejudiced tastes.



Next I added the turkey which, of course, did not come in a one pound package... but close enough. Once the turkey was no longer pink, I then added the spices and the tomato paste and gave them quick cook time before adding the tomatoes and the chicken broth. Giving the spices a bit of "fry time" will intensify the flavors in the dish. Same for the tomato paste. It needs a little time to caramelize and release the flavor of the tomato.



My family likes to eat their chili with elbow noodles or rice. (Which, btw, will solve Seedsower's problem with beans) I also skipped the cilantro and went straight for the fresh parsley. I like the taste of cilantro, especially in salsa but DH thinks that it tastes too soapy for him. 

This recipe was not only good looking but good eating too.
Try it, you'll like it

Can't wait to see what our next recipe is going to be.

Good show, Lena!!!


She has begun a new Blogring for this project.
Check it out and join us in our culinary adventures.

Let's get spicy and talk about it