This for you MK > I know how much you love this!!!!

Today I made my first soup of the fall season. Soup is actually one of my most favorite meals. Honey doesn't care to eat soup at all during the summer... Well, he would IF it could be grilled. Seeing as I have a hard time keeping those little bits and pieces on the rack, he he.... Anyways, I came across a hambone in the freezer saved from, oh, probably the Easter ham, and I decided to make split pea soup. I don't think I've ever made any one soup the same way twice; a little of this, a little of that and a whole lot of whatever is at hand makes soup time an adventure in our home. I came out alright for a season opener but since I have not yet put up the winter supplies it was basically a leftover of the leftovers kind of soup. I usually will use half green and half yellow peas but had to settle for all green this time around. I even was short a bit of chicken stock and had to use a beef bullion instead. H seemed to get all the whole peppercorns. Yippee for him.

When I was growing up my mom would always use several bay leaves in anything she made with beans or gravy (red sauce). She said they were good for the digestion so in they would go. Later on, out they would be ladled into some lucky persons bowl. Now I use the term luck somewhat loosely as the recipient did not, in fact, feel that any luck was attached. Mom always insisted that whomever received the bay leaf was the fortunate one who would be washing up that night. With nine people to clean up after you can assume that lucky was not the adjective of our (the children's) choice. She actually had us believing that it was a random thing. NOT!!!

Moving on... Moe and CeCe spent some time at G'ma's this weekend. It's been tougher than usual as school has stirred up Moe who is taking his time acclimating to the new routine. So some of his behavior has been a little over the top and at times downright bizarre. He still sees absolutely no point whatsoever in directing any of his energy or time towards activities or tasks that don't interest him. So getting him to focus on the task at hand can be challenging at times for everyone involved with his education. The resulting process of him discharging the built up frustration of forced compliance with the teacher's directions has been difficult on his caretakers. Doubly so since where Moe goes, CeCe follows.

He has returned to a behavior that I have not seen him participate in since he was 3 or so. Moe had gone upstairs to use the "big" bathroom. Why? Because of the gold fish tank in there; that's why. I followed a while afterwards because it was much too quiet and he had been up there a long time by my reckoning. The door was open. As I rounded the corner the first thing he said was, "The fish were really hungry!" I said, "You remember that you are not to feed the fish when G'ma is not with you? And I've already given them their supper" He remembered alright. He had simply chosen to remember after he had fed the fish a great heaping helping of fish food. He assured me that everything was ok. He only gave them a little dessert. Arrgghh. (I scooped out what extra I could) But this is not the behavior that he had regressed to.... In fact, I didn't even notice that problem until much later after he had gone home. I was so flustered by the fish incident. That evening as I reached for the T Tissue I noticed that the brand new roll was .... empty. AND that the contents were all stashed behind the commode. So off I trotted to the phone to ask Moe, Watzup!! Oh grandma, I had to do potty and I needed my favorite piece of tissue... at the end of the roll next to the cardboard tube. It's the softest. Stinker started spinning the roll empty from the time he could stand and I guess he's back at it. Go Figure.

Gotta have a talk with that boy.

Another talk...

Again...

15 “Me” facts thanks to Bricker 59’s tag.

EDIT: Bricker thought I might be upset with him for the tag. No way. I merely meant, Thank you for the impetus to take the time and effort to decide what may have some actual relevance in my life and might also be consisdered interesting to you.

1.         I’m the mother of two miracle babies. I was a babe myself having babies. The miracle is that they grew up mostly intact and are now intelligent, marvelous, loving adults. I wish I knew now what I thought I knew then.

2.       I was born with so much hair that they were able to legitimately put cute little pink bows in it while in the nursery. (No Velcro in the 1950s)

3.       My hair began to turn white when I was 30. I had grey hair starting in my 20’s. Some think that is a sign of a vitamin A deficiency. I just chalk it up to heredity and the luck of the draw. My children are also showing signs of premature graying, with the eldest, at 35, being grayer than his 56 year old father.

4.       Most adults think I look younger than I am. Most kids know that I really am younger than I look.

5.       I’m the best water witch in the family which is a crying shame for my country relatives because I won’t douse anymore. I haven’t since my mid thirties.  Long story.

6.       I hate to drive. There are still people who do not realize that I’ve had a driver’s license since I was seventeen. Once we stopped buying low slung, fast moving vehicles with a “stick”…. Well, the thrill was gone.

7.       I remember everything. Too bad my recall is getting slower.  My mind is like a lava lamp; it’s all there but it keeps rising to the surface in bits and blobs only to sink slowly back into oblivion.

8.       I’ve had a near death out of body experience, twice.

9.       My sense of balance is exceptional; an inheritance from my Mohawk ancestors.

10.    I won the tri-county Twisting Contest at the old Rialto Theater when I was 12… that would be 1964.

11.       My family will not let me touch any wrapped presents they may be giving me or others (for example birthday or Christmas presents) because I always will know what’s in the package. Ruins the surprise they say.

12.     Over the years, I’ve taught myself to crochet, knit, drive a stick shift (now there’s a story) sew, swim, quilt, accounting, Microsoft office and how to make a killer spaghetti sauce (called gravy by most NYC Italians). Now, that’s a little known fact because the Hubby fancies himself the best sauce maker ever. I know better but choose to not push the issue.

13.     I’ve never had to clean my oven, windows, or toilets. My Honey insists the chemicals involved are too harsh for me to contact.  Who am I to disagree with him? He has done those chores for the 36 years we have been married.

14.     I still ask “why” and other assorted “dumb” questions. I’m not ready to stop learning.

15.     I will not eat cooked fruit, shell fish, okra, or anything that looks like fish eyes.

These are in no particular order. If I were to add explanations to each point this post would be pages long. I didn’t even touch on my pseudo OCD, my penchant for speaking in weird voices with corresponding appropriate facial contortions while play acting with my g’babies or any kiddies, my inability to climb stairways without handrails, my fluency in Spanglish and my completely irrational, mind bending, get me outta here now psychotic fear/hatred of spiders, centipedes and snakes.

I guess the point is to “tag” someone else to come up with 15 interesting or little know factoids about themselves. This I will not do. Anybody wishing to share some of your life facts can choose to do so if you wish. I hope some of you will.

Ya hoooo.  I've finally finished and packed off Mary's quilted tablerunner and placements. BIL has them in his suitcase and is dutifully carting them them across the continent and half the Pacific to my sweety in Hawaii. So for those who have been patiently waiting... Ta dah. 

On another note... The weatherman has officially declared:

"THE END OF THE GROWING SEASON"

We will have our first hard frost this evening with temps dipping below 30 degress F. This means I will have to bring in or protect my tender plants. So, goodbye basil, so long parsley, see ya later sweetpeas, and no more begonias...

THE LAST ROSES

JOSEPH'S LITTLE PUMPKIN

The little guy has been nursing this lonely pumpkin since the wet weather (or whatever) killed off all the others.

Hopefully the aphids will be gone too. The stinkers have reappeared in droves since the Japanese beetles have gone underground.

It was tough getting a clear picture as the wind is still up around here.

I've no right! Really, no right at all to complain about the effects of Ike. He was a unmitigated nasty storm to Texas and beyond. Thousands will be displaced from their homes for weeks, so believe me, I am aware that my minor moaning has no valid substance.

Still being thousands of miles away in upstate New York you would think that we would be distant enough to ensure safety. Apparently not. Ike, not ready to 'give up the ghost' hitched a ride on the prevailing easterly winds to come knocking at my door Saturday evening in the form of unrelenting rain. Now this is not a problem unless you consider that fact that by Sunday morning I had a brand new four inches of  gulf coast precipitation in the very same ghetto pool that I had painstakingly emptied over the previous 24 hours. Fine, rain I can live with but Ike immediately showed his prowress by transforming my preplanned peaceful Saturday morn by raising the temp and the humidity beyond a sauna in the rainforest. Although uncomfortable I somehow didn't make the connection between Ike's presence and the weather and went on my merry if somewhat sweaty way. By Sunday afternoon, we realized that it was a bit more windy than usual this late Summer (extremely humid) weekend. So I took the normal precaution of not leaving anything light or prone to fly about outside in the yard. I tend to anchor most outside equipment rather securely because I've played "chase the can" down my little country lane one time too many already.

Sometime around 4 am my sweet handpicked cherished hubby woke me up with a, "What was THAT?". (Man speak for, "It's your turn to chase the can." I, however, knowing that it is actually his turn to run the trash can marathon, remained firmly ensconced on my side of  the bed. Then a thought starts bouncing around in my head... HE heard something. Good Grief the man is particularly deaf at night and the A/C is going full blast along with the fan (for circulation).... And he heard SOMETHING.  I got up.

      The moon on the scene that presented below,

      was brilliant on trash being blown to and fro.

      And my neighbor's pole carport, all canvas and new

      Had traveled two backyards to shelter my pool.

My neighbor silently retrieved his new slightly used car shelter early this morning. I left him alone knowing that he must feel embarrassed and deflated at having to cart his new "toy" back to his drive across two yards under the watchful eyes of his neighbors. What amazes me is that Hubby got up at his normal 5 am to go to work; doesn't remember waking me up and has no recollection of a big white imitation of a gigantic crashed kite occupying  the greater portion of our back garden.

BTW I did catch the trash can before it turned the corner and headed down our own drive on it's fruitless quest for freedom. Next time it is definitely his turn to "chase the can".

I remember, clearly, exactly where I was and what I was doing on 9-11. I remember the fear that overtook the office as we began to realize that many, many people were dying or in danger of dying. As you may recall, several aircraft were involved and for the first few hours the rumors of lost and unresponsive planes were rampant. Many of my coworkers family and loved ones were released from work in Albany NY (capital of NY) because of the similarity to several building structures and campi to the NYC area. Schools were closed and evacuated. There was a palpable sense of barely controlled panic that slowly infused itself into the fabric of that day. Almost everyone had someone or knew someone closely that had a loved one in the WTC complex. Later in the following weeks,  many of us would learn of loved ones and close friends that had been injured or displaced from their homes due to the bombing. Later, still, there would be some few empty casket funerals.

We gathered in quiet, packed groups around radios as the horror unfolded. Each new attack hammered home the vulnerability of our situation. Occasionally one could hear the muffled sobs from behind partition walls. In the weeks to come we would realize that more than one of the doomed aircraft had passed over our heads that beautiful late summer Tuesday morning. All the flights had been more than capable of reaching our location.

I, myself, had to endure the knowledge that some of my family may have been killed at that time. Fortunately no one died. However, several of the relatives in Manhattan were displaced for months due to the damage and contamination of their living quarters.

Today people are still missing. Many more suffer from chronic illness caused by the polluted air. This past month more remains of the slaughtered have been found in the areas surrounding ground zero.

Today the economy of New York State struggles to recover from the huge financial blow.

Today our Government remains entangled and embroiled in the aftermath of political upheaval.

Today the death toll continues to climb as more and more of our young men and women succumb to the legacy September 11, 2001.

So I remember... where I was then.... where we are now...

How could I ever forget????

I can remember a few things from my childhood actually, albeit a very few things at any one time. Still, I do remember mostly everything, only not all at the same time. I know that makes little sense but my memory is very much like a lava lamp with great globs rising to the surface only to be pushed aside and driven back downward into the abyss of forgetfulness.

My childhood memories of food are inseparable from people. Every day meals would require one table just as long as baby was in the high chair. Holidays found family packed shoulder to shoulder around two large rectangular tables. Occasionally it was necessary to eat in shifts. Mom fed the world. In her mind leftovers on Sunday meant somebody had missed a meal. I don’t think I ever ate alone until I left home to attend college. In fact, I fully believed that it was impossible to chew without company. To this day the aroma of certain dishes generates a flashback of faces. They remind me of eclectic (a polite word for strange) trivia connect to even more eccentric (stranger) relatives. For example, I love potatoes and brown gravy. I can make a meal out of mashed potatoes smooshed and smoothed flat on my plate, spread with a layer of applesauce (not chunky please) topped with a layer of buttered corn and drowned in brown gravy. OK… OK…. Gravy is to me what ketchup is to some other people. Uncle Clarence, my real Dutch Uncle, never understood the need to mash potatoes. His idea of potato cuisine was to boil the potatoes, drain the potatoes, shake the potatoes vigorously in the pot, and then eat the potatoes with salt and pepper and bacon grease. He also insisted that corn was cow food. (Hear me merrily Moo)

Baking was not my mother’s strong point. Sister Two and I basically taught ourselves by trial and error. We used to joke that everything we made was from scratch… and scratch was found at the bottom of a Pillsbury Box or its look alike cousin the Supermarket generic knockoff. However, Mom did excel at cooking. Not the posh type with exotic vegetables and organic grains; and not the June Cleaver type where pork roasts had cute little paper ‘hat’s’. Mom would have gladly let Martha Stewart know that coordinated tableware was not intrinsic to dining enjoyment. Her specialty was comfort food. Meat was stringy and tough until it met her magic. Cans were God’s gifts to her pantry. And believe me there were times when His gifts were fervently sought after.

As I sit here in the quiet of late night a random menu of items long ago craved come to mind. My mom made grilled (surplus) cheese sandwiches; lasagna with garden greens (weeds? We knew better than to ask); halved cantaloupes with creamy scoops of real vanilla ice cream.  Popsicles (always split in half)... Creamsicles (ice cream at any time, oh yum); and towers of toast and brown gravy with peas; Pasta w/ eggs poached in red sauce (served whenever the month was longer than the money); and walking into the kitchen after a long winter walk home from school to a huge pot of split pea soup, a snack before dinner. M & M's counted out into 14 outstretched grubby, grabby hands. With every dish a face floats before me, smiles and frowns, old and young, family and friend; a silent troop with plates laden and bowls tipped and dripping; fingers sticky and soiled and happily licked one by one.

It occurs to me that it was not the taste of the food itself that draws me to yesteryear’s feasts. Mom used few if any seasonings. Yet I know that it was delicious. Perhaps it was the spice of life that flavored my youth. Meals infused with laughter and stories, rumors and news of the day…. And my baby brother’s “Elephant” jokes. That kid had a real thing for the Pachyderms.

Question      “What do you do when an elephant swallows you???

Answer         “Walk around until you get pooped out”

The little 4 year old guy meant pooped out as in tuckered out. He never did understand why big sister nearly sprayed him with her potatoes and brown gravy…

This is it. Big Boy Time; the first step on a path that leads to...  sedition school (and gray hair). J enters kindergarten this year. All the teachers and aides at his private nursery/ preschool have been preparing him for the last 6 months for this momentous event. It was not pretty the first time that it really sunk in that J was NOT returning to the Clover Patch and his beloved Miss E. "Not going, I'm not going. I'm going to stay here forever... I love you Miss E." was J's mantra. When that didn't work he began the cajoling and begging and bargaining. But time and tide wait for no one, graduate he did and matriculate he must.

In the meantime, school began to prepare mom for the change. Now, of course, they did not put it that way in their letters but you and I who have been down this road before know what, "Let your child get to see his new surroundings" really means. It means; Mom come on in and see for yourself that the torture devices have been removed and all the tables have rounded corners. So two visits and three letters later, mom is mostly satisfied that her little one will manage to navigate the maze of halls and not be left to wander the building like a lost mouse in search of a lump of cheese. Well, mostly... She did have some reservations about the tiny school cafeteria kitchen and the combo lunch hall/ auditorium/ gym.

The letters, however, were a whole new experience. Hidden between the lines was a picture of a scenario that hovered somewhere between a fairly godmother and Cinderella's stepmother. From, we are so glad you will be here and we are sure you will love it here, to.... THE LIST. You non-homeschooling moms understand THE LIST. Apparently about all you can depend upon for your tax dollars is a table, a chair, a teacher to give directions, an aide to follow directions and a non leaky roof over your head. YOU provide the rest: pencils, paper, folder (for teachers notes home to you, the loving parent, telling you that your precious progeny needs drugs.. this kid needs drugs, please give him some drugs), crayons (no markers; I wonder why? *snicker*), scissors (blunt), glue (stick), the box to hold them, paper, snacks, kleenex, (lots of kleenex although I don't know why... don't they all come to school with two sleeves???) plastic drinking cups and your own painting smock. Everything must be labeled with your child's name. Let me know how you label scissors. Please.

First day home found teacher's folder already made to good use. Inside were the papers for, as all experienced school mom's know, the first fundraiser. It's time to hound friends, family and coworkers to buy mostly unnecessary stuff at astronomical prices to provide supplies for the class. What? Man, didn't you guys read THE LIST?

Well, J also known as Moe around here, collected himself and his 20 pounds of school mandated gear and off he went to his first day of kindergarten on Wednesday. He lives very close to his new school. A parent's dream actually. Only one street to cross, smooth safe sidewalks and a large courtyard in front of the school. And all this, including the crossing guard in highly reflective gear and stop paddle is clearly visible from his very own front porch. He'll be walking to school most days but not to worry, oh no!!  It's uphill, one way, he he. (Let me know if you don't understand that and I will explain how, G'ma and G'pa always would tell stories of yesteryear where they had to walk five miles to school.. barefoot.. in the snow.. against the wind.. uphill.. both ways.. and liked it.).

Moe gets home that afternoon and calmly tells his mom, "Well that's done with. Told the teacher I'm not coming back tomorrow. Got a motorcycle to buy."   Sounds like a failure to communicate the permanence of education.

BTW anybody want to buy some potted mums. Only 6$ each, three or more are a bargain at 5$ each?

Hubby's New Toy... 

There's been a problem with "Pop Ups".

Every time he has a problem;

I have to pop up and go fix it !!

Xanga is not the only site have 'issues' with controversial topics. The debate as to what is safe to discuss or comment on is a hot topic not limited to only the written word but also to the spoken word.

A friend on another blog wrote about this recently. She really seemed to reach into my brain and pull out what I wish I had the courage to say out loud. It stated what I feel so closely to how I myself would have written, that I decided to reprint her entry (with her permission, of course) for your consideration. She has asked me to not  share her site as a link. Why? ... flamers, of course. She has enough to deal with at home so to say.

I have edited out any personal references and my comments are in (bold print).

I'm a reasonably intelligent person. I've led a fairly moderate life and have enjoyed my share of accomplishments and suffered my share of setbacks. I've learned a lot in my fifty-something years on planet Earth, and am aware that there's a LOT more I have yet to learn. My vices are few, the worst of which is being a little opinionated, and I'm working on that one; really. I've observed some things in recent months which have really challenged my better judgment and discretion, though, to the point that I wonder if keeping my opinions to myself is necessarily healthy. Isn't America supposed to be "the land of the free and home of the brave"? How free am I if I merely tread the waters of current events, only to be carried along by their flow; how brave am I if I censor my words--spoken and written--for fear of the reactions they may arouse in others? see: Question of the Day: Controversial Topics? posted by the revelife crew on Revelife.

     My beloved avoids discussing politics, religion, money and sex--outside the embrace of our personal environment. I've always deemed them to be meaningful and utterly fascinating aspects of the human experience and legitimate fodder for enlightening dialog, but experience has taught me that to dangle my toes in those swirling waters is to risk drowning in them. He's probably right in declining to participate in such dialogs; there's no way to predict how people will respond, and a perfectly benign conversation (or blog entry) can turn volatile in an instant. I've seen it happen and it's more sad than scary.

     In the past twenty years or so, in the interests of open-minded consideration, I've observed some things which were brought to my attention and which, at that time, were pretty "fringe". My personal respect and regard for the person who brought them to my attention prevented me from calling the information outright nuts. Deep inside, I have to confess, I was skeptical. Then, with the passage of time, I watched as, one by one, those "fringe" events and trends played out; it has been at once a fascinating and disturbing experience.

     I suppose I am, in a way, observing my beloved's discretion in not being more specific here about what I've seen happening around me, and I wish it were out of wisdom and not apprehension; I never dreamed that, in my lifetime, I would see Americans putting up and shutting up to the extent that many are now doing. We face times more troubled than this country has ever faced before and overcoming them will require significant discomfort. The media, which we count upon to bring accurate information concerning the people and events of the day, can't be relied upon for veracity and I sometimes wonder if we were told exactly what's going on around us, would we be able to handle it? Personally, my preference is that, if I'm going to be hit by a train and there's nothing I can do about it, I would rather see it coming.

     I will state for the record that I have utter contempt (my own view is not quite so forceful or negative) for the current state of the contest for the presidency of this country. The media is dishing up personalities du jour and the public is getting caught up in the feeding frenzy. Solid information backed up by indisputable facts is essential (and sorely lacking or manipulated) as we face one of our most important adult decisions: the one we will make in November. I won't presume to tell anyone which candidate is most qualified, most attractive, or most clever with words, nor will I express my gravest concerns about issues of veracity and integrity--there are too many of them on both sides of the fence.

     This fall I hope to be able to cast my precious vote for the person I will entrust--literally--with my life and the lives of my loved ones. I hope to be able to vote for a person I believe is best qualified for the job, not the one I mistrust less than the other.

     It's gonna be a long time 'til November