Good News, Bad News

Good News:
The Library book has been found. It was found on a shelf of the library. Their computer was making mistakes and is now in the process of being updated.

Bad News:
The hurricane DEAN is heading toward Texas.

Library

I’m in trouble with the local branch of the Houston library. They say I have a book that’s over due. I know I returned it ahead of the due date and I’ve told them that, but their computer keeps notifying me to return the book. I continue checking books out and each time I return them I hand them to one of the librarians IN PERSON, but they are so busy they don’t remember. I’ve searched the apartment for the missing book, but it’s not here. I asked my son to help me look for it but he couldn’t find it either.

Once last year, I did mislay a book I had purchased at a thrift shop, and spent days searching for it. I was quite embarrassed when my son found it on my bedside table, almost in plain sight. It was lying under a flower catalog. Thinking it was a pile of catalogs, I failed to turn over the top one.

The missing book had been put on reserve for me, and I had waited several months before it was available. After taking it home, it wasn’t interesting enough to keep very long, and I returned it along with other books, none of them over due.

I do not know why I’m so greedy about books. From the time I learned to read and was old enough to go to the library by myself, libraries have been a source of pleasure for me. My sister Adeline and I believed the library was our second home. We spent hours browsing picture and story books. It was easy to stop at the library on the way home from school and we both developed a love of libraries that lasted thru the years. Adeline even became a volunteer to help stack returned books when her children were all grown and away from home. I’ve mentioned in past posts that Adeline and I, either jointly or separately, were in constant debt to the library when we were in the third and fourth grades. By the time we had reached the higher grades we had learned to return books on time, and no longer had to spend our summers finding jobs to pay off the fines built up during the winter months.

Even though I’m diligent about returning library books on time, I once deliberately ignored the due date of a book many years ago. All the used text books for a six weeks college class in Art History had been sold and my budget didn’t allow the purchase of a new text. I telephoned the downtown Los Angeles Public Library and was told they had several copies. I checked one out as quickly as I could, knowing full well I would keep it past due. I had mentally weighed the exorbitant cost of the text against the daily fine and chose the fine. If I remember right, the fine came to a little over $4 and the cost of the book was nearer $30.

My son has been in phone contact with the library from whence the missing book came. There is still hope that it will be found, but it might take as long as 5 weeks to track it thru the library system. If it’s not found, I will probably be asked to buy one to replace it.

Bicycles

The other day on the way home from grocery shopping, we saw a lone bicycle rider pedaling 90 to nothing in the right hand lane of a feeder road. Traffic moves as fast as it does on the freeways and I remarked that apparently Houston didn’t have bike lanes and the guy we just passed would be lucky to get where he wanted to go without getting killed. My son, who was driving, said that Houston does have bike lanes but our errands rarely take us near them.

It has been years since I rode a bike. I enjoyed biking, but I never developed the skill of total control. My first experience was during the summer between third and fourth grade. Several of my siblings and I had gone to the park along the river near the dam to play on the swings and rings. A boy from my class rode up with his new birthday bike to show off. He let a couple of boys ride it to the end of the block and back and I asked if I could have a turn. He asked if I knew how to ride a bike, and I told him, "Of course!" I had never been on a bike but I had confidence that what the boys could do, I could too. I asked him if it would be all right if I rode to my house and came right back. He asked how long it would take and I said a few minutes. He grudgingly gave me permission and I got on the bike. It was a shaky moment but, once I got on the seat and started pedaling, things when as they should. I did have to pedal rather fast to keep my balance but all went well until I got to my house and turned to go back to the park. I made a wide circle but it wasn’t wide enough and the bike ran up on the sidewalk and headlong into a tree. To keep from falling completely over, I had to skip/jump on one leg but the bike scraped my knee and leg as it went side ways. I quickly looked the bike over for damage but it was ok. My leg hurt a lot, but I was determined not to let the boy know I had a fall. When I got back to the park the boy was irate because I had been gone so long but I reminded him that he knew where I lived and he had given me permission and besides, I went there and right back!

During the depression years when we lived on the asparagus farm, the folks bought a bike for the boys to share. Adeline and I, being older than the boys, wanted a bike too, but the folks couldn’t afford it. The boys took to the bike like a duck to water. Jerry, the youngest, was too small to ride, but that didn’t stop him. He developed a style of swinging his body back and forth across the seat, dropping his weight down on the pedal as it reached the high point and shoving the pedal down as hard as he could to bring the pedal up on the other side.

Many years ago when my husband and I lived in the country house outside of Paris, the women in the small village invited me to go biking with them on Saturday mornings to shop in the near by town about 10 or 15 kilometers away. Neither we nor the villagers owned a car. My husband and I walked the three miles to the train station or paid a farmer’s son to take us by horse and wagon. We didn’t have a bicycle either, but the women said they would furnish the bike if I wanted to join them. The bicycle was not like an American bike. It was very high off the ground and I needed help just to get on the seat! There was a basket on the front for carrying groceries but I knew from past experience that if I put in anything weighing more than a feather, I’d probably lose my balance. I was along for the ride more than the groceries. Within a few minutes it was obvious that I was not able to keep up with the others and I began to lag farther and farther behind. One or two of them came back to encourage me to go faster so we could get home before the heat of the day reached a high point. I had never used handle bar brakes and I was warned about not coming to an abrupt halt. At the speeds the women traveled, a sudden halt would have been fatal. I was able to make the trip without mishap, but I refused all ensuing invitations. I think the women only asked out of courtesy and were secretly pleased when I didn’t join them a second time.

The last time I was on a bike was in Palo Alto, back in the 70s when I took my daughter’s bike for a ride. I had a bike/car accident. The fact that the car was a block behind me doesn’t negate the accident. It was a sunny afternoon and I was riding down an empty street near the courthouse. I heard a car and turned to see how close it was and lost my balance. I landed on my keester and got scrapes and bruises and messed up the bike so bad it couldn’t be ridden. Of course the driver of the car never suspected he was the cause of the accident and went in another direction at the intersection. I had to walk the bike home and my aches and pains increased as hobbled home. My son often suggests I get an exercise bike, but at this stage of my life, I know my limitations!

Radio Music

The other day I walked into the kitchen to get something out of the refrigerator and heard Home on the Range being played on PBS radio. It took a moment to believe what I was hearing because it’s not the usual type of music that station plays. My kitchen radio is tuned to PBS radio and plays 24/7. Having been a listener of that station for many years I was a bit astonished. The orchestration was so lovely I paused to listen. I expected the music to end any second but as it continued, I leaned against the counter and lost myself in the arrangement. As it played I wondered what orchestra had recorded it, and hoped it would be identified when the music ended. It was the Boston symphony with Arthur Fiedler conducting.

The song brought back a sweet memory of the ‘music practice’ Esther and I had every day with Mom when she was closer to 100 than 95 years of age. The sessions started one day when I was inspired to create an activity Mom could participate in. I took her by the hand into the kitchen and sat her down at the round maple table in the middle of the room. As she got comfortable, I pretended to be a music teacher. We did some warm up breathing exercises and sang the do re me scales a couple of times, then began singing songs like Old Kentucky Home, Down In the Valley, On Top Of Old Smoky, Amazing Grace and Home On The Range.

Mom had a wonderful time so the next day we repeated the ‘lesson’. Soon we were a trio when Esther came from Baton Rouge for a visit. Between the three of us we remembered more songs and added them to our repertoire. Esther had a wonderful idea of going to the library to get song books to help us with the lyrics. We searched thru music books and made zerox copies of songs we liked, lullabies, hymns, cowboy, patriotic, and pop songs from the 40s and 50s. When Esther went back to Baton Rouge she took the copies with her and made us four duplicate song books.

There was an extra for anyone who might want to chime in. Jerry did join us once when he was visiting from Groesbeck, and I was pleasantly surprised to discover he knew all the words to many of the songs, especially the hymns we sang! Adeline took part in our daily singing sessions when she came for a long visit from California. We coaxed Dad and Charles to join in but they refused. Dad preferred watching ball games on TV and Charles sat outside under the patio umbrella which was between the kitchen door and the wood shop entrance, and talked with Pierce, a neighbor. From time to time, either Charles or Pierce would come thru the kitchen on the way to the refrigerator for another cold beer. They would make disparaging remarks about our singing, but I noticed they stopped talking when we sang certain songs, so we must have at least been carrying a tune!

Esther has an unusually fine voice and enjoys singing and listening to music although her hearing loss is becoming profound. Charles had a wonderful singing voice when he was young. He was often asked to sing solos in school pageants but those days were long gone. When I was in high school I sang alto in the girl’s glee club and even after all these years, I recall the phrase ‘the diadem of beauty reigns’ from the Waltz of the Flowers.

My taste in music is varied. I often stop in the middle of what ever I’m doing if I hear Ode to Joy and hum along with it. Aaron Copeland’s Appalachian Spring using the shaker hymn as the main thread throughout is so distinctive a melody it too is a favorite. I often tune my bedside radio to an FM station that plays oldies like Willie Nelson’s ‘Georgia’, or turn the dial to a good Jazz station. On my computer I often listen to a web station broadcasting only piano music while I’m online. Although I love the 1812 overture, and anyone playing the violin will get my attention, I do not have a good ear for music, but both my daughter and son are blessed with musical talent.

Open Range

A recent PBS TV program, a 2 year photo chronicle of a small band of wild horses in Montana, brought to mind the many times I had seen wild horses running free when traveling across the country. For some period of time after WWII, the country remained as it was before Pearl Harbor although at the war’s end, an all out effort to regain a peace time economy seeped into every facet of living.

The highway system at that time was basically a series of two lane roads connecting east and west, north and south. The west was open range country meaning there were no fences to prevent animals from crossing, walking or sleeping on the highway. It could be quite dangerous, especially when driving at night. Automobiles had only mechanical brakes and seat belts had not been invented yet. Rounding a curve at 60 miles per hour to see deer, or cattle standing in the middle of the highway only yards in front of your vehicle was a heart stopper to say the least!

Cross country travel by plane was not yet available; one chose car, bus or train. If driving and having to cross the desert, you did so at night. Departure was timed to put as many miles behind you as possible in darkness to avoid the searing heat of day. Canvas bags of water were hung on car bumpers for emergencies. Engines often over heated or fan belts broke. Prudent drivers carried ‘extras’ to cope in various situations. In the western states, towns and gas stations were few and far between. ‘Last chance’ signs on the outskirts of a town warning how many miles to the next gas stop were duly noted, rarely ignored.

Day time traffic was very light. One could drive for hundreds of miles and see only trains passing in the distance, but in the desert areas at night one would frequently see the headlights of oncoming or passing vehicles.

Traveling from west to east, scenic views comprised mountains, forests, desert and prairie. The rolling hills of Midwestern farming lands gradually gave way to towns that were increasingly nearer to each other and which eventually blended into the congestion of the great cities of New York and Philadelphia. About the second or third day on the road, one began thinking of the pioneers crossing the same landscapes but in covered wagons. We counted our blessings at the easy way we traveled compared to the hardships endured by those early settlers. It was easier, but at times tedious.

Calculations based on the visual distance of mountains were misleading. After hours of steady driving, a highway could become a monotonous ribbon narrowing to a vanishing point on the horizon. Sometimes shimmering heat mirages were projections that kept pace a few yards in front of the car disappearing only when the sun set or it rained.

The excitement of unexpected happenings during a cross country trip outweighed the boredom that sometimes crept into attitudes resulting from longs hours of sitting. Spotting a band of wild horses brought a pleasure that was twice observed; first, our surprise and delight in seeing and driving past them; second, talking about them after they were long out of sight. Occasionally we would come across the history of a particular band when we stopped at a road side café and asked about the photographs of horses and framed newspaper clippings on the wall. We took for granted that our trips would always be enlivened by seeing horses running wild, but the development of the national highway system and the ever expansion of cities and freeway businesses plus the loss of open range relegates those days to the past.

Weather and Climate Change

Global warming is certainly playing havoc with the weather! Drought, floods and heat are bringing misery to thousands. Wild fires, torrential rains, and extreme temperatures make news every day. I’ve experienced temperatures of 117 degrees which lasted several days when l lived in Palo Alto, California a few years ago, but the 128 reading in Las Vegas only days ago is a staggering record. Death Valley often records phenomenal temperatures in the 130 plus range, but as wags like to remark, “it’s a dry heat”….add a little moisture and you get a Texas summer.

In my phone and computer chats, weather conditions dominate the conversations. We compare temperatures, the cost of running the AC, and whether or not the streets are flooded where we live. Occasionally I phone Mesa Tessa to get a currant weather report from her ‘spread’ in Arizona.

In thinking of ways to conserve energy, I’m reminded that before air conditioning there were shade trees, hand held paper fans and porches with swings where one might catch a breeze however slight.

Porches are almost a thing of the past; worry about mosquitoes carrying West Nile virus causes one to forego the pleasure of rocking in a porch swing as the summer moon rises. Porches can certainly play a part in saving energy though. There is nothing like sitting in a porch swing, whiling away a hot afternoon and sipping cold lemonade. Two of the houses the family lived in had screened sleeping porches. The Victorian house in Iowa had one on the second floor. The Sky Ranch in California had a wrap around screened porch, one section given over to a row of beds, dormitory style, where anyone choosing to sleep outdoors could do so. The fragrance of the redwoods and the night time sounds of rustling leaves was the only sleeping potion needed for a good nights sleep.

Fans are electric these days. Hand held fans are no longer given away free as advertising gifts. Small individual battery fans replace the pleated Spanish fans that fold with a snap of the wrist.

Several years ago, my sister, Adeline, and I wanted to get some Spanish fans. She and I combed the malls near and far without luck. On our drive north to Mt. View, California to visit family we took a driving break and browsed a Pier One shop. In a dark corner at the back of the store we found a bin full of Spanish fans, all colors. Many were broken and of no use but the two of us bought the remaining ones. I got 7 or 8 and Adeline got the same. I gave half of mine away but those I kept have been repaired several times by trimming the white priority mailing envelopes from the Post Office to fit the fan shape and gluing it to the colored paper. Every time I use one I think of Adeline and our adventure in finding them.

Before moving to Houston, picnicking on hot summer days at the Louisiana tourist bureau and rest stop across the Texas line was always a welcome relief from stifling heat. Elevated wooden walkways circle thru the Cypress trees allowing one to look down into the backwaters of the Gulf and see rare plants and flowers native to the area.

Here in Houston there is a mesmerizing water sculpture. It’s a semi circular wall, 65 feet tall with 11,000 gallons of water per minute cascading down the sides; a most impressive sight! I enjoy going there after a scorching hot day. Lights illuminate the water from underneath and, if there is a breeze, a mist from the water fall rides the draft and creates a net over hair and clothes as you walk from one end of the wall to the other. A park of oak trees lies between the wall and the Williams Tower, owner of the wall.

Television programs on climate conditions and global warming leave me bewildered. I become enmeshed in a cycle of sympathy about what’s happening over yonder, thankful it’s not in my back yard and feeling guilty that I’m lackadaisical about saving the planet.

I HAVE replaced incandescent light bulbs with fluorescent and the new energy saving spiral bulbs. I promise not to buy any more Styrofoam plates and bowls after I use the ones I have on hand.

Sometimes I wonder what life will be like for future generations. Will earth warming be so drastic that humans won’t survive? They say anything that can be imagined can be done. If that’s so, people may live with blessings and curses. There’s bound to be medical breakthroughs and scientific discoveries, inventions of labor saving devices to ease the drudgery of work, possibly more time for pursuit of happiness, and a greater understanding of the universe. But there may also be a greater disparity between those who have and those who haven’t and the idea of a peaceful life may be at a premium paid for only by war and violence.
It’s tempting to think wonderful things will come to pass like an unending supply of energy for all of humanities’ needs, and travel to and from other planets. I don’t seriously believe it will ever happen. If the predictions of drastic climate change actually occur, however many years in the future, humanity will face catastrophic conditions just to survive.

Green Tea

Lipton’s bottled green tea with citrus flavoring, (diet style), is my favorite summer drink. I buy it by the case and drink numerous bottles of iced tea throughout the day and evening. Lately I’ve heard on the TV news that many cities are banning the use of plastic bottles for water because they damage the environment and overwhelm the land fills. The cost of producing and delivering them requires exorbitant amounts of energy and money. The same applies to the bottles used for my tea. The bulk of my own garbage consists mainly of empty plastic bottles; consequently, I’ve decided not to buy any more bottled tea. I’ll go back to brewing tea the old fashioned way.

I switched to green tea several years ago when it became a ‘must’ for good health, but I grew up in a household that only used Orange Pekoe. I remember a green tea incident caused by my younger sister, Adeline when we were around 8 or 9 years old. Mom used to let us take turns telephoning in the grocery order for home delivery. I never deviated from the list, but Adeline often added items. I don’t remember a fuss being made over the fact, probably because the items were of little consequence like the tin of corned beef she ordered because she wanted to taste it.

On this particular day, disregarding Mom’s tea preference, Adeline ordered a large box of green tea instead of the usual. The groceries came in the last delivery of the day and it was too late to re-order. There was a lot of fussing and fuming because no one liked green tea, iced or otherwise. That box of green tea remained in the cupboard for years and I doubt a cup was ever brewed.

In those halcyon days of my early childhood we had deliveries of all manner of goods. Groceries were delivered twice daily. The morning delivery was around 11 if the list had been phoned in by 10 and the afternoon delivery around 4 if the list was called in by 3 pm.

Milk was delivered to the front door step every morning. There was a standing order of so many quarts and so much cream, but when extra whipping cream or milk was needed, a note was left sticking out of the empty milk bottles which were put outside at night for the milk man to pick up the next morning. A farm woman delivered eggs and chickens.


The doctor made house calls whenever someone was sick or had an accident. In case of accident, the doctor came as quickly as he could, but if there was illness, he would see the patient on his daily rounds, or according to the seriousness of the illness. The doctor had patients scattered throughout the farming area as well as residents of the town so we never knew exactly when the doctor would come, only that he would.

The cleaners had pick up and delivery of laundry and dry cleaning although my family only sent the dry cleaning out to be done. The laundry was done at home.


The mail was delivered to the house twice a day, morning and afternoon. When a letter was ready for mailing, someone would ask if the mailman had gone by, hoping to get the letter in the mail that day.


A daily newspaper came every afternoon, but the printer had an advertiser paper with household items for sale, that was delivered once a week.

Ice was delivered every other day. A sign in the window would let the ice man know how much ice was needed. All the neighborhood kids liked to chase the ice truck and beg slivers of ice. It was great fun to chew gum and ice at the same time but the gum was often accidentally swallowed. The iceman always predicted dire happenings and gave warnings about chewing ice and gum at the same time, but he never seemed too worried and continued to give tiny chunks of ice to all the kids.

We even had a candy delivery. There was a woman who came regularly to take orders for butter brickle she made herself and would deliver on the dates Mom chose.

At the beginning of cold weather, the folks always had two large wooden barrels of apples delivered. They would last thru the winter and I made many trips to the apple barrels when Mom wanted to bake some for supper or they were wanted for after school munchies.

Projects

I’m anxious to tell you about two of my latest projects, but first I want to thank those who sent messages asking for more postings on my blog and telling me how much they’ve enjoyed reading it. It’s nice to know I have ‘fans’. I will write more frequently now that several of my projects are at a manageable stage.

Some weeks ago during a telephone conversation with Aunt Elizabeth, she was telling me about her room at the retirement facility and mentioned that she slept in the bed that had been grandma W’s. I asked if she was also using a quilt she or grandma might have made but she said no. I told her I would make her a quilt for her 93rd birthday on May 11th; one she could use when she napped. I planned to use the sewing machine to piece the top and sew the flannel backing, but would not use batting.

I had committed myself to a very tight schedule which became even tighter as I took days deciding on the pattern I would make. I also had to solve the problem of finding a table with the right height for my portable sewing machine. As luck would have it, my son found a marvelous antique drop leaf table at a local thrift shop so I didn’t have to get mine out of storage.

Because our family was among the true pioneers that helped settle the country and were homesteaders in South Dakota, I chose to do a Log Cabin for Elizabeth. Of the many quilts I’ve made, I had never pieced or quilted a Log Cabin. The blocks are made of light and dark fabric strips sewn around a small center square dividing the block into diagonals of light and dark. There are many ways to assemble the blocks of a Log Cabin quilt, each design having its own name. I chose to make the Log Cabin Star. I used five different light colored fabrics and five different dark color fabrics for the strips and red for the center square. The center color of either red or yellow represents a light or lantern in the cabin.

As the work progressed, the living room slowly lost its identity and turned into a Hodge podgy assembly area of scattered fabric strips, rotary fabric cutters, star charts, and stacks of finished and unfinished quilt blocks. All of which Mimi, the cat, believed were her new toys. At times it was a toss up of whether I was in charge or Mimi was. When the top with the center star was finished, I backed the colorful blocks with soft pink flannel and got it in the mail just in time for it to be delivered the day before Elizabeth’s birthday.

I wasn’t able to reach Elizabeth by phone on the day of her birthday. The following day I received a phone call from a son telling me she had suffered a stroke on her birthday and that she had not seen the quilt before the stroke. I send loving thoughts to her every day and pray she regains a measure of health so we can continue our phone chats. I miss them.

While browsing the thrift shop for a sewing table, I spotted a lovely necklace in the glass case by the cashier. I knew immediately what it was and asked if I could see it. I had seen a PBS television program the night before on Pearls and recognized a type of elongated pearl that is becoming rare due to the pollution of the waters in Japan where the pearls are found. It was a stunning necklace and I bought it for a ridiculously low price.


Off and on through the years I enjoyed beading but never worked with pearls, but now I decided to learn how pearls were knotted and to make necklaces for myself and members of the family.

I started by going to the library and reading everything I could find on the subject. The next step was practicing on imitation glass pearls. The overhand knot is simple but the trick is to know when, where and how to tighten it. The knot is important, but learning the tricks of fastening necklace clasps equally so. Undoing a bad knot is a hassle and I quickly learned that total concentration is a must. Once I spent an untold amount of time undoing a knot in the middle of a string then making a bad knot in the place I had just untied one! It’s easy to let your mind wander when the rhythm of knotting verges on rote.

The trip to the bead store to buy real pearls was a delight. The clerk was patient and willing to answer all my questions. I bought 5 strands of varying colors and sizes. I had never seen the process done and the only photo I could find on knotting was one on the internet showing how the cord was tied in an over hand knot. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, so undaunted and treading where angels fear to go, I started creating necklaces. My first failure came after knotting about a dozen pearls. Because of a bad knot that resisted all my efforts to untie it, I had to cut each pearl from the cord and start anew. I’m please to report that I finished all five necklaces without further problems. When I showed them to the clerk at the bead store he told me I had done a very good job of knotting. I’m giving these necklaces away and I’m already busy knotting the next batch of pearl necklaces.

Catch Up News

It’s been a while since I’ve written in my blog so thought I’d better post something or everyone will assume I’ve been subjected to another disaster similar to Rita.

During this past year my daily routines have settled into a comfortable pace that suits me. I’m becoming accustomed to apartment living in Houston. My computer and telephone keep me in touch with the latest activities of the young as well as the older family members. MimiCat and I share the apartment, but she lets me believe I’m the boss. She has had her ‘fix it’ surgery and has matured into a dainty lady, albeit a mischievous one at times.

I recently had to take all her toys and boxes away so we could accommodate my sister, E, when she came from Baton Rouge to visit for a week. E. has to use oxygen around the clock and the 50 foot oxygen tube and her walker was hazard enough without catnip mice and pretend cave boxes being in the way.

My son helped me choose furniture and decorations that would make Esther’s room as attractive and comfortable as possible because I hoped to entice her back for a longer visit. I may have succeeded. She plans to visit again the last of April. We devoted one day to shopping. C., E.’s daughter, was kind enough to be our chauffeur. We browsed a needlepoint shop and fabric store to our hearts content. Besides the purchases from the needlepoint shop, we bought Muumuu patterns and appropriate fabrics for our sewing projects that never seem to end. The three of us had a late, leisurely lunch at a Chinese café and the Fortune cookie comments made us laugh as they seemed to hint the truth about each of us.

Perhaps the following bits of news might be of interest to those of the family who have settled far and wide.

Aunt El. has been moved from southern California to a facility in Idaho. The move allows her to have more frequent family visits. She is in fairly good health and we chat often on the phone. She will be 93 on May 11th. She is the last member of Mom’s family that has known me all my life. There is something special about having a relative who has known you from the day of your birth to the present. It’s a delight to reminisce with her and she often clarifies bits of our family history.

A. phones frequently from California. Researching the source of his name shows it to be a form of ‘John’. He recently had heart by pass surgery and is recuperating nicely.
I often have long phone conversations with Mesa Tessa in Arizona. Yesterday she told me she had planted another tree, one that will produce several types of pears. Her orchard is comprised of various types of fruit; all dwarf trees, some beginning to bloom.
G., in Iowa, a veteran of WWII, tells me of his visits to the VA hospital. He and I discuss the national economy and political affairs and bemoan fact that the country is going to Hell in a hand basket.

E. in Louisiana chats of beading, quilting, recipes, books, and her medical appointments. She and I have a running dialog about her position as campaign manager if I run for president. If laughter is the best medicine, we won’t have to refill our prescriptions for quite a while!

D. H. emails wonderfully interesting and thought provoking photo articles and videos which I pass on to D. A..

M. in Mt. View, tells me about treasures found at thrift shops and the latest gig of D.’s band.

And so it goes. My routines rarely vary, but I add projects and squeeze them in between projects underway. The latest addition is gardening. The Strawberry plants in hanging baskets that I ordered have arrived. I hope they will produce berries like the catalog pictures. I also plan to have several containers growing tomato plants. As hope springs eternal, I hope to pick fresh tomatoes during the growing season!

Substitutes

Americans love substitutes. We accept them, we create them, and we approve of them. Our national economy thrives on them. Even our national security depends on them. Our daily lives are influenced by substitutes from the time we wake up in the morning to when we go to sleep at night. We even have a substitute for time called daylight saving time. Our language is full of substitutes. We shorten words to the barest minimum of characters which can still give meaning to our thoughts. Thx, ok, ty, ttfn, wtg are examples. We substitute nick names for real ones. We often use letters of the alphabet as a substitute for names of people such as FDR and OJ or grocery stores called H.E.B. Our government uses abbreviated words and letters to denote agencies.

We have even found a way to substitute some foods for the real thing. Splenda is a substitute for sugar. Canola oil is a chemical substitution for some oils. We patronize restaurants that give substitute choices for things on their menus.

Substitute teachers are part of our education system. We are constantly in search of new ways to substitute money. We went from substituting paper for coins to banking with checks, then graduated to plastic and currently we are attempting to substitute online services to replace the tangible substitutes in use now.

Our clothing is comprised of synthetics which are substitutes for wool, cotton and silk. Vinyl replaces leather. Our residences are partially built and decorated with synthetic woods and stones. Television and radio have substitute hosts. Pharmacies often substitute one medicine for another. The National Guard is a substitution used to augment the army. Injured soldiers are given substitute arms and legs to replace those lost. Doctors routinely transplant substituted organs for defective ones. We keep ourselves comfortable in substituted climates of heating and air conditioning.

Undoubtedly there are many more examples but these are just a few that crossed my mind when I watched a television commercial for Capital One credit card. It’s really amazing that we are so unaware of how the culture of our time is developing or that rules of American society are predicated on substitutions.

See Internet abbreviations at:
http://www.pulpchat.com/faq/faq215.php
See Government Acronyms at:
http://www.ulib.iupui.edu/subjectareas/gov/docs_abbrev.html
See Ingredient Substitutions at:
http://www.e-cookbooks.net/ingresub.htm
See a document listing Drug Substitutions at:
www.wiba.org/pdf/insurance/prescription/2006_formulary_list.pdf

Concoctions

I just finished making one of my food concoctions. I poured 1 cup boiling water over sugar free lime Jello and when it had cooled, added non fat plain yogurt until I liked the color. I figure that since I like lime Jello and yogurt regardless of fat content it will be edible. I usually follow tried and true recipes when cooking, but when I make concoctions, I never know how they will turn out. If possible I like to combine colors first and worry about taste later. Of course this tendency leads to lots of failures, but sometimes I get lucky. Occasionally I get nods of approval, and on occasion I even get rave comments, but when I have a failure, it’s usually colossal.

Examples of color combinations are juicy oranges, cucumber slices and red onion rings or tossed pieces of cantaloupe, pineapple chunks, green seedless grapes, and ham cubes with ginger ale poured over all.

I am not the cook my mother was. I learned how to make many of the recipes she made for the family but I don’t have the touch of creativity that she had in the kitchen. She could throw things together and call it her ‘Thunder’, and have people lining up for seconds. My brother, Mickey, followed in her footsteps when it came to food. His two passions were listening to opera and gourmet cooking. My sister Esther has Mom’s highly developed sense of taste but she doesn’t exercise it on a variety of foods. She is not adventuresome when it comes to trying new dishes or foreign foods.

I’m lucky to have my son as my taster when I make concoctions. When I tell him that I’ve just made something worth his attention, would he like to taste, he always asks what it’s called, (obviously a sneaky way to find out the ingredients). Often times I would rather not say, but knowing his dislike of certain foods, I either tell him or give hints.

Recently I came up with a concoction that was several days in the making. I had stored some bollixed up cream cheese frosting in the fridge and was trying to decide whether to throw it out or try to make something with it. I had not measured quantities and the mess had gotten too sweet and slightly discolored from too much vanilla.

In a moment of brilliance I thought of mixing it with peanut butter. I started with globs of peanut butter and kept adding and tasting but the mixture never lost its blandness. I put it in the fridge for a few days while I pondered how best to use it.

A week later I was on the verge of tossing it in the garbage when another moment of brilliance hit. I decided to make carrot muffins from a box mix and frost them with the cheese mixture. Because I had put only a small amount of batter in each cup as a base for the frosting, they looked rather skimpy after baking. I heaped more frosting mixture on each muffin and re-baked them. When I finally quit fooling around with them, they actually looked quite appetizing. When I phoned my son and said I had made something for him he asked what it was… I just said ‘my thunder’. He did say later that they were very good, a little sweet, but good.