Learning. Always Seek to Learn.

We had a visitor the day we took a detour off of 69 Highway headed north back to the city on December 29, 2008. We followed the road sign to a small town just 2 miles off the beaten path.

After parking the Element, a young girl wearing a hot pink coat and a pair of jeans approached us with a barking dog.

Her first words, "My dad found this dog in the woods."

The dog continued to bark while I asked, "How long ago?"

"A month," she replied.

The dog stopped barking.

"He's really protecting you," I said.

"Yes. He's a good boy. We're going to keep him. He's a wolf."

"He's beautiful and so glad that he's with your family, I'll bet," I replied.

With that, the dog joyfully ran back to its new home, right behind what appeared to be an abandoned school.

We spoke a bit and she said that the school was unlocked and that I might want to take my camera inside before it got dark to take photos.

Before she showed us the open door, we climbed the back steps and peered into an opening in the basement.

"My cousin was here over Christmas. She's from Arkansas. All of my cousins came over here one night and she dared us to sit in the electric chair that's in the basement. She'd pay us a dollar if we did it."

"Did you?" I inquired.

"Noooooooooooo way. It's too scary."

"What do you mean by an electric chair?" I wondered.

There's a chair in the basement that looks like an electric chair. I don't think it works, or anything, but it's scary."

I told her next time do it. "It's well worth a dollar," I told her. She smiled. I could tell the wheels in her mind were spinning. Maybe next time she would.

We entered inside the school together. It consisted of two rooms with one looking like it had been the cafeteria with handmade tables and benches, though it could easily convert back to a school room. In there I found this picture propped against the blackboard.

A time eternity ago when religion was openly taught in the school systems.

A reminder to my husband and I at the end of 2008.

This school was so special. It still held a spirit of learning, a spirit of love and a spirit of grace. It may be empty of students today, for the most part, at least until my husband, our new friend and myself entered.

It then started to teach us.

And it will teach others, too, if they just choose to listen.

- - -
Pawnee School District No. 23
South of Fort Scott, Kansas
Bourbon County

- - - - - - - - - -
It is the end of another year. We ask the question, "What have we learned in 2008?"

Think upon that question and then ask the question, "What do we want to learn in 2009?"

Strive for education.

Life education. It's why we're here sharing in this most wonderful world. Even with its faults, our lives are continually blessed.

May you enjoy a New Year full of peace and positivity.

- - -
As always, click on the photo for a larger version.

Sluggishly Peaceful

It's 2:03 p.m.

I've been awake since 5:45 a.m.

I'm still in my flannel Joe Boxer pj pants.

That makes me a slug today.

Richard is in the studio doing his own bit of slugging, himself. All great plans were made for today; take down Christmas decorations, fix the fence, hose out the garage, mop the basement, make a grocery list, go to the grocery store, drop off a package at UPS.

Yep.

And here we sit.

There shouldn't be an overwhelming sense of guilt when one decides to turn into a slug for a day. But there is.

I still have to pull together my new punchneedle project, get the Christmas wrapping put away, finish up laundry, schedule a few bills and pack the Element for my trip up to Illinois.

And yet, here I sit.

Mable's not much better. She's curled up on the daybed behind me on top of the feather comforter. She obviously never feels guilty about being a slug. Cats are like that.

Yesterday was busy, though. Wasted my time going to the glass shop for the huge 12" crack that magically appeared on the Honda Element's windshield overnight in the garage. Progressive OK'd the glass place to see if they could fix it and the glass place wouldn't even look at it since it's over 6", which means I need a new windshield at $250 buckaroos. The real kicker is the fact we just changed insurance from American Family, who rate-jacked our vehicle policies, so I moved them over to Progressive just one month ago and now I'm going to make a claim. That's real nice.

Afterwards, with my cracked windshield, Richard and I headed down to Picher, Oklahoma. We've not been there since the tornado hit in May of this year and it was unbelievable devastation, even in its cleaned-up state. Armed with my new Canon XTi and 220 photos later, we came home exhausted after a full day.

However, right before the sun set, we veered off 69 Highway after seeing a sign to "Pawnee Station." I'd never heard of the town, but it was one of the best gems we've found in Kansas, ever.

And the timing couldn't have been more perfect.

Witnessing the sun set, illuminating the windows of an old, abandoned church, it was a true gift to us yesterday, a highlight that capped off a year of photography:



Click the picture for a larger version.

Pink, White and Blue Cat Wigs

Someone stop me from being tempted from this madness:

http://www.kittywigs.com/wigindex.html





Can you imagine the photo opportunities? They would abound in our house. . .

Different colors: pink for Mia, white for Mable, blue for George. . .

- - -
Today marks 3 years since my mother's stroke.

I needed a little laughter.

Gifts! Smiles!

The week between Christmas and New Year's is always one that I enjoy. It used to be a time I'd travel back to Illinois and spend with my family. My mother and I would browse our favorite haunts looking for the best after-Christmas sales and lunch only at the quaintest restaurants like The Hillside in DeKalb and Crumpets in Genoa. Sometimes we'd amble up to Millies in Delavan, WI. I have many fond memories of that period.

I had planned on going out to Illinois Monday, but my father is suddenly going to be out of town, so I'll head up closer to when he returns, which should be around Wednesday or Thursday next week for me. He arrives back on Friday. It'll be a rather quick trip, enough to say hello to everyone, fill up on the latest juicy gossip, see my grandmother's Christmas decorating, grab a plate of peanut brittle and then head back. So in the interim, I'm going to start taking down our Christmas decor and focus on Valentine's Day. I normally keep Winter decorations up through March, but I'm in the mood for happy reds and pinks to adorn the mantle space and dining room sideboard.

Christmas was a fine day. I was showered with gifts from my husband; books, my favorite Loves Baby Soft body spray (a scent that my mother gave to me every year and now he has taken over the duty), lovely scented candles and just when I thought everything was over, he came downstairs and rounded the corner with another box marked, "From Santa."

What could it be?

Why it was a new camera, a Canon XTi. I about fell over. The color rushed from my face, according to him. How he managed that, I will never know. My other camera, the Canon XT works beautifully yet and I've always been so pleased with it, but he had purchased a 70-300 lens several months ago and because my past experience with dust in the camera from changing lenses and having to send the camera to Canon for professional cleaning, I decided that I was extremely pleased with the 18-200 lens that was currently on the camera and I wasn't going to change it out.

He had been prodding me all year to think about getting another camera to put the 18-200 lens on and then the "old" (2006) camera could get the 70-300 lens. We looked at the new XSi, but it was too pricey for what I need, so I mentioned that an XTi was all I needed since it had a sensor cleaner and higher resolution, which is all I feel is necessary for an upgrade for me. But that was a long way off, so I didn't have a clue.

Richard went to Wolf Camera on Christmas Eve, so that the payment wouldn't clear the bank, thus tipping me off early. He asked what their best deal was, and they mentioned the XTi, their last one right out of the display case. Since it was a display, they'd knock $50 off the already good sale price. Richard took it. Naturally, my first look into the viewfinder revealed dust. We tried to blow it out, but it wouldn't budge. Since it was just on the viewfinder, nothing translated onto film, but still. You pay that much for a camera, you'd like to get perfection. At least that's my take on the matter. My other camera has dust on the viewfinder, but that was my fault.

So yesterday we took it back, except Wolf didn't have another one in stock, but they did have one at Oak Park Mall that they'd trade this for, so Richard lovingly took it back to the mall, parked across the street from the mall in the Target parking lot, walked across the street, the entire parking lot full of cars and inside the mall to get the new camera. The clerk was able to blow the dust out, but Richard said the clerk at the first store said that he'd be able to get a brand new in-box camera, which she gave to him.

This means we got a heck of a deal for the camera, considering the second one had never been opened! :) Richard outdid himself this year. His special treat was a wrist GPS for when he rides the jet ski, so he's a happy boy, too.

But our combined favorite gift are these:



From:
Aaron and Ella

(In their new Christmas pajamas from Nana and Papa (That's us!))

Because, in the end, there's nothing like receiving something made with love. Yesterday, while opening up this gift, Aaron and Ella stood as close as they possibly could with anticipation. When we took out each snowman, they started talking a mile-a-minute how the snowmen are made with upside down flower pots and that they painted each one themselves. :)

We were all extremely pleased.

I'll have to date the insides before packing them away for the year, but considering it does get a bit chilly during Valentine's season, these two might just have to avoid storage tubs for a few months, anyway. They make me smile.

I hope this holiday season is doing the same for you.

Merry Christmas

Silent Night
Holy Night

All is calm
All is bright

- - -
It was a wonderful Christmas filled with laughter over the phone lines. Surprises from Santa. Good food and great memories.

Richard is sleeping tight after trying to stay awake much of the day after working overnight.

The cats are lounging in front of the fireplace, except for Mia, who just walked by with a brown sock in her mouth. ;)

And I'm going to say goodnight to another blessed Christmas and curl up next to a new stack of books for the evening.

Merry Christmas one and all!

Happy Birthday Jesus!

Growing up, I can recall being seated around my grandparent's dining room table on Christmas Day. In the middle sat a small birthday cake with one lit candle while our family sang, "Happy Birthday Jesus."

I miss that time.

This year I decided to create a simpler Christmas season. It began with a small amount of decorating on Thanksgiving which I have enjoyed immensely. While not decking every corner of every hall, I have been able to enjoy the few things I did choose this year. The look isn't overwhelming and the idea of taking everything down isn't overbearing. The act of simplicity helps to bring into focus the real meaning of Christmas.

My next task was writing the Christmas Newsletter and sending out greetings. I have to say that my favorite part of the season is receiving Christmas greetings in the mail. The cards with family pictures and small handwritten notes, as well as those who write newsletters, all bring great joy to my heart.

Each day I gather the new cards from the mailbox and quietly sit down to enjoy each and every greeting individually. The cards are placed in a wire sleigh that sits in the living room on the antique sewing machine cabinet. It's one of the first things I see coming down in the morning and one of the last things I notice before climbing the stairs to bed. It's knowing that there are people outside our door; some next door, some down the street and others states away who we love and remember this wonderful Christmas season and who have remembered us.

A simple act of a greeting card really makes the season for me because it shows someone cared enough to carve out the time to send a hello across the street and across the miles.

Lastly, this time of the year is special because it makes each and every one of us pause to reflect upon the year. To be able to blog and have people actually read it is a blessing to me. I have to thank my friend Karen, from way back when, suggesting I take my sadness over my mother and turn it into an art form as therapy. She couldn't have been more right. That day I started to write and I haven't stopped. Since 2006 I have been typing my thoughts on a computer screen. I have changed blog sites and couldn't be happier.

I have reconnected with a few friends, made a few friends and have quite a few silent readers. Each and every one of you are appreciated and loved. Sharing our journeys in life is an enriching experience.

For each and every one of you, have a very Merry Christmas. If you cannot be with family, be with your thoughts and memories.

And to Jesus, Happy Birthday! Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for your saving grace. No gift under the tree can even come close to matching what you have done for us.

Be Healthy

At the end of last year, I decided to cut back on processed foods. Things that came in boxes were good starters: mac and cheese, potatoes and pasta salads. If we were going to consume any of the above, I'd make it from scratch. We cleaned out the pantry to start fresh. Living in that lifestyle for a tad over a year and breaking the rule a handful of times, I can honestly say that this was for the better. The few times I felt weak and overworked, I picked up a few boxes and have been slowly making them and having most of it end up in the garbage disposal. Our tastes have changed and the flavor of boxed foods doesn't suffice.

Richard has been working nights recently and according to the mega-pharmacy chain, has called a meeting with him on the Friday after Christmas to make a " lucrative" offer, which we know is a permanent overnight position because they can't find anyone else who will do it at the store he's working at. Anyway, this has thrown him way off course in terms of sleep and nutrition. And it appears there isn't a near end. He works 7 days on and 7 days off.

During the 7 days on, he comes home, sometimes grabbing a quick breakfast and then goes to sleep. When he wakes up in the evening, I have dinner on the table. He eats, gets ready for work, packs food and a carafe of coffee and heads off. Working at the mega-pharmacy chain, he has access to all sorts of bad food. He consumes energy drinks, beef jerky and all other sorts of ick.

And he hasn't been feeling good in forever. Complaining of bloating, stomach aches and other ailments, he just can't seem to get ahead. The other night in my flu state, I watched Suzanne Somers on Larry King. (The Hallmark Channel and the rest of so-called entertainment on TV was horrific) She was talking about her book published in September, Breakthrough. Now I'm not a fan of Suzanne Somers. I know she's had several books out about weight loss and such and I've never been drawn to her because she's just not someone I care to follow. She hits me like Joan Rivers. Full of vain.

However, the interview was very interesting and the information she was sharing was something I've been researching and thinking about myself. While we don't have the money she does for many of the things that keeps her youthful and healthy, the core ideas of taking chemicals out of our intake peaks my interest. Using supplements, which I already do, including CoQ10, which I do take and have seen a drastic difference with, and of course eating healthy, rang a bell to me. I decided to jump on Amazon and purchase her book. While there, I read about another book that centers more on what to eat, which Breakthrough doesn't focus on as much.

The other book, In Defense of Food, by Micheal Pollan, looks equally as interesting and I purchased that, as well. In line with making a difference, we are going to fine-tune the way we eat. I've been slowly introducing this into Richard's diet because he's a meat and potatoes guy and doesn't like thinking about the other side. However, I have gotten him to buy and EAT tofu, organic milk and other healthy alternatives. I haven't switched him over from red meat yet. I, myself, could finally do without red meat for the rest of my life, but every once in awhile, I have to purchase "brisket" to make the man happy. **Smile**

I'm not doing this out of vanity. I'm not doing this as a diet. Both of us have walked that path before. We went on the South Beach Diet when it was all the rage. I lost lots of weight, but put it back on because the diet isn't anything that's doable for the long-term. I would never join a weight loss center, either, because that's just not my thing. For Richard and I, it's about being healthy. If we lose weight in the process, fine. If we don't, fine. But I know I want to feel better and I know Richard wants to feel better.

And I do feel good, for the most part. The other night we went out to one of our former favorite mexican restaurants and ordered a fajita. I could barely stomach both the chips and the stuff they cooked the fajitas with. Nothing had changed on their end, but something has changed on my end. I no longer go to fast food places when I'm hungry and if I do, it's a salad every time. It's not necessarily about the calories, but about the taste and the benefits. That stuff just doesn't taste good anymore.

That doesn't mean I'm saying an eternal goodbye to my favorite foods like Ben and Jerry's Heath Bar Crunch ice-cream, but it means Ben and Jerry's and I will see each other less and less. This does mean that I'll be back doing the majority of my shopping at Whole Foods with supplemental items at Aldi's like salmon, chicken and vegetables.

We're not going on this starting January 1 because we've been slowly moving towards this idea the entire year. I've been doing a few things here and there and Richard has been coming around. I told him about the two books I ordered and he acts like he is actually excited to try this because you see, it's not a diet, but about a lifestyle change. It's not about what we can't eat, it's about what our bodies require. No sugar substitutions. No chemicals. Shop more often and buy fresh. Use whole butter. Whole milk. No counting calories. Just food and supplements that have been scientifically proven to aid in overall health.

There will be no scales. No tape measures. No word of diet.

This is our other resolution for the New Year and for the rest of our life. The occasional splurge is expected and necessary like the peanut brittle I am anxious to consume when I go to DeKalb in a week to visit with my family. My grandmother has made it again and I can't wait to bite down on its goodness. But considering everything she uses is pure and not full of chemicals, I can enjoy it, guilt-free.

Merry Christmas everyone and if you blog, I'd be interested in reading your New Year's resolutions.

To Make a Difference

One of the bloggers I follow wrote a blog concerning resolutions in 2009. They plan to read the entire Bible in one year, which I think is so nice. But for what the media pushes. . . Yadda...yadda...yadda. First comes Halloween, then comes Christmas (in the retail sector Thanksgiving is all but pushed out) and then comes New Year's resolutions. Look for the latest and greatest exercise equipment! Join Weight Watchers! Drink Slimfast! Diet. Diet. Diet! Then Valentine's Day to spoil the loves of your life with flowers, candy and jewelry.

Traditions in my family have all but went out the door in the past few years. A few cling on to what was, but most of us realize that big changes have occurred and are still occurring, so certain holidays don't feel so festive as they once did. For me, I'm anxious to jump over Christmas and wrap up the rest of the year in a speedy way. My father mentioned to me that he was surprised that our Christmas Newsletter was only a page this year. I told him that what I wanted to write was, "This year sucked. Hope yours was better, but after watching CNN, I'm thinking yours sucked as equally as ours did. If not for bad health, then bad economy woes. Merry Christmas." But I knew that wouldn't fly, so I eeked out a one-pager.

I don't know about you, but I'm tired of feeling in the dumps. I'm ready to make some changes. One of my resolutions this next year is to get my mother's story in print. Somewhere. I'm going to start with The Stroke Connection, a magazine I subscribed to immediately after my mother's stroke. I found a copy in the hospital and thought it would be good to read about other's journeys. But, while a nice little handy-dandy publication for those who are caregivers or those who are in rehabilitation, it does not really feature stories of those who are forgotten, like my mother's case. And there are plenty more out there like my mother.

These are the people who, when deemed nearly a lost cause, are thrown in a long-term facility for basic care. The families are taken on a roller coaster of a ride because frankly, there's really not a support system in the hospitals set up for patients like my mother. They either live or they die. When they live and are conscious, the whole world opens up. But when they are unconscious, it's a waiting game and the medical society's answer to that is to throw them into a bed and shut the door on everything but basic care.

The family is left without answers.
The stroke victim is nearly forgotten.

And then 3 years later, parts of the family have had enough and start the court proceedings to unhook the victim from life support. Or other's may just see it as OK to allow a person to linger in a suspended state for many years on end without even trying to rehabilitate the mind like the woman in the news who just died after I think 23 years in a coma. Twenty-three years? Does anyone not see the absurdity of this?

I never see stories like this out there in the public besides those that are raked over the coals in the media like Terri Schiavo's husband. The right-to-lifers and do-gooders get on their high horses and preach some human-made gospel. The other side voices their opinions and neither side knows the truth because they haven't lived it. But nothing that I have found describes our journey.

It's time we face reality. I want to write a Letter to the Editor first and see where that goes. If The Stroke Connection really wants to tell the whole story, they need to feature what happens on the other side of the fence and how poorly the medical society is prepared to deal with such cases. They need to focus on support for the surviving family members. We groped our way through the dark and there are things I wished I knew then that I know now.

If you have a heart attack, there's a support system. If you have cancer, there's a support system. If you have a stroke that can be rehabilitated, you have a support system. But not for my mother. Not for many vegetative patients. They are the lost on Earth.

Perhaps even before the year's end, I'll get that letter thrown in the mail. The ball needs to start rolling to make my mother's journey a worthwhile experience. Something must come from this.

So this is resolution number one. To make a difference. Next year's overall theme is to make a difference.

My next blog will be "our" other resolution.

Flu-ridden

You might have the flu if:

The bed is made with thick flannel sheets
Three heavy coverlets
Cotton Quilt
Afghan

. . . and I was still cold.

You might have the flu if:

You're achy and have a sore throat.

You might have the flu if:

You go to bed at 8:45 p.m. on a Friday night.

You might have the flu if:

Food doesn't sound good and you drink yesterday's leftover coffee from the carafe that has now turned cool just for the caffeine.

Check. Check and check.

And to think, I'm married to a man who performed many flu shot clinics, who said he'd give me one at home if I wanted a flu shot and I declined.

- - -
Richard was kind enough to stop by the Post Office this morning after work to mail off some Christmas packages. It feels good to get those mailed off, not like waiting until the last minute or anything. My craft room is a complete disaster. Pieces of wrapping paper, tags and other flotsam and jetsam on the floor.

And let's take a moment to chastise the wrapping paper companies. Richard picked up the paper this year, and he did a good job. I love the designs that he chose. But apparently, they are on the lower end of wrapping paper companies because instead of having a plastic ring around the paper that can be pulled off, the paper was held onto the roll by 4 pieces of tape. That's 4 pieces of tape that tore the wrapping paper and lifted off the design one layer below it, just to get the paper unrolled.

Now why is that necessary? I guess the plastic rings are more expensive to produce?

Grrrrr. . .

On a happy note, most of our gifts have arrived on the front porch and I'm really pleased with the purchases. Aaron, Heather's son, is really into space stuff this year. Every Christmas we buy the kids pajamas. Ella is easy. Anything pink or with a princess. But to find decent space pajamas proved to be difficult. Shopping locally we found nothing. Part of that, I think, is the Star Wars craze. I then went online and every place I looked, the space pajamas were sold out.

Finally, after about 45 minutes, I found a place on the east coast that had his size in a sweet pattern. I received the pajamas yesterday and are they ever cute! :) He'll just love them and it matches the lighted planetarium and the lighted moon he's going to receive from us, too! Maybe he'll grow up working for NASA. :)

- - -
There's a fire in the fireplace and I think today will be spent watching cheesy shows on the Hallmark channel with my flu-ridden self.

:)

Peace and Clarity

Peace and Clarity.

With one comes the other, in no particular order, of course. To be peaceful, one receives clarity. When situations in life become clear, we receive peace. An interchangeable gift from above.

And my peace and clarity have been delivered in the past month or so. I have been furiously digging around in the literary world trying to find peace with the upcoming year and clarity for the ones that have recently passed. And through the many books I have read, the audiobooks downloaded into my iPod and the webpages I've surfed, I think my gifts have been delivered and nothing proved my point more than the phone call with my father this morning.

The paperwork has officially been turned in to the lawyer for our life and death decision pending on the horizon.

"You might have to come before the judge, Johanna, since your mother told you personally that she would never like to exist this way. You are the only one in the nuclear family she discussed this with."

The first thing out of my mouth was, "You turned everything in to the attorney? Good for you dad."

My feelings?

Relief.

Pride that my father's strength prevailed.

And absolutely no apprehension or sadness. None.

To be honest, I have been mentally and spiritually preparing for my mother's death even though in my heart, I realize she experienced a partial death on December 28, 2005. Her shell, on the other hand, hasn't been given the chance to die. Medical science and our worldly rules and feelings have prevented what should have happened.

It's like I told Richard this morning, if people would just understand this: imagine an apple. First it's on the tree growing. It can either fall off as a green apple and deteriorate on the ground. It can become infested with bugs or worms on the branches and eventually fall off and deteriorate. Or it can grow on the branch, mature into a beautifully round, juicy apple and become sustenance for a living being. That apple will not stay around forever. But no matter what, inside that apple is its core and inside the core are seeds.

Whatever happens to the exterior and mushy interior of that apple, those seeds are not affected and can ultimately be replanted correctly and grow.

That's not any different than our souls. Our bodies can become mangled, but our souls are still safe. We can be abused mentally, physically, but our souls are still intact. We can go through life with a perfect body, live what we deem as a perfect life, and our souls are still untouched. Why?

Because like the seeds of an apple, our souls are infinite. My mother is a shell in a bed at a nursing home. She exists on a thin amount of oxygen fed through a trach tube and a stomach tube that allows medication and nutrition to enter her body. If we took away our hands, she would die.

So what are we sowing with her in bed? Nothing is coming out of her life. But it is disrupting her voyage and disrupting ours, too, though we're still living life and learning lessons. She's accomplished her life. We are keeping her back.

Nothing is certain. The judge may decline signing on the dotted line because after all, it's his conscience at stake if he signs knowing that ultimately a life will be lost. Honestly? That's a lot of pressure to put on a fellow human being who hasn't walked the walk. His decision will be based on hazy Illinois laws, definitive medical diagnoses, and family wishes. But when you strip everything away, he will feel the power that has been placed at his feet.

I acknowledge that now, though I wasn't so understanding back in October. But I understand it all now.

We are living in a society in which life is treasured in no matter what form. I really feels it's the more spiritual beings who choose not to go to any length for life. The ones who are diagnosed with stage 4 cancer who try everything, but still die in the end. The individuals who say, "You know what? I'm going to live with the time I have left in a quality mannner. Not hooked up to tubes. Not throwing up from medications. But live life." I have always held such deep admiration for the bravery and I still do.

That's not to say if there is any hope at all, not to try. But sometimes when the road is so clear ahead that death is inevitable, that prolonging death is possible, but at what cost, when people make a choice to live quality and not quantity, it always strikes me as utter bravery, just as a foot soldier marches into war.

And perhaps the peace I receive and the clarity I have been given are telling me this: always allow nature to take its course. Listen to nature. Listen to your heart. It rarely steers you wrong.

My mother's path was clear on the 3rd day, after her emergency surgery to stop the brain bleed, when her brain surgeon boldly proclaimed as he walked out of her Neuro Intensive Care room, "This isn't good."

He knew.

But I, as well as the family I was with, refused to believe. We refused to see. We hoped. We prayed.

Everything is a journey through time. I see it now when I didn't see it then. No one would see it but someone outside of the situation, like Dr. Comanche. He saw the writing on the wall.

And if, after almost 3 years, anyone else doesn't see it and will fight for her survival or mourn for her condition, needs to dig deeper in what this life is all about. It's not about existing. It's about living. Because only when we live do we love, do we learn, do we experience all that is here for us to feel.

It's time to let go and I've done that, or in the process thereof. Difficult times are ahead, to be sure, but if I walk hand-in-hand with the peace and the clarity I have been given, I will get through this.

I am so proud of my father.

And I am proud of myself.

And I continually pray for my mother's soul because I know in my heart, she gets it too and would want release.

We all would.

Fiction Surprises

I'm not a movie person. I normally cannot get engaged enough during most of the movies I've seen with the exception of a few. Precious few. So it was a shock to me when a trailer appeared on TV that literally gave me goosebumps. The movie, "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" opens on Christmas Day and if Richard isn't too tired from working Christmas Eve overnight, we're going to see it.

A movie in a theatre on Christmas Day? Normally I'd consider that a no-go. But this movie is different.

Here's a link to the trailers:

http://www.benbutton.msn.com/index.tbapp

Everything about this movie looks spectacular. The time period. The story line. The truth.

Somewhere in the trailer I read something similar to this:

Life can only be understood backwards but we must live life forward.

I have watched the trailers at least a dozen times. I know we'll be purchasing this DVD when it comes out as well as the soundtrack. There is just something about this that plays to my heartstrings.

Just like a book I read a few years back, "The History of Love"

The review by Amazon:

Nicole Krauss's The History of Love is a hauntingly beautiful novel about two characters whose lives are woven together in such complex ways that even after the last page is turned, the reader is left to wonder what really happened. In the hands of a less gifted writer, unraveling this tangled web could easily give way to complete chaos. However, under Krauss's watchful eye, these twists and turns only strengthen the impact of this enchanting book.
The History of Love spans of period of over 60 years and takes readers from Nazi-occupied Eastern Europe to present day Brighton Beach. At the center of each main character's psyche is the issue of loneliness, and the need to fill a void left empty by lost love. Leo Gursky is a retired locksmith who immigrates to New York after escaping SS officers in his native Poland, only to spend the last stage of his life terrified that no one will notice when he dies. ("I try to make a point of being seen. Sometimes when I'm out, I'll buy a juice even though I'm not thirsty.") Fourteen-year-old Alma Singer vacillates between wanting to memorialize her dead father and finding a way to lift her mother's veil of depression. At the same time, she's trying to save her brother Bird, who is convinced he may be the Messiah, from becoming a 10-year-old social pariah. As the connection between Leo and Alma is slowly unmasked, the desperation, along with the potential for salvation, of this unique pair is also revealed.

The poetry of her prose, along with an uncanny ability to embody two completely original characters, is what makes Krauss an expert at her craft. But in the end, it's the absolute belief in the uninteruption of love that makes this novel a pleasure, and a wonder to behold. --Gisele Toueg


- - -
And yes, both of these stories are fiction, which I tend not to enjoy. But there is such truth that resonates through both of these works that, while not entirely taken from real life, we can find our lives woven through the book's ideas and life's lessons.

I have been thinking a lot about life's lessons lately as my own life ebbs and flows through the present. Christmas is such a time of reminiscing. I have been posting pictures of past Christmases on my flickr account in such a way to remind me to find some fragment of Christmas spirit. I have been sorely lacking this season, as much as I try to find it. It's buried beneath all the wrong things we focus on during this season.

And then I'm reminded that our lives continually march ahead to an end result that's anybody's guess, but one that takes us back where we belong and that all of our hopes, dreams, disappointments and worldly rules are stripped away. Which makes everything that we do this holiday season that revolves around the inanimate foolish. But allowing ourselves to experience life on a more soulful level can be quite a bit more rewarding.

Our family.

Our friends.

Our life experiences.

Those are the gifts in this life.

The reunions.

The love.

Breaking down barriers to experience the love, not hidden behind anything that can be wrapped, but experienced through the smile or the touch of another. That's the gift.

So maybe I do like a little fiction here and there. :) But I suppose when you think about it, most fiction is based on real life. And real life can be a singularly beautiful experience.

Tis the Season To Be . . . . . . . .

Tis the season to be away from the computer. Which is nice, in a way, yet very comforting when returning to the peaceful confines of our home. For the past 2 days, Richard and I have been out and about. We started Friday attending the children's preschool Christmas program at the United Methodist Church. Aaron and Ella were participants and it was fun to have a little slice of Christmas through the eyes of children. Later Santa made a grand entrance and we were treated to cookies and milk. :)

Afterwards we went Christmas shopping. First to Fort Leavenworth's PX and then to the burbs...

With everyone else in Kansas City.

We were able to pick up most everything on the list, but went home later and finished up with orders online. Now I'm praying to the mail gods that everything arrives on time. I have a stack of bags in the craft room that have many items ready for wrapping and few for sending. Richard still needs to be shopped for, but he's easy. He wants a wrist GPS for when he rides the jet ski. Not for knowing where he's at, but for knowing how fast the jet ski is going even though the jet ski has a gauge that indicates how fast its going. No. He read that the gauges are not always correct, so he wants a GPS.

I told him just to shop for one and buy it. Merry Christmas. You know, you get to an age where the suspense really isn't there anymore. Someone asks you what you want for Christmas, you tell them, it's under the tree. Nice, huh? And the even sillier aspect for Christmas as adults, when you think about it, is that you spend money for person a, person a spends money for you. It's nearly even. Why not just keep the money and buy what we want for ourselves? I mean really? Doesn't that make more sense?

The really fun part of Christmas, as adults, is to receive something from the heart, handmade or something purchased with much thought. To me that's the meaning of Christmas. But when you have a list and you give a list, what is the point, really? And, Richard said if he orders the GPS, he wants to wrap it so he can't open it until Christmas. I then lectured him on the wasteful nature of that because he already knows what it is, why waste the paper and the tape, not to mention time?

Can you tell we're a childless household?

Can you tell that I feel Christmas is so buried beneath wants?

On to another topic. . .

So yesterday we went shopping again. I need a few white layering long-sleeve t-shirts. White. Just white. And long enough to be layered.

Do you know how hard that is to find? Store after store, nothing. So finally I suggested we try Sears and if that didn't work, we could go to Macy's. And if that didn't work, we'd go home because at that point, I'd had it. So we arrive to Sears. Land's End had a nice white shirt.

$24.50...

For a freaking plain white t-shirt, so Richard suggested the men's department. Not a bad idea considering it's to be worn underneath sleeveless vests and sweaters. Sure enough, a nice selection of t-shirts by their Structure line. $20.00 each, but worth it because I was tired of shopping. I figured I could hem the sleeves and call it a day. I look in the women's department separate from the Land's End collection and find a nice cream colored fancier layering shirt for $17.50 on sale. Good. I'm set.

We check out and the men's shirts ring up $9.00 each. How nice is that? I'm happy. At the end of the transaction she hands me my receipt and says, "Hang on to your receipt. If there is any shrinkage after washing, bring it back in for an exchange or your money back. Our clothes are guaranteed for 90 days."

I look at Richard and start in on the absurdity as we walk out of the door.

"90 days. Does that mean the clothes self-destruct at 91 days?"

"Warning me of shrinkage, as if that is a common problem?"

"Do they realize that when they make that speech, they are inviting people to use the clothes for 89 days and bring them back for their money? Like they are renting the clothes, but then getting a refund?"

I'm crusty. If I had a clothing store I'd make sure the products I carry don't shrink and 90 days for a refund? I'd do 7 days. Period. If it's a gift, buy it within 7 days. If it looks like it's been worn and has stains, forgetaboutit.

Which is why I'm not in retail.

But now that seed has been planted in my head and I'm worrying about these shirts. Will they shrink? Will they fall apart?

We spent all day shopping for something I'm now leery of wearing.

Last night we dressed Zoey, the dog, in her sweater and took her over to The Park Place in Leawood, Kansas to watch the ice skaters. As usual she garnered much attention. We walked up and down the manmade Main Street, looked in at people eating dinner and window shopped at all of the overpriced shi-shi stores. It was great fun that ended with peppermint gelato and a ride around old Leawood to look at the Christmas lights.

We were going to head to the lake today but last night the weatherman said that, even though it's in the 60's this morning, by afternoon we are to see a vast temperature drop and experience sleet, freezing rain and snow, so we decided to stay back. Instead, we are going to take back the cabinet pulls to Lowes and go grocery shopping. Doesn't that sound like great fun?

Tis the season . . .

Say Cheese

Christmas Paparazzi 1970's style.

From left to right:
My brother, Jeff
Me
My cousin Danny Bauer
My cousin Amy Bauer

Taken in our home on Perry Court in Sycamore, Illinois.

Hope

This photograph was taken in Hope, Kansas at an abandoned church. The shell of the cross window stood in testament of what came before, but coupled with the water tower above, it is a stark reminder of what comes after every single loss.

Hope.


It's the Christmas season and now, more than ever, I am reminded of its true purpose, to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. And while there continues to be a flurry of the normal activity which involves buying gifts from the retail sector, wrapping them in gaily-designed paper, sending out Christmas greetings in the mail, decorating the house, just one flick of the TV's "on" button is all I need to remind me of what many out there in the United States are going through.

Hardships of economy.
Of marriage and relationships.
Of loss and grief.
Of uncertainty.

So much hurt. So much worry. And this hasn't escaped our little abode. The mega-pharmacy chain has cut tech hours to unbelievable low proportions giving the pharmacists undue added stress, which in essence, disrupts and potentially harms patient care. What's next? Pharmacists?

And of course I suffer from the uncertainty of my mother. After the holidays my father is going to the attorney to start the process with the courts to release my mother from her broken shell here on Earth.

But you see, while the uncertainty I suffer from is only the process, not the outcome, I can find plenty of peace and hope because when you think about it, it's the same hope that Jesus brought with him on that night in the manger.

Hope for the future.
For our lives.
To bring peace.

Nothing lasts forever. Nothing. Our pains nor our joys.

Each morsel of experience is but a small chapter of the much larger picture.

Last night, as I was perusing iTunes looking for some new music, I came across the song on my playlist to the right by Casting Crowns. I've included the lyrics below.

This song was written by a Korean songwriter. I believe it speaks to the photograph, to our current situations and to the Christmas season.

We shall celebrate the hope.

Always celebrate the hope.

- - -







Pu li leun haneul ga eh
Hee mang eh nale pyuhgo
Han up she jayoo lo ee
Choom choo myu nali nae

Bee dul gee ya!
Bee dul gee ya!
duh no pee nal ah la

Nae jo gook ee po leun ha naneul
Gooleumee heuleejee ahngeh


High up in the blue sky
Wings of hope are spreading wide
A white dove is dancing
Flying free and happily

White dove,
White dove,
Flying higher and higher

Lest my country's clean and blue skies
Should be cloudy and grey.


푸르른 하늘가에
희망의 나래 펴고
한없이 자유로이
춤추며 날으네,

비둘기야!
비둘기야!
더 높이 날아라

내 조국의 푸른하늘
구름이 흐리지 않게

A Jolly Chirpy Christmas

I haven't been "plugged in" to home in the past 3 years, really. In 2005 we purchased the lake house, so I centered my life around first, finding one, and then closing and then painting, decorating and the like. The house here received a new roof and siding that year, so I really jumped back and forth from Kansas to Missouri and then back.

My mother then had her stroke and my time was spent up in Illinois and then back down at the cabin for some respite. This year, though, I'm slowly getting plugged back in to real life and this house. One of the things I used to do was feed the birds. Richard installed a nice wrought iron hanger on one of the front porch posts and I had a bird feeder hanging. Out under the tree in the front yard was a suet hanger.

I used to love coming down the stairs and hearing the birds chirping right outside the front door. And since we have double front doors with 2 panes of glass each, I would stand and watch the birds interact with each other and it brought great joy. I then had a couple of bird baths put in the front yard and side garden and hung many birdhouses. There are 3 in the front yard and about 8 in the backyard.

But then I got busy and uncaring, so the birds could only really find rest in the birdhouses and no longer were fed by us. I took the bird feeders down to the lake and hung them up there where I feed the birds pretty continually all summer long. Mostly the squirrels steal the food, but the birds get their fair share, too. It always pleases me to look outside and see birds flying about and their chattering really does lift the spirit.

I suppose that's why you'll see birdhouses and bird feeders at most nursing homes and at some hospitals in their courtyards. They, too, see the healing touch birds can have on people.

I am a member of flickr where I post all of my photos. I've made many good friends and contacts, some of which feed birds in their yard and take photographs of them. After noticing one of my contact's pictures from cold and snowy Iowa with the birds eating while their feathers were being ruffled by the wind, I was fired up to return to my roots here and give my feathered friends some nutrition during the cold months in Kansas.

On our last trip to the lake back in October (can you believe it's been that long?), Richard grabbed the largest feeder stored in the shed and brought it home. This past week we picked up a 20 lb. bag of bird seed and some suet and Richard set everything up. Today it's extremely windy, cold and it's spitting snow. I'm sitting on the second floor in my craft/sewing/computer room with the window coverings pulled back enjoying the plethora of birds flying up into the tree in front of the house. I've watched Cardinals, Blue Jays, Sparrows or Wrens, and Juncos (I think). They have been flying around in large numbers coming in for some food before flying up onto a branch to rest.

The Blue Jays have found the suet and when they are not clinging to the wire cage, they are standing on the front porch pecking away at the seed that has fallen onto the floor of the porch. I turned off my Christmas music just to listen to the chirping and it's been more than enjoyable.

There are things to be thankful about during this season. I usually hoot and holler when summer disappears and the leaves start to fall, but being inside, a fire burning in the fireplace, candles lit throughout the house, the cats running between the dining room windows watching the birds to the glass door in the kitchen watching the squirrels drink from the fountain to finally resting in front of the fireplace is terribly nice. A stack of partially finished Christmas Cards ready to be sent (*Jeff, e-mail me your new address, I accidentally deleted the one C. sent me awhile back), the turkey meat dethawing for dinner and my husband sound to sleep after working overnight...we are all cozy and comfortable. These are the blessings of this season and I am glad I'm plugged in again enough to see and appreciate them.

- - -


I am going to start adding a few Christmas pictures this week. This one is a partial view of the mantle this year. The 3 middle snowmen were given to me by my mother for the last 3 Christmases she was well. I decided to put them front and center this year since they mean so much to me.

The Opening

Little children, sprout your wings and fly.

And they did.

Never to return.

***
Abandoned one-room schoolhouse near Americus, Kansas

(Click the photo above for a larger rendition.)

Sophistication

There was a blue bag in our driveway this morning. I immediately called Richard to tell him not to buy The Kansas City Star this morning because apparently one was delivered, even though we don't subscribe. He told me that it was too late, he had already purchased one as he left his overnight shift.

When he returned home, in one hand was The Star and in the other, The New York Times. For whatever reason which I don't understand, since he rarely reads a newspaper, he subscribed to Sunday delivery of The Times. I grabbed another cup of coffee, sat down and emptied out the blue bag. It felt like pure sophistication right off the bat. I don't have a beef with The Kansas City Star. I live in Kansas, so I'm not all about trends and the high echelon, even though this area has its fair share of that. When I go to my dad's house in Illinois, I rarely open up The Chicago Tribune, which he subscribes to. But The New York Times, I don't know what captured my interest today, but it felt so updated, fresh and highly intelligent, I could barely stand it! It almost made me want to change out of my Joe Boxer fleece pj bottoms decorated with hearts and snowflakes and my cream-colored henley top to my black palazzo pants and my new 1940's vintage-inspired turquoise blue sweater with the satin-covered buttons and drive over to The Country Club Plaza for breakfast at The Raphael with The New York Times Style Magazine in tow.

Everything about that publication is rich, and I don't necessarily mean that in monetary value, though that can easily be construed, as well. No, it's rich in its writing, in its photography and in its overall packaging. I fell in love with the article about Tommy Hilfiger:

http://www.nytimes.com/indexes/2008/12/07/style/t/index.html#pagewanted=0&pageName=07tommy&

The descriptions of his mansion, and of his life beckoned me to stay awhile. Images swirled around in my mind of what it must be like to be Tommy, or anyone of that stature, all from an article. That is good writing.

I suppose I could be considered a literary snob of sorts. While my writing often leaves a lot to be desired, I revel in a good read, but I'm picky, oh so picky. I don't like fiction. Period. That's a harsh statement, I realize. There was a time in my life where I enjoyed a story or two, but today I'm all about non-fiction because to me, there are far too many true stories to delve into and what could be more interesting than the truth? I mean really?

I guess that's why I've never understood the love of video games and fantasy. Why create a fantasy when real-life is far more mind-bending? Hearing people's stories enthrall me. Watching people's actions entertain me, which is probably why I keep a short string tied to CNN and FOX News.

I'm currently reading, "Pioneer Women."

http://www.amazon.com/Pioneer-Women-Joanna-Stratton/dp/0671447483/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1228669122&sr=8-4

I can't tell you how many nights this past week that I've fallen asleep with the light on in the bedroom with the book open. It's fascinating.

My next book, which I just read a review on today is going to be, "Mrs. Astor Regrets."

http://www.amazon.com/Mrs-Astor-Regrets-Betrayals-Reproach/dp/0618893733/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1228669201&sr=1-1

So this is why The Times has tickled me pink. It's journalism on a whole other level, unlike The Kansas City Star's Star Magazine. Today was a spread of Kansas City people who have had their pictures taken with celebrities.

http://www.kansascity.com/starmagazine/story/917112.html

So? I was left shaking my head. Guys, take some lessons on real journalism and story-telling of the pertinent kind.

Richard signed up for an introductory month of The New York Times for a nominal fee. I don't know yet what it will go up to next month, but whatever it is, I can honestly say it's worth every penny. A little sophistication goes a long way.

Brisket, Pot Roast, Cooked Veggies, Super Wal-Mart and Lowes

We ran out of milk yesterday. I had just enough for a few sprinkles to wet my Aldi's brand of Cheerios. And, by the way, I found the first thing I don't like from Aldi's; their cereals. So, needless to say, Zoey ate those leftovers, too! :) Anyway, who runs out of milk? Certainly not me. Usually my problems stem from letting the milk turn into cottage cheese, but since I've been buying organic, aka: overpriced milk with an expiration date at least a month away, we've been consuming all of our milk.

This leads me to a grocery list, and while I'm at it, I need glass cleaner (ran out of that, too) and onions (ran out of those, as well- - - the horrors!) and while I'm at it, may as well create 4 more menus and add it to the list of 4 I have yet to make. Richard, my Mr. WannajointheArmyagainandchefwannabe, arrived home from his overnight pharmacy shift. No, they are not over yet, thank you for asking. . . and I ask him what he wants to eat and he replies, Brisket.

"Brisket?"

"Brisket."

"Who calls it brisket," I ask. "Isn't that the same thing as a pot roast?"

"No, it's brisket. There's brisket and there's pot roast."

"What's the difference?"

"The name," my Mensa pharmacist husband answered.

"No crap, Sherlock," was my reply.

I mean really. Like I didn't know that.

So then Mr. Mensa grabbed my Joy of Cooking cookbook and found the illustration of a cow hanging up and diagramed. "Here, there's the brisket. It's called brisket and it's brisket."

"Yea, but you didn't answer my question, can't I just buy a pot roast and call it a day?"

"Well, yea, I guess you can."

I had to sit on my hands. . .

"Now," he instructed, "I like my pot roast to have potatoes, carrots and onions in there."

"You don't like cooked vegetables, but for potatoes. You hate onions."

"That's because you serve them crispy. I like mine cooked more."

"That's a crock," I said. "Every time I have ever served cooked carrots, you said you hated carrots and all vegetables, except potatoes, that are cooked. You're changing your tune."

He smiled, finally realizing the absurdity of the conversation.

"You can't win with me, can you?" he finally admitted.

Win? Hell, I'd be content to just be somewhere in the same notebook, being on the same page is utterly impossible.

So this brings me to my next decision (see what I have to do during a day? It's almost more than I can bear), should I go to Aldi's (since the list is short) or to Super Wal-Mart because I'd like to get a Christmas scented candle. And...get this, we were at Lowe's the other day and I found myself in the drawer pull aisle, actually I found Richard in the wire aisle which is also the drawer pull aisle and while he was waiting for someone to come and cut some wire, I found some new cupboard handles. I was there for a long time, so that's what enticed me to buy new pulls because Richard was waiting around like a lost puppy.

I turned around and he was just standing there, as if the wire gods fall from the ceiling and immediately start cutting wire. I finally yelled over to him,

"Push the red button."

He looked at me like I was crazy. It's a common look, I'm used to it.

"Dude, there's a red button and it calls someone to come over and help." I then turned around and continued to browse the pulls. After a moment or 30, I turned around he's cluelessly walking up and down the aisle. I couldn't take it anymore. I promptly walked over, grabbed his hand, walked down about 5 feet, turned to the left, and pushed the red button after exclaiming that there is a bright red tall box with a giant hand on it with a red button. There are instructions on the side that, when pushed, an associate will be over and sure enough, an announcement was made over the PA system and someone showed up.

Conceptual!

Brilliant!

Sometimes I wonder about him . . .

Anyway, the guy looking at the mailboxes behind the wire and next to the drawer pulls looked at me strangely.

He probably thought I was on the bitchy side.

His wife would do the same thing to him, I can assure him of that. :)

Anyway, back to the pulls. I find some I like, count out 23, come home and figure out we have 32 and yesterday I decided to start changing them out and this one doesn't fit. It's too long. Who knew that cupboard pulls are different sizes? Well, I do now, so I have to go back to Lowe's, which is next to Super Wal-mart, except I'm starting to loathe big box stores and two in one day is almost more than I can take and stay sane at the same time.

So I may wait until Richard can take the pulls back to Lowe's because he loves any sort of venture that involves shopping or returning and I can just go to Aldi's and stop by Tuesday Morning on my way back and pick up a candle.

Sounds like a plan to me.


Oh, and if you're just dying to know the difference between brisket and pot roast, I found this:



"Let's clear one thing up right now," writes Judy Kancigor in her forthcoming book, Cooking Jewish: 556 Great Recipes from the Rabinowitz Family (Workman Publishing). "People always ask, 'What is the difference between brisket and pot roast?' Brisket is a cut of beef requiring slow cooking; pot roast is what you make with it (or with other cuts)."

Sounds like the same darn thing to me.

Revenge is a Sweet, Sweet Song Sung by Yours Truly

I don't know what has overcome me. I've been in such a cleaning mood, it's unbelievable! Every square inch of this house is starting to smell like Clorox Bleach Cleaner mixed with Zep Pine Cleaner mixed with Glass Cleaner. My hands are dry, but the house, oh how it shines.

So unlike me, really. :) And not only that, but I've been in the cooking mode, like totally whipping up good meals, except for last night. No, last night was Richard's night and I enjoyed every moment of it. See, he likes to cook and he's excellent, too. He can whip up the most gourmet meal you've ever seen and it's always divine and it's never with a recipe. Sure, it looks like a total kitchen explosion, but who cares! The meal tastes like it came from one of the finest Kansas City restaurants.

So two days ago I boiled up a whole chicken, which I do from time to time. I like the taste of shredded chicken that comes from boiling a whole chicken instead of just boiling up a frozen breast. It gives me a few extra baggies to stick in the freezer for other occasions as well as some extra chicken stock.

Now let me preface this by saying that a few weeks ago Richard said and I mean verbatim, "I didn't marry you for your cooking."

Wasn't that the nicest thing ever? I mean I think I slapped him into the next year after he said that. No, just kidding. I'd never slap him that hard. ;) Maybe it was only into the next day. Anyway, I tend to cook a lot of different recipes from my cookbooks and allrecipes.com. So most of the time I don't get my feelings hurt if he says he doesn't care for something because heck, it wasn't my recipe. But he does tend to be truthful saying things like, "It's Oooooooooookkkkaaaayyyyy." Or, after sniffing the dish a few times, "What'd you put in here?" And then, "I am a meat and potatoes guy. I like meat and potatoes, not meat, potatoes and paprika or whatever spice du jour I just named." Or, "I like chicken noodle soup. That's just chicken and noodles, not chicken, noodles, spinach, corn and then whatever part of the kitchen sink I threw in that time."

It is very rare to get a comment from him like, "I'd put this on the menu if I owned a restaurant." And if I ever hear that, I think he must have a cold and his nose is stuffed up or he's sniffed one too many of the drugs he hands out as a pharmacist because he always has something to say about my cooking.

So last night was his night. I was going to make tacos from the shredded chicken in the freezer. So he grabs the chicken and a large skillet. I tell him that I already bought a package that his pre-packaged salsa and spices but he wanted to use his own. Then I see him take out the KitchenAid food processor.

"What'cha taking that out for?" I ask.

"I like my chicken shredded better than you shred it."

Uh huh. Well, see, I've used that processor before for chicken and it shredded it so fine that whatever I used the chicken in, he complained the chicken was too fine, but he didn't remember and I could see this as an "in" to start complaining about his cooking, so I took a bar stool, kicked back my feet on the other bar stool, grabbed a glass of water and watched. After he annihilated the chicken, he threw it into the skillet and I walked over.

"Huh. That looks like bread crumbs. You just whirled the moisture right out of that chicken."

He gave me a mean look.

I'm never scared. I can look even meaner back.

"Go sit down. I don't like someone staring at me while I cook."

"You do it to me."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"No, I don't."

So I sat back down as he started adding the kitchen sink of spices and wine and lime juice and more spices. After he was done with that, he cut up a tomato and onion so fine I could barely see them.

You can only imagine last night's dinner conversation.

"Huh," I said. "This looks like chicken feed."

"Oh wait. It looks like the bottom of the Lake of the Ozarks if they drained it. Like sand through the hourglass, so are the tacos of our lives."

He squinted his eyes at me while I continued, " What's in this?"

I sniffed the chicken.

"I like chicken tacos. That's chicken that resembles chicken and tacos. Not chicken that's been abused beyond recognition and a host of spices. Who puts wine in their chicken? I've never heard of such a thing?"

He chuckled.

"Are you done?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, no, I'm not."

And I went on for about 3 more minutes.

He admitted that it wasn't the best dinner he's ever cooked but look at it this way, at least Zoey our dog eats my leftovers. We put a bowl of this chicken mush on the floor and she looked in, sniffed and then sneezed, blowing crumbage all over the floor and walked away.

"Yep. I sure didn't marry him for his cooking."

At least not last night's dinner. . .

Reminisce

After I posted the Christmas picture on yesterday's blog, a friend commented about how many memories flooded back at the mention of Woolco. And it's true. It was that Woolco that my cousin and I were getting a little rowdy in the women's department and knocked over a mannequin whose wig flew off. We ran away running and laughing. I remember stopping in front of a clothing rack with a women's polyester red tweed blazer with large fabric-covered buttons hanging with my legs crossed so I wouldn't wet my pants from laughing so hard.

Those were some good times. It was also there that a friend and I were ambling around the store and happened into the shoe department when I heard my name across the PA system. My mother was requesting I meet her at the Customer Service desk. Oops. I knew I was in trouble then! This heralds back to a time where a mother could let her children roam the stores without too much fear of danger, unlike today, though even back then, I'm sure some of the clerks gave us mean looks and didn't think kindly of my mother. :)

On Thanksgiving Day I found a wonderful cider recipe from a Gooseberry Patch cookbook. It used the coffee pot to brew the apple juice through a basket filled with nutmeg, an orange, lemon peel, brown sugar and a cinnamon stick. It was simply fantastic, but after one sip I was transported back to Christmas at the Ellwood House. From the Ellwood House website: Ellwood House, a grand Victorian mansion, is located in a lovely park in the heart of DeKalb, Illinois. Inside, crystal chandeliers sparkle, gilt mirrors shine, and antique woodwork gleams. A visit to this elegant home brings the past to life!

Built by barbed wire millionaire Isaac L. Ellwood in 1879, the mansion remains with its original furnishings just as when the Ellwood family lived there decades ago. Experience a by-gone era as you tour the great English living room with its vast stone fireplace, the mahogany-panelled dining room, and the magnificent rotunda with a three-story spiral staircase. The many restored bedrooms, servants rooms, and service areas provide a glimpse of a complete household at the turn of the twentieth century.

We used to go every Christmas season and when I was young, the kitchen in the basement had cookies and cider that tasted just like the cider I made. It's amazing how our brains store memories and just one little morsel of taste or vision can take us right back. I'm so thankful for that opportunity.

Another sweet remembrance this season happened when I was decorating the house. I came across an ornament set still in its original box. On one end is Santa and on the other is a snowman. I hung it on this vintage mannequin wearing an antique cape:



After Christmas last year, I drove up to my dad's house in Illinois. My niece, Emily, was there visiting from Arkansas. At the time she was 9 years old. There was a pretty little wrapped present under the tree with her handwriting on it from her to me. I opened it up and just beamed with joy, telling her how much I love snowmen and that I collect them. She smiled widely, so proud of herself.

Later in the evening she told me that she went to the Dollar Store and their Christmas items were 1/2 off, so she bought it for 50 cents, but she picked this one out just for me because she knew I liked snowmen. It just made my heart swell. So when I found it this year, I promptly took it out and found a special place to enjoy it. Her little conversation with me last year came right back to the surface, as it will for each year thereafter.

I'm so thankful for each bit of the past that resurfaces. Most of the time, my lips curl in happiness as I recount the many joys my life has given to me.

Father Christmas and Woolco Santa

Santa traveled to the Sycamore, Illinois Woolco back on December 8, 1974. My brother and I were greatly pleased.

Tis the Season To Be . . . . . . . .

December 1?

House payment cleared the bank account.

Insurance is due tomorrow.

Yep. It's the 1st of the month. But December?

I'm finally seeing some sunshine outside and I welcome it with open arms. This entire weekend was full of cloudy days and spitzy weather which resulted in snow that covered the ground. I'll admit, it was pretty, especially since I was decorating the house for Winter. That's what I'm calling it since it looks more like Winter and less like Christmas this year, which is totally fine. Comforting, even. Santa is becoming too commercial lately and it's ticking me off. Of course I am coming to believe that I do suffer from and even embrace my crabby seasonal disorder which has hit pretty much full-on.

I'm beginning to wonder if that's behind why Richard picked up the phone and dialed the number to good ole' Uncle Sam first thing this morning. :) Luckily, Uncle Sam doesn't work that quickly and has to get back to Richard. :) I still have time to readjust my less than sterling attitude that stems from too much darkness and cold weather and not enough sun and deliciously warm days spent outside.

December 1 means something else. The Christmas Newsletter.

I am in no mood to write one this year.

Neither was I last year.

Or the year before.

But last year I was poked and prodded by Mr. WannajointheArmyagain, and so I went overboard and not only created a newsletter, but made a DVD. It was an all-out multi-media affair of hellish proportions.

Luckily I'm not doing that this year. I drew the line on the DVD to Richard. But I was going to just address the Christmas Cards, sign our names, lick the backs and slap a stamp on them before tossing them in the blue box at the Blue Valley Post Office. But Richard is appalled at that thought. So this is how it goes in our house:

Me: I'm not doing a newsletter this year.

Him: What? What?

Me: You heard me.

Him: But why? You have to do one.

Me: No I don't. I'm not in the mood.

Him: You always write one. People like them.

Me: Screw the people. (Sorry people, I did say screw you. It's that seasonal disorder thing coming out again.)

Him: I like your newsletters. You MUST do one.

Me: :::squinting my eyes, giving him the Johanna glare and then marching out of the room:::

- - -

Later

- - -

I go on the computer to search out last year's newsletter created on Pages from Apple's iWork program. It won't open. The file says it's corrupted.

Hmmmm.

So I don't want to work off Pages.

So I go on my iRemember program to start something creative, but it keeps crashing. I go on the site to see that I'm working on a version no longer supported. It's like 1.2 or something like that and the newest version is 5.1. But now I have to pay to download the newest version.

So I start looking online and reading reviews saying that iRemember pretty much sucks wind. (I'm improvising what I read. It's that seasonal disorder thing coming out again.)

I start to search for a new program and find one called iScrapbook that looks cool, except that thing is $50. Then I find another reviewer who says she likes Memory Maker even better, which adds whiz-bang videos and what-not to your pages that can then be sent online.

Wait! I'm just looking for a scrapbooking newsletter type program. I do not need something that adds video.

So then I tell Richard about everything and he comes online and downloads a temporary demo version of iScrapbook, except I think it only downloads a trial version without all the fun stuff.

And now, now it's 3:freaking38 p.m. and I've spent most of the day on this stupid newsletter that I haven't even gotten started yet.

By this time, I could have slapped my cards together and had them ready to send.

Tis the season. . .

to be jolly?

Richard would say crabby.