A while back a friend told me that she'd just finished reading Elizabeth Berg's book, "Home Safe," and thought about me all the while she was reading it.
I'm not really an Elizabeth Berg fan because I'm not much for women's books but I read "Home Safe" on the plane ride to Minnesota. I could see why my friend thought of me. The woman in the book is a writer who goes a little crazy when her husband dies. She can't write and can't read and makes some weird decisions like trying to get a job at the mall.
I went a little crazy when my husband died.
Berg writes easy to read, healing books. When I wasn't able to read most anything I picked up "The Art of Mending" and found it really helpful. A play on words, the woman mended clothes while her life was mending.
There are several people in my life right now who need mending. I guess, in some respects, we all do.
***
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Happy Calorie Day
I hope tomorrow is a wonderful day for you. Dave and I are going to eat with friends. We are giving thanks for so very many things this year. And we're thinking about those who don't have much to give thanks for.
As for the rest of us, we'll probably pig out. I read that the average Thanksgiving dinner is laden with about 2,200 calories. The Pilgrims and Indians ate around 540 calories.
Do you have a favorite stuffing or dressing? I won't be making my famous oyster dressing this year but I thought I'd share the recipe with you anyway. Everybody loves it - and what's not to love.
I'm just glad that it's too late for you to make it so I won't have to feel guilty about that extra six pounds around your middle.
Oyster Dressing
1 stick butter
2 cups chopped onions
2 cups chopped celery
1 loaf white bread
2 teaspoons poultry seasoning
1 teaspoon pepper
6 cans oysters with liquid
2 cups chicken bullion
Cut crusts from the bread and discard. Tear bread into small pieces. Set aside in large bowl for several days. Stir often to dry.
Melt butter in large skillet. Add onions and celery. Cook on low heat until soft. Pour contents of skillet into dried bread crumbs. Add poultry seasoning, pepper and oysters. Mix. Add chicken bullion until bread is soaked and dish is a bit soupy. Spray large casserole dish with Pam. Add mixture. Bake in 325 degree oven for two hours. Serves 10.
***
Friday, November 20, 2009
Chickens
The new thing is for we Americans to raise our own chickens. And let them have "free range." We're told that it will be a beautiful experience. One that will include organic eggs and fresh fried chicken dinners. Thank goodness I live in a condo with strict rules about livestock.
I have some friends who have chickens on their farm. Well, they live there only half the year so they, technically, rent the chickens. And they have some sad and gory chicken stories. As all of us who've raised chickens do.
First and foremost, chickens poop. I mean they poop way more than you'd think. I mean that when you walk into the coop you will sometimes slip on the poop and fall into the poop so that you are sort of covered in it and all you hear when you get back to the house is "Why did it take you so long to gather those eggs?"
When I was a child, spending summers on my aunt and uncle's farm in Southern Indiana, we had chickens. Egg gathering was my job. Besides the aforementioned poop, I was afraid of the chickens. Some of them were mean.
Mostly they were in coops but a few at a time got to be yard chickens. The forerunners of free rangers. They must have thought that they had reached the top of the heap but the truth was that when they hit the yard, their days were numbered.
Because on Sunday mornings my aunt would chase down two or three chickens, ring their necks, and let the bodies, spurting out blood, dance around the yard - right before my eyes. Then they were dunked in hot water and I had to help take off the feathers before they were cleaned and made ready to fry for Sunday dinner.
I'm surprised I'm not damaged by all that violence.
When my son was 18 years old he went on a mission trip to Haiti. While he and his friends were repairing a school roof an old lady came by, built a little pen and put chickens in it. The young men climbed down from the roof and played with the chickens.
Later, and to the great surprise of my son and his city friends, she came back, chopped off their heads and prepared them for the workers' lunch.
My son later became a big game hunter. I hope he wasn't influenced by the old lady and the chickens.
***
I have some friends who have chickens on their farm. Well, they live there only half the year so they, technically, rent the chickens. And they have some sad and gory chicken stories. As all of us who've raised chickens do.
First and foremost, chickens poop. I mean they poop way more than you'd think. I mean that when you walk into the coop you will sometimes slip on the poop and fall into the poop so that you are sort of covered in it and all you hear when you get back to the house is "Why did it take you so long to gather those eggs?"
When I was a child, spending summers on my aunt and uncle's farm in Southern Indiana, we had chickens. Egg gathering was my job. Besides the aforementioned poop, I was afraid of the chickens. Some of them were mean.
Mostly they were in coops but a few at a time got to be yard chickens. The forerunners of free rangers. They must have thought that they had reached the top of the heap but the truth was that when they hit the yard, their days were numbered.
Because on Sunday mornings my aunt would chase down two or three chickens, ring their necks, and let the bodies, spurting out blood, dance around the yard - right before my eyes. Then they were dunked in hot water and I had to help take off the feathers before they were cleaned and made ready to fry for Sunday dinner.
I'm surprised I'm not damaged by all that violence.
When my son was 18 years old he went on a mission trip to Haiti. While he and his friends were repairing a school roof an old lady came by, built a little pen and put chickens in it. The young men climbed down from the roof and played with the chickens.
Later, and to the great surprise of my son and his city friends, she came back, chopped off their heads and prepared them for the workers' lunch.
My son later became a big game hunter. I hope he wasn't influenced by the old lady and the chickens.
***
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Why I Don't Have a Job
When Sarah Palin was on Oprah the other day she pretty much dodged the question about whether or not she would run for president in 2012. But she did suggest that having five kids, including a special needs child, would not be an issue because she has a big family support system.
I, too, have a very big family and loads of friends. We support each other. But, at my age, the Dilbert cartoon pretty much explains why I sometimes don't have time or physic energy for much else.
***
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Hardware and Comics
Today, after going to lunch with my Oldies (By the way, Mrs. Oldie is having her pace maker recharged on Friday so keep her in your prayers) Dave and I went to Millers Hardware to buy a light bulb.
Millers Hardware is an institution Winter Park, Florida. Nothing fancy, but its customers are fiercely loyal. The Big Box Stores are absolutely no threat to them. One of the reasons is that they prided themselves on being "the women's hardware store" long before it was popular to do so.
Years ago there was a hardware store close to where we lived where the owners prided themselves on treating women like morons. It's no longer in business.
A coincidence, in this morning's comics section, The Middletons, which is a syndicated strip drawn by two central Florida cartoonists, had Grandma Middleton saying , I have a medication list...A list of senor activities... My doctors list...A Millers Hardware list...
A lot of us grandmas keep a Millers Hardware list.
***
Millers Hardware is an institution Winter Park, Florida. Nothing fancy, but its customers are fiercely loyal. The Big Box Stores are absolutely no threat to them. One of the reasons is that they prided themselves on being "the women's hardware store" long before it was popular to do so.
Years ago there was a hardware store close to where we lived where the owners prided themselves on treating women like morons. It's no longer in business.
A coincidence, in this morning's comics section, The Middletons, which is a syndicated strip drawn by two central Florida cartoonists, had Grandma Middleton saying , I have a medication list...A list of senor activities... My doctors list...A Millers Hardware list...
A lot of us grandmas keep a Millers Hardware list.
***
Art Collectors
Yesterday Dave and I went to one of my very favorite art museums, the Mennello. It's very small. The size of a house. But it has wonderful, fun works of art and is on a lake, in a park setting.
Even kids or those people who say "I don't know art but I know what I like" like it.
Yesterday was special because this couple from St. Louis, John and Susan Horseman, has loaned their personal art collection to the Mennello. They were there, along with the St. Louis art director, to talk about their collection - which is, by the way, magnificent.
What would make a young couple with 6 kids start collecting serious art? Their first pieces are all about moms and children. Then they expanded into art work depicting the history of places they've lived.
They were very open and knowledgeable about the history of all 47 pieces. And answered all questions - a couple of which were very uncool.
How much did you pay for this one? What do you do for a living?
If you go to the Mennello - and I hope you do - and you see the Vorst painting of the black, southern mother and child - notice the small Hitler poster in the corner. Vorst was German.
It's fun to have an expert who loves and knows the paintings point out things I would never see otherwise.
***
Thursday, November 12, 2009
It Could Have Been Worse
The last few days I've vacillated from feeling kind of devastated and extremely thankful. I guess we all do that from time to time.
Yesterday, everywhere I went, (Nouwen class, meeting with close friends) I was hearing about how God wants me to feel joyful - and thankful.
I guess if we didn't have some tough times we wouldn't know what joyful was or what to be thankful for.
Here's a little example:
The other morning Dave went out to get the paper. When he pressed the button to open the garage door this BIG, HEAVY spring flew off the top and ricocheted around the garage.
When we surveyed the damage it wasn't bad. The car was bumped up a bit but Dave rubbed it out with Turtle Wax.
Later, when the garage door guy came by he said that these airborne springs sometimes fly through windshields and cause terrible damage. Who knew?
Dave could have been hit in the head.
So instead of doing a lot of hand wringing and complaining about the cost of the fix, I decided to be joyful and thankful.
And I'm trying real hard to feel that way about everything.
***
Yesterday, everywhere I went, (Nouwen class, meeting with close friends) I was hearing about how God wants me to feel joyful - and thankful.
I guess if we didn't have some tough times we wouldn't know what joyful was or what to be thankful for.
Here's a little example:
The other morning Dave went out to get the paper. When he pressed the button to open the garage door this BIG, HEAVY spring flew off the top and ricocheted around the garage.
When we surveyed the damage it wasn't bad. The car was bumped up a bit but Dave rubbed it out with Turtle Wax.
Later, when the garage door guy came by he said that these airborne springs sometimes fly through windshields and cause terrible damage. Who knew?
Dave could have been hit in the head.
So instead of doing a lot of hand wringing and complaining about the cost of the fix, I decided to be joyful and thankful.
And I'm trying real hard to feel that way about everything.
***
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