When Life Gives You Covid Lemons

Lets face it, so far 2020 stinks. We just barely got into the new year and we started hearing rumors of some new virus thing on the other side of the planet. No need for us to worry, or so we thought.
Now here we are three months in and most of us have been faithfully sheltering in our homes for the past several weeks, cutting ourselves off from human to human contact as best we can and trying to survive the toilet paper wars.
Shopping trips have now become covert missions that have planning strategies and special equipment involved. You have to be up at the crack of dawn, load up on hand sanitizer and maybe a face mask, disposable gloves and disinfectant wipes. You are now ready to go to the grocery store.
Best strategy is to shop online and go to a store that brings the groceries out to you so that you don’t have to step out of the safety of your car which is now more like your bubble of immunity outside of your house. If you were smart you checked the online groups for sightings of toilet paper nearby and hope that there is still some left when you arrive.
When you get home, depending on which how-to video you’ve watched, you unpack and sanitize each grocery item before putting it away, or you leave all non-perishable items sitting in your garage for a week, saying a silent prayer over each one that it is not the one with the virus stuck on it because you are not sure of your techniques.
That done you toss your disposable gloves, ok who are we kidding, you toss the two dog poop bags you’ve been using as disposable gloves into the garbage, strip out of your town clothes and toss them directly into the washing machine and then go take a twenty minute shower singing happy birthday forty times to make sure you’ve washed properly for this virus. I call this the Howard Hughes phase of shopping.
Now that you are back safely in your house, doors locked in case some crazy relative just decides to pop in to see how you are doing, it’s time to chose what to do today. Let’s see, you’ve watch all ninety seasons of Lost, you’ve knit five more scarves, ok you only knit one more because you are really, really slow. You finished reading that huge Stephen King novel and you have actually listened to most of the audible books in your collection, so that subscription is finally paying off.
If you are like me you are already bored with all of the apps and games on your iPad or tablet and the new ones look incredibly boring or too complicated. You’ve also already beat the computer numerous times in games of Monopoly and Solitaire. Alexa is starting to get on your nerves because she isn’t following your instructions so you find yourself yelling at her as if that will help. Solitude can do strange things.
It was nearly sixty degrees out the other day and so I ventured outdoors to see what I could do out there. I have this little tiny rake, I’m not sure what it’s true purpose is or why I bought it, but I don’t have a normal sized leaf rake. I have a garden rake which doesn’t work well for leaves, I don’t know why I have that either as I don’t garden. I took my tiny rake and tried to rake the leftover leaves out from around all the plants in the front of the house, I had fair success.
Then I walked around the yard and picked up all the big sticks that had blown out of the trees the last several wind storms and put them into a big pile. I was already winded from too much activity but was determined to make a day of it. I decided to follow my daughters idea and walked out into the field and looked for pieces of corn that I could leave out for our squirrels. I only found four and walked about an eighth of a mile and back but I felt accomplished none the less.
I reclined on my lawn chair for a bit but it isn’t satisfying. I miss my hammock! If we do get money from the government for economic relief during this pandemic, I am buying a new pad for my hammock stand! I have my priorities after all.
The sun was getting too hot, yes, sixty degrees is hot for me, so I went back indoors. No sense overdoing it on the first sunny day. I looked around the living room for something to do that did not involve the TV. If I were the ambitious type I could tackle my living room closet where I store all of my seasonal decorations. It has become a giant disaster with holidays dripping all over the place. I opened the door, looked inside, shut the door. Too much trauma for me.
I’ve already rearranged my living room, so what other room could I tackle? The dining room and kitchen have no options. Same with the laundry room. We had already updated the den aka grandpa’s room. That left the guest bedroom, which is also the grandkids toy room. I stood in the doorway and looked at it for ten minutes.
To move anything was going to require a lot of removing things first. Then there is the whole plug outlet situation, and the TV dish cord is in one corner so the TV is stuck there. There are shelving units with the kids toy bins, a big sized kids kitchen set, a bookshelf loaded with kids books, my desk and a bed, and a unit with my clothes. We are talking a twelve by twelve bedroom, with each wall lined with some type of unit of something. I turned and walked away. Best not to poke the giant.
A thought of trying to bake some homemade bread flashed briefly across my brain. Who was I kidding. I folded all of the blankets on the couch and arranged all of the pillows. I almost went and got the vacuum cleaner, but that idea went away quickly as well. I spied the extra Wemo plug that had been sitting on my roll top desk in the living room and had a clear vision of what to do.
I have a large round fan that sits in my living room and is plugged into the outlet that works off of the light switch. There are two such outlets in the living room so when you click the light switch on, a light on my desk turns on and the fan turns on. I picked the Wemo plug up (it works with Alexa or by an app to remotely control things plugged into it) and plugged it into the wall behind the couch sectional that was to the left of me. Then I plugged the fan into it positioning it to perfectly blow a nice breeze on me. After several minutes of trying to remember how to program the plug, I finally got it.
Life is good for now. It’s often measured in the small things. I no longer have to get up and flip a light switch to turn my fan on or off. Now I can remain seated in my favorite spot on the couch, watching all six seasons of Schitts Creek for the tenth time and just say “Alexa, turn on living room fan”. Covid lemonade.
Please stay home and stay safe.
Until next time…
Toni

Jay and I Were Born for Social Distancing

LONG before social distancing was a thing, Jay and I have been practicing this at home for thirty some years. Mind you, we have been married for forty-three and produced four children, so you can toss out the first few years. The past few decades however, we have this stuff down to perfection.
I should have known what I was getting myself into when marrying a man whose heritage is 100% German. Germans are not well known for their love and compassion. They are not known for hugging and displays of affection. They are known for being perfectionists, precise, direct, having a dark sense of humor, being distant and apparently are good bread bakers as well as beer drinkers.* Jay has all these qualities covered except the last two. We leave the bread baking to our son Jason. (* Source: Google)
There were a few hints along our dating journey that should have stuck out for me, like he didn’t like to hold hands, no PDF (public displays of affection) and we were engaged for three years because he apparently wasn’t in a hurry, or was he just social distancing back then?
I, on the other hand, am affectionate and a hugger. When I meet people for the first time I always find myself touching their arm or shoulder, I don’t even realize I do it, so as to make that human contact. If I know you, I am going to hug you, I may hug you if I don’t.
My heritage is a mixed bag like most Americans. I am Scottish, Irish, German (dad’s side) Norwegian and Danish (mom’s side). As you can see, there were lots of genetic chances in there to be a good baker, again, I am not as you well know. I’m not sure where the hugging came from but it’s always been that way.
It’s very true in our case that opposites attracted, more like collided. He is a perfectionist and I’m sure that’s what makes him such a great carpenter. I am not. I can toss things together without a care whether I am cooking, trying to knit or sew, or baking – again, why I am not a good baker.
My mom was a great baker, seamstress and knitter. She baked cakes and sewed clothing for people in my town as a hobby while working full time. I didn’t inherit her sewing or knitting skills either. When I was in junior high we had to take a sewing class and a cooking class. My mom used to leave the room when I would be laying out the pattern on my material because I’m sure it drove her crazy. I would just pin pieces here and there, not worrying about trying to make the most out of my material space. I believe I got a D- in that class. I never attempted cooking at home back then, like today, I don’t enjoy it and I’m pretty sure I got a D in that class, or it may have been an F.
Back to social distancing. So, I snore. Loudly. At least that’s what my husband, children, and grandchildren have all told me, but I’m still skeptical. What does snoring have to do with social distancing you ask? Let me tell you a short tale.
After giving birth to my last baby, I had a back problem. I started sleeping downstairs on our couch with baby #4 nearby in her crib when she wasn’t laying on me. The couch gave me great back support and I slept somewhat better.
When Brittney (aka #4) was older and could sleep upstairs, I continued to sleep on the couch for comfort. Back then I used to sleep fairly sound. Late one night I had awakened around 3 a.m. and a white orb of light went floating past me. For real. I will take a lie detector test on this, I am not making this up. Needless to say I slept with the lights on for YEARS after that, and continued to wake around 3. That story, by the way, is for another day.
After many years of sleeping on the couch, I mentioned to my family I might try sleeping in our bedroom again to which there was a strong suggestion that I snored very loudly and everyone upstairs could hear me. Perhaps my staying downstairs was for the better of all in the house, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.” (Ghost’s opinion not included). The dogs and I continued to sleep downstairs, lights on. Social distancing had begun.
Another thing that is the opposite with Jay and I is what we like to watch on TV. I love movies, I love comedy and drama, action, sci-fi and mystery. Jay likes sports, news, old rock bands and reality TV that involves singing or talent. When we were first married and before DVR’s and DHS tape recorders were invented, we shared a single TV. He would watch TV and I would read a book in the same room until he went to bed. Then if there was something on late at night, I’d watch it. Remember we only had about four channels to choose from as well, so often it was disappointing.
Then the era came of being able to record a show on TV and watch it later. I got into the habit of watching recorded shows late at night, a habit I still have. To this day I DVR every single program and either read, knit or write in the evening until late and then I watch my DVR’d programs, and bonus, I can skip all commercials.
Since our first house, we acquired a second TV, four children and a second room to put it in that became the “family room” or “den” or as the grandkids call it – grandpa’s room. In the house we currently live in he has his den room and I have the living room. We each watch our own TV shows and enjoy our separate bedrooms although I am still pretty much a couch sleeper. More social distancing, we got this!
If you’d ask our children, they will confirm that we have been happily practicing social distancing for decades. I credit part of the reason we’ve been married for so long is due to our social distancing. The only time we are in the same place is at the supper table or in the car and then we practice not talking as per Jay’s German heritage not mine, so again, keeping a social distance through language.
Luckily, I have two dogs at home who entertain me and tolerate me hugging them and lavishing attention on them. Ok, Kutter, aka Mr. Kuddles, loves it. Jazzy will tolerate it on her own terms similar to a cat. Forget hugging Jay! My son Josh sent us a picture that had “Kiss me I’m Irish” all crossed out and instead it said, “Don’t touch me, I’m German”. Perfect. Jay needs that t-shirt. My kids and most of my grandkids are huggers too, a little German heritage snuck into a couple of them.
Jay and I have had this social distancing stuff down to an art for at least three decades. If you need any tips or advice on social distancing, I’d tell you to ask Jay the expert, but he’s not going to answer you. He doesn’t even answer his cell phone if I call him. I’m so thankful every day that I married a 100% German.
Until next time…
Stay home, keep your distance.
Toni

Dreams of Being a Hermit

This COVID-19 virus has everyone locked down at home. Right now no one knows for how long – weeks, months? With all of this hand washing and social distancing I am beginning to feel like Howard Huges (if you are young you may have to Google him). So what to do with all that time alone?
Most people hate being stuck at home. They don’t know what to do or how to entertain themselves for that long without any real social contact. Not me, I was born for this.
This is the kind of situation people like me tend to flourish at. While I am a very extroverted person when I am in a public or in a social situation, my heart has always been that of a hermit or a loner if you will. Shocking, I know!
I love my own company. I can entertain myself endlessly with no one else around. I actually enjoy being alone, all by myself with no other interaction. I’m sure there is some social scale that would tell me what my personality is, but I don’t know those statistics. I just know I’m ok with solitude. I love it!
I’m sure it seems at odds to be so outgoing in the public but when at home or when I can, I love being alone. The only thing I miss is being around my children and grandchildren right now as they are helping me stay safe by not coming by to visit. There are several modern ways to communicate via video chats that help, but a hug from a grandchild is a special tug at the heart that can’t be replaced electronically. I truly miss that!
Having two dogs follow me around all day also help entertain me. Kutter, like me, loves to nap, so we are nap buddies. Jazzy keeps us both on our toes with her antics and wanting to play, so I get my workout chasing after her and throwing her ball or toys for her to fetch. She’s still working on the “drop” command part. They both miss our weekly trips to town for groceries, but we are all getting a lot of outdoors time to make up for it.
I’m an avid TV watcher, movie watcher, so I can literally waste days in the vast caverns of television. I’m not even picky about shows that are in black and white as I grew up with those after all. I can flip between comedy and mystery, action and drama, just not love stories, they’ve never been my “thing”. I’m watching past favorite TV series right now from beginning to end. I’m currently watching Sleepy Hollow in case you were curious.
I also love to read, so I either have a book in hand or I’m listening to books, either way I’m happy. I’ve been into biographies lately, not sure why. Stephen King and others like him are still at the top of my lists, as are mysteries, Martha Grimes is my top author there. Currently I’m listening to The Institute by Stephen King. Next up is The Radium Girls by Kate Moore, a dear friend of mine recommended it. Thanks Sue!
As you know from previous blogs, I won’t be spending my time at home baking and I’m trying not to do too much cooking either, just enough to keep us fed and Jay not complaining too much. I like to make soups, the meal that keeps on giving. One huge pot of chili can give us meals for a week or two. Microwave a bowl full, that’s my idea of cooking.
I started at the beginning of winter (yes, I said winter) by knitting scarves to hang on parking meters for those without one. I got one and a half done. Perhaps I can get a couple more completed while on this lock down. I never said I was a speedy knitter, or an accomplished one. After years of knitting I am still best at rectangles and squares.
I try to do some writing every day but some days my creative genes seem to be aging as fast as my blue jeans. I could try my hand at art again, although I’m not nearly as talented as my children. Somewhere in my bedroom, the one that has become more of a giant closet over the years, there are some markers, pencils and paints. I should work on digging those out and see what happens.
This could also be a great time to do some deep cleaning and try to get rid of some more things that are just taking up space. The closet where all my holiday decorations are has become a giant disaster ready to burst at the seams. The kitchen could always do with some once overs, but I don’t want to get too crazy about this, Jay might begin to wonder about my sanity.
If it ever warms up, this being Iowa that could take several months yet, I might start a daily walking routing around my driveway and work my way up to my bicycle, providing my tires are still functioning. I don’t have to worry about neighbors prying, as they are a quarter of a mile away at the closest. If I could ever get Jazzy to learn to heal, she might enjoy walking with me. Right now it’s a game of tug of war with her.
Being a temporary hermit for me is not a bad thing. I’m enjoying my self quarantined status, trying to stay calm and safe. I’m continuing with my writing and perhaps art. Avoiding the temptation to become a “baker” and a “cook” and staying true to myself as a TV loving ne’ar-do-well. I’m listening to several of my favorite pastors online and I’m putting faith before fear, and I hope you are too.
Stay home, stay safe, be well.
Until next time….
Toni

Tea Time!

As a child I hated tea. I had only ever been offered ice tea but I found the taste of it horrible to my young taste buds. My neighbor girl Debbie’s family were big ice tea drinkers.
I remember every summer when I was over at their house, which was most days, she’d pour herself a tall glass of ice tea into those multicolored aluminum tumblers that were so cool to drink out of. I refused every time and always wished I liked tea. It smelled good to me and to hear the clink of ice in those aluminum cups was such an invitation to drink, but not for me.
My parents were not tea drinkers either if I am recalling right. They were coffee people and I grew up a coffee person. Straight black coffee. Yum! Later when fancy coffee places became a thing I was introduced to a “white chocolate mocha latte” by my oldest daughter Torri. It became my new thing and I found a coffee creamer that when added to my home brewed coffee mimicked the fancy version almost perfectly. I was set for life, or so I thought.
During the time I was staying at Torri’s to help out for a while, she also introduced me to hot tea. I was very hesitant at first, recalling my childhood dislike of tea, but found I did like the pleasant flavors. The next thing I knew I was trying flavored ice teas as well and settled on peach tea as my number one choice. Well look at me, I was now a coffee AND tea person. Debbie would be proud.
Several months or more ago, as I age I lose track of time, my acid reflux disease decided to make a hearty comeback. No more coffee or tea or anything with acid, or fizzy, or minty or spicy. Most of the food and drink world were eliminated in one fell swoop. Now what was I to do?
Thankfully near me there is a sweet little “tea cellar” shop that sells all kinds of loose leaf teas. I had collected many various tea strainers and tea cups and saucers to have my teas in over the years, now I needed to find a tea I could still drink and not upset the stomach with too much acid.
Rooibos tea is one of those teas and this little shop had a few flavors I tried out. I had to eliminate several due to mint being an ingredient or a citrus being an ingredient, but then I found my golden tea – Bourbon St. Vanilla. Lightly sweet taste with just the right amount of vanilla. Add to it a good splash of my almond vanilla creamer and I am almost back to my long ago white chocolate vanilla flavor! Heaven in a cup.
I have learned a few things about making my tea. It’s ok just to nuke the water in your coffee cup, tea pots are optional, although they are pretty cool. You don’t need a special tea strainer to put your tea in, just go to the shop and buy a pack of their medium tea filter papers. I like about a tablespoon or more of tea in my filter rather than the teaspoon or two that the tea packs say. I also like to let mine steep for a bit longer than the usual five minutes.
If you go to a “home” goods type store for $3 you can buy a pair of “pot watchers” that work perfectly to “clip” your tea filter bag into your cup of hot water, and no tea leaves in the bottom of your cup. I also found I prefer the taste of almond vanilla creamer over regular vanilla creamer and can only find it at the big “T” store. I’ve included photos because I don’t get paid for advertising and can’t just throw out brand names willy-nilly, (hence all the ” “) but I think you can figure it out.
So while we may all be staying home for a while, I hope you will brew yourself a nice “cuppa”, enjoy a good book or re-watch some of your favorite TV shows. If you try my brand, let me know what you think. Stay safe.
Until next time…
Toni

Let Me Repeat – I Am NOT A Baker

Recently I have been going through my cookbooks trying to pare down a few. I have a TON of cookbooks, like a library’s worth. Some might think I’m doing what the Swede’s call “death cleaning” (they should think of a better term) or that I am decluttering. My children would call it thankful they don’t have to deal with it. I’m just culling the herd.
You would probably assume a person with as many cookbooks as I have, that I must be a pretty good cook and a darn good baker. You would be absolutely – WRONG. I dislike cooking and I HATE baking, mainly because I am so horrible at it, and have no patience for it. I have all of these cookbooks because I like looking at well cooked/baked food and I can still have dreams, can’t I?
Whatever genetic coding for baking I was supposed to get, I did not. My maternal grandmother was Danish and she was an awesome baker. My mother was a good cook and an awesome baker. My cousins are awesome bakers – oh and quilters! That was another gene that passed me by on my mom’s side. My children are all good cooks and great bakers (they can also quilt a bit), so why did it skip me?
I’m okay as a cook. I am not a fancy cook and as I explained in the last blog I only get to cook about six different meals, so no chance to hone those skills. It’s baking that hates me and the feeling is mutual. Once in a great while by some miraculous occurrence I will turn out something great when I bake, but the odds are against it.
When I was first married I baked a “from scratch” apple pie, crust and all. My mother-in-law who was also a great baker, even said it was a really good pie. But it was a one time fluke. My next attempts at pie baking were disasters and I shut that down immediately. I know when I am beaten.
When my children were little and had to bring treats to school they were always sent with store purchased cupcakes or cookies. I was never one of those over-achiever moms. At Christmas only, I can make the best sugar cookies ever, it’s my absolute one thing I am proud to bake, but I’ve goofed those up many times over the years as well.
Another thing that has a fifty-fifty chance of turning out ok for me are chocolate chip cookies. I don’t like the puffy ones, or the crispy ones, or the ones with lots of stuff added to them. I like the flat chewy ones like my mother-in-law made, hers were my favorite. I finally got so I could get that result most of the time and it’s because I don’t measure things accurately.
My children cringe when I am making something that requires actual measuring. I rarely use a liquid measuring cup, I just grab one of my plastic cups out of the drawer, the ones they tell me are for dry ingredients. A cup is a cup I tell them. My kids measure with precision, some even measure by weight, but that’s getting just crazy. This isn’t science after all….
The whole problem with baking is precision. I am NOT a precise person. Almost everything I do is by the seat of my pants including cooking. It has led me to some adventures in my life and my cooking has had some interesting outcomes. Quite often when I am cooking I have not checked for all the ingredients first and so I am also trying to substitute something, at varying degrees of success. Ah but baking, apparently you have to use all the correct measuring tools and measure each and every teaspoon or cup exactly. You also need all of the correct ingredients. I don’t have time for that.
If I want a cake or a muffin, I usually go buy one. I’ve learned my lessons over the years. Doing all that fussy measuring and mixing in just the right order just to end up with a disaster, who needs that? I know where to go buy my favorites, I’m good, thank you.
When I do attempt to bake something it is usually a last minute decision and never a wise one. For instance, last night at eleven-thirty I got the idea to bake a box of brownies that had been sitting in my cupboard for weeks. Yes, ever the optimist I do buy baked goods mixes. The idea came because my daughter Brittney had baked these beautiful brownies and had given me two earlier that day and now I was longing for more gooey chocolate goodness.
I heated the oven to 350 degrees and mixed together the box mix as instructed. Luckily brownies are not too complicated, eggs, water, vegetable oil. I did not have any vegetable oil and was thinking of using applesauce because I thought I’d read somewhere you can substitute that for oil in baking. I remembered Jay had this buttery vegetable oil that he uses when he makes hash browns. It had the words “vegetable oil” in it, that will work.
I also don’t have a 9 x 13 pan (because I don’t bake) so I used this smaller pan that looks like it’s 6 x 10 or something. I buttered the bottom of the pan as the box said to “grease it”, poured in my mix and popped it in the oven for thirty minutes because the box said forty for a 9 x 13. About ten minutes into the baking I got the sudden notion that maybe some mini chocolate candies would be good in part of the brownies. You can never have enough chocolate.
Now here is where it turns ugly, you bakers may want to turn away. Instead of taking the pan out of the oven and sprinkling part of the brownies with a few candies like a normal person would, I grabbed a handful of candies, opened the oven door, and tried to chuck a few on top of the brownies without burning my hand on the top oven rack. Brilliant, right?
A few fell onto one corner of the brownies, the rest landed on the bottom of the stove or on my new pizza stone that was on the rack under the pan. Before you judge my thinking remember it is now after midnight. Needless to say all the missed candies were then burning up and smoking the entire rest of the time. I was truly amazed that the smoke alarm did not go off when I opened the oven door later to retrieve my brownies. My smoke alarm near the kitchen gets a good work out, we never have to test those batteries. I was also worried my brownies would taste like smoke, I am happy to say they did not.
The thing about brownies is that it is hard to tell when they are done. I did what the box said about the toothpicks and they came out clean, I touched the top of them to see if they bounced back, I read that somewhere too, but maybe it only applies to cakes. I think they were done, I wasn’t chancing any more candies smoking away anyway, so I shut the oven down and called it good. Brownies are so naturally gooey it’s hard to tell. I’m eating them regardless. They’re chocolate.
Until next time…
Toni

Spring Cometh to Iowa

Ah Spring. Just saying your name is like a golden promise rolling off the tongue. You give us Iowans such joy, such hope. You are that lifeline cast down from Heaven saying “here you go Iowa, all is not lost.”
If you have never wintered in Iowa then you have no idea how much spring means to most of us. Don’t get me wrong, I actually love winter. However, an Iowa winter can mean almost half a year of icy cold air, snow, freezing rain, strong winds coming down from Canada, or a mixture of everything in one day. Our winter season can start as early as late October and run all the way to the end of March with many cold, sunless days in between. Humans can only stand so much.
Just when you wonder if your body temperature will ever be above thirty-four degrees again, and the air temperature above zero, along comes a forty degree sunny day to say “fear not, spring cometh soon!”
Next the Robins begin to appear on your lawn and that doesn’t mean we won’t have more snow and cold or even a March blizzard, but it does mean hope. Robins are smart birds who only migrate back to Iowa when they know spring is coming.
Another sure sign is if you own a dog who is of a breed that sheds it’s winter fur, you have a sign of spring all over your house, all over your car, all over your clothes. Huskies are one and my Shar-pei Jazzy is another one, who blow their winter coats. It is an ongoing process of brushing them outdoors and vacuuming up after them indoors that can last for weeks.
It means that for weeks all of your clothes have lots of dog fur on them, I call it a pet fashion statement. I toss all the discarded fur outside in a spot that the birds can pick up and use if they’d like to. Nothing better than a warm furry nest in early spring to keep my feathered friends toasty.
Groundhog day is supposed to tell us if it will be a long winter or a short one and if spring is close. I don’t believe that the weather in Iowa ever listens to groundhogs. Iowa winters tend to be at least five months long leaving spring and fall with about a month and a half each and summer gets all the rest. I hate summer by the way. If we could just have winter, spring and fall I’d be a happy camper. If summer would never rise above seventy-two degrees, then I’d be cool with summer as well.
Iowa summers are like Iowa winters in reverse. In the winter we may have minus thirty degrees with twenty mile an hour winds giving us some ridiculous wind chill that takes a mathematician to figure out. In the summer we may have ninety degrees above zero with one hundred percent humidity giving us a ridiculous heat index that also requires a mathematician. It’s absurd.
In the winter it’s wind chills, freezing rain,snow and blizzards. In the summer it’s heat, rain, humidity and tornadoes. So really fall and spring are the only two decent seasons in Iowa and some years they only last a week or two despite what the calendar may say.
Winter is also a time of what we call “dry heat” or “dry air” which leads to constant static electricity. Your hair is flying all over, your clothes are clinging, you get shocks every time you touch anything. In the summer it’s the opposite, too much humidity means everything feels damp, your hair curls into little ringlets, water runs off of you constantly even when you are sitting still.
Each year I hope for a long spring season, the birds all arrive back from wherever they waited out winter, new nests are being built, animals and little creatures everywhere are making new families. It’s a time of renewal and hope and new beginnings. The sun is warmer, the winds are often kinder and gentler, the rains are refreshing and not life threatening storms. Welcome spring, we’ve missed you!
Until next time…
Toni

Nit Picky Eaters

Recently on social media there have been a variety of lists posted that basically ask to see if you are as picky about foods as they are. The lists include things like Sushi, black jelly beans, cabbage, sardines, mushrooms, green and black olives, the list goes on and on.
I looked at a couple of lists and realized my husband aka “Mr. Romance” is also “Mr. Picky Eater”, it would appear I got the two for one bonus! On one list there were only two things on it that my husband would eat and one was black jelly beans.
Cooking for a picky eater can be one of the biggest challenges in a long marriage because the list of foods you can prepare is so small and after forty-three years of cooking about five different meals, one tends to get bored, aka insane.
Here is the basic menu I have had to work off of for all of those years: beef, chicken, pork, potatoes, and corn. That’s it. If you want to count pork ‘n beans as a vegetable then there are two he likes. Oh wait, I left out canned peas. The list of foods he’s never tasted is far longer than the list of foods he will eat. Lettuce, cabbage, any casserole, lasagna, any Mexican, Chinese, basically most foods.
This is a man who grew up on a farm, whose parents had a garden every year, who is a part time farmer himself, and this is how limited his food group is! It boggles my mind. Until we were married he had never had a grilled cheese sandwich. His mother, bless her, made meat and potatoes all the time. Obviously they never made him sit at the table until he ate his vegetables.
I grew up in a house with six kids and two working parents. If my mom could throw things together in a casserole dish and serve it, that’s what we got. There are not too many things I won’t eat, mushrooms being one, seafood being another (unless you count frozen or fast food fish then I’m good) and sushi being the last. Other than that, I will at least try most foods. I’ve tried kimchi, seaweed, candied ginger, stroopwaffles, most of this was from our foreign exchange students. Stroopwaffles were the only favorite.
Each week I have to rotate the same menu items to accommodate the picky eater. We have chili, spaghetti, pizza, meat and potatoes, rice and potato soup or hamburgers. That’s about it. I’ve done this for FORTY-THREE years. That is over 15,700 meals I’ve prepared of the same five things! Let that sink in.
If I want to eat something like a casserole or lasagna or tacos, I have to make myself a separate meal, or make it for myself at lunch. If you know how much I “love” to cook, you know I don’t often choose those options. So my foods have become limited by default of being married to a picky eater. My life as a foodie is non existent.
I truly believe picky eaters are a genetic strain that passes down through generations. My youngest daughter was always such a picky eater and now her son is a true picky eater, he rivals his grandfather. My daughter has since expanded her food groupsand I hope her son will too. My husband however, has stayed true to his pickiness, but that could also be the German stubbornness in him.
Until next time…
Toni

Ode to Valentine’s Day

Every year since I was a child, I have looked toward Valentine’s Day with some glimmer of hope because let’s face it, I am an optimist and a glutton for punishment. I hold out for hope that this year I will get a box full of cards in my rudely made elementary Valentine’s box. I hold out for hope that this year I will get a big box of chocolates, dinner out, a dozen roses, or a puppy (my first choice) from my boyfriend, husband, secret admirer?
Every year I am presented with the same outcome – nothing. I am not disappointed by that, au contraire’, I have lowered my expectations of Valentine’s Day to zero, so I get exactly what I knew I would get, and therefore, no disappointments. Still I stay optimistic despite overwhelming odds to the opposite.
In elementary school in the sixties we were not as “aware” as a people that we are today. We were actually unaware of a lot of things, thankfully we have changed over the decades. For instance, on Valentine’s Day we all made our little homemade shoe boxes for our classmates to deposit cards inside. However, in those days you did not have to give a card to everyone in your class. You could just give a card to those you liked. As shocking of a surprise as I’m sure this is, I was not miss popular in my elementary classes. I was usually that kid that stands alone on the playground entertaining myself mentally with made up stories in my head. Surprising, I know. To this day, I’m still my favorite company.
When the big day came and we had our Valentine’s party in school, all the kids delighted in dumping out their piles of cards onto their desktops, picking off the candy treats that had been carefully taped onto the back of each card. I would watch as just a few dropped onto my desktop, a couple from friends and a few from kids whose moms made them give everyone a card. Thank you to those moms. I shoved my few cards back into the box and waited for the cupcakes to be passed around.
In my junior high days I recall that you could buy a rose or a giant heart Valentine’s cookie from the office and have it delivered to your special Valentine at school. I’d watch as this girl and that guy would get one or the other and kids would make plans to go to the dance that evening at the school. The cookies looked really good and I often wondered if I could just go in and buy a cookie for myself. I didn’t. I do think I went to the dance with a girlfriend or two as I loved to dance in those days. I still do, my body just doesn’t think it’s such a great idea anymore.
In high school we moved to a new town, a smaller town. I met my future husband and my Valentine’s Day gift hopes were renewed! I asked him recently if he remembered getting me anything for Valentine’s Day when we were in high school and his response was “probably”. I’m not sure if he did either, so I’ll give him a pass on high school because I can say without a doubt that since then, it’s been zero. There’s a reason I call him “Mr. Romance.”
One of the benefits of having children, besides all of the obvious, is that over the years they make you cute little cards and gifts on special days, like Valentine’s Day. I have been given many handmade gifts and cards over the years, often with a piece of candy taped or glued onto them from my children. These cards and gifts were made with pure love, there is no greater gift. Now I have grandchildren who make gifts and cards for their parents made with that same unconditional love. It renews my hope in Valentine’s Day.
As for Mr. Romance, this year I will expect nothing like usual, and I am sure I will not be disappointed. He eats lunch out every day while doing his carpentry work, so he doesn’t like to go out for dinner. He knows I am not big on candy or flowers, or jewelry, and I have Kutter and Jazzy for the “puppy” department of my all time favorite things. Then what is he left with after all, you might ask. You know, you are just enabling his behavior.
If you know me at all, and HE should, you know I love technology and gadgets. I have Hue bulbs throughout the house (except in his rooms, he is the opposite) I have Alexa running things and keeping track of stuff for me in various rooms, I have a smart watch, an android phone and an old iPad. I have both Android and Apple products so I have the best of both worlds covered. Notice I said OLD iPad. That was a hint for Mr. Romance. I need a new one. I have no expectations of him buying me one for Valentine’s Day, but I thought I could throw it out there just in case. Remember, I am still an optimist.
If you are lucky and you married or are dating a romantic soul who treats you on Valentine’s Day to make you feel special, I’m happy for you. Enjoy the day! I won’t even flinch at all the posts on Facebook you are going to post showing the roses you got, the box of chocolates you are enjoying, the dinner you wined and dined on. Nope, I will be happy for each and every one of you, I promise.
I do, however, feel sad for all the singles out there who don’t have someone making that day a special one for them. I’m really surprised that the local towns don’t include a singles event when they plan their Valentine’s Day activities. After all, married couples already have someone. What better day than Valentine’s Day to invite area singles to meet up and have a chance to get to spend an evening mingling with other singles? Opportunity missed I say. After all St. Valentine, who the day is named for, believed in love. Why not bring together people who might find a new love? That to me is the spirit of Valentine’s Day.
For my Valentine’s Day I may take myself out to lunch, I may go to a movie, and I may buy something special just for me, not an iPad, too pricey for bank account. Self-love is a good thing for the soul too and if you don’t have a special someone or if you are also married to a Mr. Romance, you should do something nice for yourself too on Valentine’s Day.
While Valentine’s Day is supposed to be this big day of love and romance just remember, St. Valentine was executed for those beliefs in love on February 14th, so there’s that, but enjoy your day.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Until Next Time…
Toni

Left, Right, Write

I was born a lefty, or southpaw. From what I could glean off the internet, southpaw originated with left-handed baseball pitchers as pitchers typically faced West, (baseball diamonds were arranged so the batter would face East and not into the sun) so a left handed pitcher was throwing with the hand that was on the South side of his body. Hence, Southpaw. Internet history lesson for the day. You are welcome.
My mother was right-handed, dark haired, brown eyes. My father was ambidextrous, used his right hand the most, dark haired, green eyes. I took after my father in most ways including being born with green eyes (the only one out of us six kids) and left-handed. Which hand of yours is dominant is genetically linked. I want to say that one of my brothers is also a lefty, but I can’t remember anymore.
Being a left-handed person back in the mid-fifties, early sixties when I was growing up was not considered the "norm" in those days, and they tried their best to make you conform to the right way. There was apparently something “odd” about you and the world during that time period and long before, thought right-handed people were the only acceptable ones.
Going back to ancient history left-handers were considered to be evil. The word sinister derives from the word for left or left hand. History lesson two per the internet for the day.
I was one of those people that the world tried to conform to fit into what they thought I should be. While in kindergarten and throughout elementary school, I was not allowed to use my left hand as my dominant hand. I was taught to use scissors with my right hand. I was taught to write with my right hand.
My brain was geared to be a left-hander, so my body was thoroughly confused by this. I still blame my poor showing in most sports due to my brain’s confusion over my eye/hand coordination, which is hardwired into whichever hand your DNA made you. As I said, it’s genetics, Google it. Internet history lesson number three.
In elementary school I would often play baseball with the boys during recess and I was always the pitcher because I would naturally pitch with my left hand, making me a hard pitcher to hit against. I did not follow up that sport later on with softball as I found early on that neither one really appealed to me and still don’t to this day. My apologies to all you baseball fans. I may have been an awesome pitcher, the world will never know.
Growing up I would always naturally do things with my left hand and not even realize it. I would deal cards left-handed, open jars left-handed, throw balls left-handed. But I write right-handed, although it has a left-handed slant, or so I’ve often been told. It’s hard to fight genetics.
Out of my four children that I have produced (that sounds like such a manufacturing way to state that) two have green eyes like me, two have blue eyes like their father and one is a left-hander like me, although he has blue eyes. I can’t be perfect.
I did however split both, one son and one daughter with green eyes (oldest son, youngest daughter) and one daughter and one son with blue eyes (the two middle kids) so top that. And I had boy, girl, boy, girl exactly as I had wanted when I first dreamed about being a wife and a mother. Today I believe I may even have a grandchild or two that may prove to be left-handed. In my case God and genetics were very kind to me in my children and grandchildren. I’m very thankful.
Ok, enough about my children, this blog was, after all, about me. Over my teenage years I would make myself write left-handed until I got pretty good at it, although I didn’t like the way it looked. When you are a teenage girl the way your writing looks can be very important, at least it was in the seventies. Come to think of it, do children even put pencil to paper and actually write much now days? I worked hard on my penmanship in those days until I had this large loopy, curly writing that I deemed good enough to represent my style. Today I still write pretty similar to my teen years, so basically I have a teenagers handwriting.
When older age (is sixty really the new forty?) sets in, you begin to develop aches and pains that don’t go away and tend to make your life miserable. I like many my age, have some arthritis, mainly in my left knee, and my hands are not as strong as they once were, especially my left hand, which has always been my "go to" or dominant hand, despite them trying to "break me" as a child.
I also have a wonderful holdover injury from a previous crummy job I had in Parkersburg as an office manager where I had to also hand scan in the one owners family photos into the computer due to his supreme laziness. Because of all of the repetitive left-hand wrist motion (dominant hand thing again) I have since been plagued with what is called:
“De Quervain’s tendinosis or tendonitis – occurs when the tendons around the base of the thumb are irritated or constricted. The word "tendinosis" refers to a swelling of the tendons. Swelling of the tendons, and the tendon sheath, can cause pain and tenderness along the thumb side of the wrist. he most common cause of de Quervain’s tendinosis is chronic overuse of the wrist. Repetitive movements day after day cause irritation and pain.” (Source – Internet searches.)
I can tell you that it hurts like heck on bad days and that it takes all of the strength out of that hand. The main pain is in the palm area of my left hand just under the thumb. Now when I would normally try to open a jar left-handed, I have to try right-handed which is almost totally useless for those types of things. After all, sixty some years of not using my right hand for that is hard to change.
All my right hand has been trained for is well, writing. My left hand has carried out all the heavy tasks up until now and its an odd adjustment. Probably like when I was first taught to use scissors and write with my right hand instead of my left.
Now age and work injuries have brought me full circle and no I did not get any work comp or even any unemployment from that crook. At least his business is gone, so there’s that.
I’m happy to say that in today’s more inclusive and accepting world, we (former) left-handers are no longer shunned or taught to be right-handers. Hurray for progress and supply and demand. (Companies realized they could make money catering to left-handed people. Internet history lesson number four.)
Whatever you do, don’t try to force a child to go against whatever their birth dominant hand is. When they are learning new things like eating or picking up things, I have read that placing things in the middle is the best approach and letting them choose. When they are older and learning writing or even sports activities,don’t force them to use their non dominant hand to try to make them something else, like a sports pro for example. Their DNA knows which hand is the right one for them.
Here’s to all you leftys out there.
Until next time…
Toni

More Adventures on a Train – Part 3 The Final Chapter

We are still sitting in Denver station, now an hour past our departure time, when two policemen appear out on the platform. They board the train and follow the conductor upstairs. I have a feeling things are not going any better for the "hippie dude" on the upper level.
Another half an hour goes by and the policemen are now escorting "hippie dude" down the stairs and off the train along with his luggage. He was apparently causing more trouble in the upper level of the train because they don’t throw people off the train for no reason usually, but they also don’t hesitate to do so if you are breaking the rules or causing trouble.
I feel bad for the guy, he had told the conductor earlier he was going home for Thanksgiving. The loud woman (I’ll call her Chicago lady) is telling us all that he probably just needs his meds and how unfair it is that he was booted off the train and again how horrible children are. Wait, what? She’s defending him?
At this point I am confused, because I thought she was probably the person in our car who had complained about him that got him in trouble to begin with! After all she has been the very loud vocal person in this car since I first got on.
Apparently he had been singing out loud and someone in our car had complained to the conductor. Now the conductor came into our car and went and sat next to the woman in the back two seats with the three sick, coughing children. Aha! So she had been the one who had complained and that’s why Chicago lady has been so vocal about annoying children and their coughing.
Things were beginning to make more sense to me now. It helps to have all the facts as the Chicago lady continued to inform us again that she had been a bus driver and he probably forgot to take his medication and was confused. I was just beginning to be team Chicago lady but then she lost my empathy as she ranted on and on about the "horrible" crying, coughing children on the train spicing it up with a few choice swear words for good measure. Not cool. The kids had nothing to do with any of this.
The conductor left, not bothering to tell the rest of us anything, and everyone finally settled in.Thankfully the train started to move, we were now two hours behind schedule. Trains can make up a little time along the way, but not two hours. I had no visions of being on time to Ottumwa or home, I can’t make up two hours driving either.
The teenage boy across from me (he had mild autism his mother had told me) asked me if I had any dogs. I told him about Kutter and Jazzy and then shared some pictures of them. He was delighted. He told me all about his little dog waiting for him at home. His mother apologized for his talking my ear off and I assured her it was fine. It was much better than listening to the Chicago bus driver lady.
The kids all quieted down except for the constant coughing as they began playing their games and watching their movies. I realized that I was trapped in a train car for twelve hours with at least five strains of cold and or flu viruses, as I listened to each of them cough. One child in the back seats sounded like he had bronchitis at the very least. My immune system was really getting a workout on this train trip!
I tried to make myself comfortable and get my nap in. My brain would not settle down. It was calculating how many days it would be before I came down with one of those many cold germs I was trying not to breath in. I was also worried about "hippie dude" and if he would make it home for Thanksgiving! I had pulled the neck of my shirt up over my mouth and nose hoping it would act as some type of a germ filter, but I had my doubts. I probably looked like I had intentions of robbing the train as I tried to get snuggled in. Hopefully they wouldn’t toss me off the train next.
I drifted off to sleep and woke just as the sun was starting to rise. The train was still an hour behind so I let Brittney know I’d be late getting home to babysit and she’d have to miss one of her college classes. I ate my other banana, a little worse for wear having been smashed in the bottom of my red snack bag, a bottle of water and some peanut butter crackers for breakfast. The woman with the teenage boy had gotten off in Nebraska during the night.
Chicago lady was back on her cell phone loudly planning her Thanksgiving meal for all of us to hear. It makes holidays extra special when you plan the event by swearing at the people you plan to spend the holiday with, or so it seemed for her. I was beginning to wonder if she could speak a full sentence without using a curse word in it? Probably not.
Soon we were pulling into Ottumwa where it was announced it was the last smoking stop before Chicago. I’m always glad to see that Amtrak cares so much about the smokers.
I hefted my three bags on my shoulder, again regretting my choice of luggage and got ready to get off the train. The smokers were all lined up ahead of me ready to pounce out of the train and light them up! Chicago lady was behind me, although I could’t picture her pouncing off anything. Just what her disposition needed was a cigarette.
I trudged back down the sidewalk and across the grass to my car still parked in the creepy parking lot. At least it was morning and you didn’t feel quite as likely to get mugged or murdered on the way to or from your car. I put my extra shoes, leggings and top I had left behind back into my bag. My salad bowl was still there where I had set it, not looking too bad for sitting in the car for two days. I had a brief moment of wondering if the salad was still good. No, I didn’t try it. I try never to tempt fate, my luck is bad enough on its own.
The trip home was a quiet, pleasant drive and I spent a lot of it taking photos of various barns and farm buildings along the way. I couldn’t help but wonder again what happened to "hippie dude" and if he made it home for Thanksgiving.
Lets hope so.
Until next time…
Toni