Just Get Me to the Church On Time

We tried to fit in too much, not remembering that traffic can be a bit of a nightmare in a large city like Chicago.

fruit from Michigan!

Last weekend, after a noisy night on the 12th floor of the Aloft hotel (a fire station was way too near) we had Saturday breakfast at the nearby XOCO. I decided to order something authentic rather than say, eggs and bacon. I don't know what the others ordered, but I think my daughter R had something with "pork belly." I ordered my entree with no beans--I cannot manage beans for breakfast, and certainly not before a wedding. (That is as close as I am going to get--in this post about a lovely old (prudish) grandma and a lovely wedding--to the (requisite reference to) things that belong in the bathroom--or in my lawn.)

The red tomato salsa stuff at the base of my entree was fresh and delicious. I also shared a delicious butternut squash muffin. I took just one quick food photo!

Heuvos Rancheros at XOCO 

After breakfast we got our wedding clothes together and left downtown Chicago for suburban Downers Grove. Not having yet celebrated Grandma Rose's October 95th birthday with her, we were scheduled to take her to lunch and then get her to the wedding of her granddaughter on time. Things did not go well. We missed an expressway exit that might have provided a faster route and were assaulted with seemingly endless un-timed red lights. We were running late.

We told Grandma to stay in her room and we would come for her.

Grandma was ready and waiting by the entry. I did not want to help her for fear of being responsible for contributing to a fall, but I jumped out to help her into the front seat.

We hurried to the nearest restaurant, Rock Bottom Brewery. I had lunch there before Grandpa's funeral, just two years ago. There was an abnormally large curb looming ahead in our path between the car and the restaurant. Step up, Grandma! Oops! (Can't lift her leg that high). Slow motion...sinking to the sidewalk...her son holding on to her one good arm. She is down. Shocked. Seems okay. Whew. Our second worst nightmare after traffic--allowing the grandma to fall!

Then we started ordering everything on the menu we thought she might enjoy and eat easily, including mashed potatoes--after she said she wasn't hungry. Neither were we. But here we were for lunch. The husband started reading stuff off the menu. Do you like calamari? I snorted at the ridiculousness of that suggestion. I remember that the hot spinach dip was as delicious as it usually is when well made. Lots of doggie boxes were loaded into our trunk.

Then back to the rest home. Two long black skirts to try--the first one was falling off her hips. She has become so petite, with such a tiny waist! I helped her with her shoes, fastened her necklace. She grabbed some earrings from on top of the dresser. The matching ones were nowhere to be found, likely put in a safe place for the wedding!

We are running late. Grandma couldn't find her comb. I had one. Get Grandma back in the car--moving slowly. Please, no falling! No time to fill up with gas. Third nightmare: we think there is enough gas to get to the church.

Oh Oh. Accident on the Eisenhower? And no kids with smart phones in the car. What shall we do? Stay on the expressway and hope. Grandma seems oblivious to the problem, but I tell the husband to be quiet and not upset her. She remarks about how long it has been since she has seen the beautiful downtown skyline.

We finally merged unto the Kennedy from the Eisenhower and are still not moving well in traffic. Where is everyone going on a Saturday afternoon? Then we have only 4 miles left on the gas gauge indicator, but we think we can see the church steeple from the exit!

 I need to help Grandma up the steps of the church--oh please, no falling. With only 5 minutes to spare (and then the wedding began about 15 minutes late) I handed off the grandma to the father of the bride--she needed a corsage and to get ready for her special walk down the aisle. I said "She's all yours." Whew! I looked apologetic and mumbled something about traffic. He looked upset that we hadn't arrived the requested half-hour early.

The wedding was beautiful and proceeded without a hitch as far as I could tell: nine attendants, the niece a beautiful bride. A professional took 50 photos of the unity candle-lighting alone. I behaved myself and left my camera in my purse. Teared up just a little.

After the wedding we still had an empty gas tank. We now had the kids with the smart phones with us, but they don't exactly have an app for nearest gas. We were now down to 2 miles left, with more busy traffic and no gas station in sight.

We were in wedding clothes--but surely within walking distance of something. Nightmare scenarios were playing out in my mind.

I began breathing my thoughts upward with lots of please help us. Stat.

We got in the wrong lane, merged right with a wave, over the overpass, turned left and up a block or so a big Costco came into view--the husband's favorite gas and mashed potato store!

He filled the tank to a greater capacity then the owner's manual indicated.

We were saved. Whew.

We had about 3 hours to kill before the reception at Maggiano's Little Italy, conveniently located right across the street from our Aloft hotel.

 I wondered. Will there be mashed potatoes at the Italian restaurant? Or just pasta? Any comfort food sounded good. That and an open bar...

Fresh flowers at XOCO

Wedding Weekend in the City

A weekend wedding trip to Chicago started with a bowling party! This is a 4-lane facility with real people setting up the pins.

 My husband's family liked to go bowling over the Thanksgiving holiday back in the day, so this is sort of an old November family tradition.

Finding our first dinner venue too busy, we arrived earlier than our assigned time of 8:00 PM and enjoyed good old fashioned bowling food: beer, burgers, fries, fish and chips. And nachos:

The menu at Southport Lanes claims Craft Beer, Craft Food and Craft Bowling. We were all hungry and enjoyed the heavy fare that weighed down our stomachs as we attempted to roll those heavy balls down the two lanes which had been reserved for our group of 9.

The elder statesman of the group volunteered to finger a pencil rather than a ball. I played one line and managed to break a hundred, which not everyone did--two strikes helped. I attempted to tip the pin boys by putting a dollar in the thumb hole, as suggested by a sign on the wall, but our pin-setter did not take it, so after 3 rolls I pulled it back out. He seemed to knock down a few pins with his stick for the younger and prettier in our group.

This sort of bowling is certainly a throwback to a simpler un-mechanized time and the balls occasionally were thrown back, rolling up the lane for a third shot at any missed pins.

The whole evening was an adventure in experiencing an old Schlitz brewery building from around 1900 now occupied by a noisy crowd of the young and thirsty. Everybody in our group was disappointed in their inability to score well in this simple old game, but had had enough beer so they didn't care too much.

The bathrooms were upstairs and old-fashioned as well. A simple wooden shelf with door stoppers provided a unique way to hold the toilet paper--something I have a propensity to notice, even as I manage to incorporate a point of reference for "poop" in each post!

The website claims that the upstairs rooms were used for brothel purposes back in the day.


More wedding weekend events coming...

Trees in Space - A Walk in a Michigan Park

Size matters to me. No, it's not what you're thinking! But really, when is size of no importance?

I live in Michigan, not in Texas, but even here, bigger is perceived to be better.

I have not traveled the whole world, but the few places I have visited around the world have not measured up, size-wise, to what I have enjoyed in this country. The husband has traveled to the land of our ancestors, the Dutch, a few times and seen the inside dimensions of homes there as well as the density of homes in the cities. The scale of everything is just smaller. I have visited homes in Japan--smaller scale there, too. The husband has been to China a few times and even once joined the hordes of cyclists on the streets of Beijing--a very large Dutchman flanked by thousands of locals going about their lives. I wish I had a video of that scene! Size is at issue, when so many people live in the cities.

Here in Michigan we may build as large as we can afford--the space is available.

I got used to wide spaces early in life. I lived on many acres on a farm--a farm with large cornfields and pasture lands and even a river running through it. When I traveled across my home state of South Dakota, through the prairie lands, or across Iowa farm lands, what I saw and became accustomed to was vast amounts of great open spaces.

If you have ever been "up north" in Michigan, you might wonder why anyone would be concerned about saving a tree.

Another natural resource we enjoy here in Michigan is water--lots of it. We have that enormous lake, which I reference all the time. So many completely irrigated golf courses: space and water required. We pay our fair share for the use of water and sewer, but it is not restricted.

When we moved  from Illinois to Michigan with our children in the early 90's we noticed the trees--we have more trees here. Beautiful trees. Trees that love all that water.

And right now those trees are putting on their fall show.

I was reminded again of trees in large spaces (thus my blog title, reminiscent of that old Muppets bit, Pigs in Space) last week when I was traveling near Millenium Park (the largest urban park in West Michigan). The weather was a bit windy and 60-ish but the clouds were changing from dark and stormy to bright. I decided to walk around a bit and snap a few shots, although I was not dressed for the weather.

The colors in the park were muted under cloudy skies But it was the sky that I was trying to capture--the sky unimpeded by tall building or electric wires--even though photos never do the sky justice.

My old Mitsubishi in an empty parking lot

There were a handful of couples walking in the park, but the whole beautiful space was basically all mine.

A view of the back end of beach area that was gated and closed

The colorful playground looked sadly empty--a reminder that the warm play days of summer are long gone.

So much space. So many trees. Such cool clouds--with a tiny tease of blue.

Everything suggests emptiness and space. It is clean, lush and beautiful. It is not a dog park--no looking out for where you step. (requisite poop reference)

Pristine fountain with cool drinking water

Many of the trees in this park are still young. What a glorious place this will continue to be with adequate funding. This is Michigan. Yes! Michigan.

I hope you are blessed, where ever you live, with oceans or mountains or skyscrapers or even a backyard garden--or just one lovely tree. There is enough beauty to be found in the world to go around. In some places you just have to look for it in slightly smaller spaces.

Word Ban: Foodie?

Oh No. Do I need to ban another word I like to use? This is copied from Urban Dictionary:

foodie

A dumbed-down term used by corporate marketing forces to infantilize and increase consumerism in an increasingly simple-minded American magazine reading audience. The addition of the long "e" sound on the end of a common word is used to create the sensation of being part of a group in isolationist urban society, while also feminizing the term to subconsciously foster submission to ever-present market sources.

Though the terms "gastronome" and "epicure" define the same thing, i.e. a person who enjoys food for pleasure, these words are perceived by the modern American consumer as elitist due to their latin root forms and polysyllabic pronunciations.

Also "foody"

I enjoy "food for pleasure." Until I find a better word, I'd have to go with gastronome, even though things that begin with gas (of course food also ends up as gas or poop) or have the same root as gastric don't sound like anything I want to associate with pleasurable dining.

Can anybody suggest an alternative?  Is foodavore a word?

The Year of the Lawn

My lawn today

After last year's record setting summer heat wave and drought, this was a year for lawn recovery. So I went for broke. I finally succumbed to all the years of suggestions that what I really need is an aeration. Oh yeah, I already limed, grubbed and fall fertilized--and dragged hoses around all summer.

So today my lawn service finally came to do a job that I could not do myself. Two big noisy machines dug up plugs, depositing them on the surface. Thousands of little black soil turds now litter my lawn. It looks like all the neighborhood animals gathered this morning for a pooping convention. (requisite poop reference)

(A poop convention is not that novel an idea to me. Years ago Dave Barry (if memory serves) had a column about how a dog's fun is sniffing all the offerings left by his friends to find out what's up in the neighborhood. It's a dog's version of reading the daily newspaper!)

I opted for no re-seeding which would have been even pricier. I will throw a little seed over the worst areas, although it is probably too late in the year for germination.

 I was told that golf courses now aerate multiple times a year and don't have to fertilize as much. That's sounds like a good trade.

After paying this bill I may not be able to go out to eat this month or buy any new fall clothes. So if my lawn looks well-dressed and I do not, well, know that this is a choice I have made.

Will my lawn be the best it can be next year? And then do I have to do this all over again?

How much is a lawn worth anyway? Anyone wanna guess what I paid to aerate about 6,000 square feet?

Another October Weekend in Florida

On the outside wall at The Ravenous Pig

If you are lucky, an October day in Michigan will afford sunny coolness and deep blue skies, setting off the brilliantly tinged foliage in our parks and along our streets, usually ushered in by a maple or two flaming out in red, followed by a spectacular rainbow of unfolding color, and concluding with the Japanese maples in November, which are so bright (sometimes in falling snow) that they make my eyes and also my camera lens blurry.

My maple - 11-10-11

But I also like Florida weather in October and I always try to spend a few days with my daughters in the Orlando area. This past weekend I took along a friend for a short visit. The color in West Michigan has not yet fully developed and the Florida temps were just beginning to moderate, so it was a pretty good trade. We enjoyed a few near perfect days and nights (if a little warm in the afternoon) while missing a few cooler sunny days here in Michigan..



In addition to looking forward to some good weather, I always look forward to new experiences with the unique Florida flora and fauna, as well as some fun food.

My little pink piggies on the farm

The first night we dined at the popular The Ravenous Pig. I have a long history with the pig. I played midwife as piglets were born on my childhood farm, once making a pet of one little porker for the summer. We always had our own pork in a basement freezer. As the little piggies grew and went to market, they supplied the "bread and butter" of our lives.

It surprises me sometimes that pork is still so popular. And bacon--oh my--has been popping up in ice cream and coffee and chocolate bars and even here in daughter R's bacon-infused bourbon cocktail--along with vanilla maple syrup, angostura orange and a strip of candied bacon! (The Ravenous Pig Old Fashioned):

I went girlie with a Gin and Jam cocktail which went down real easy.

We stayed local, taking in a busy Saturday morning in Winter Park, along with everyone and their pooches, enjoying the art festival, farmer's market and the perfect weather for dining on the street. We ate French pastries, bought tomatoes and sampled a row of olive oil and flavored balsamic vinegars--I thought the fig flavor was interesting, but found no bacon infusions...

Also local was a meandering (a newly favorited word which I am making into a noun) through  Harry P. Leu Gardens. The many varieties of palms, the prolific bamboo, the huge rose garden, the blooming gardenias...there was so much to see and smell. New to me was to take a guided tour through the historic home on the property where the Leu's lived, as well as other families, since the late 1800's.

I always respect private property and don't steal slips of things or fruit, but there was so much ripe fruit on the grounds in the citrus grove, with no one in the area. I finally was tempted, too. Feeling a bit like the one who is the source of all sin, our mother Eve, I tasted one tiny fruit and pocketed another--a sweet lime. I noticed at least three varieties of kumquats! My friend O and daughter E pilfered some other unusual fruit into their purses.

Sour Orange

The next day we used some of the juices to make a dressing for the spinach and feta salad. Below O and E are squeezing the stolen fruit and adding a little sugar. The juice might have worked for the bitters in a cocktail, but this was noon!

Blood orange on their hands?

We managed a delicious lunch on Saturday with leftovers, including pork and a blanched tomato relish with those fresh tomatoes from the farmer's market.

Tomato bread laced with Parmesan was also a hit.

Another photo, showing the Octoberfest beer, the dog, the pool, the pocket of our host (who was primarily glued to his computer screen--except for his excellent lomo cooking--while we had our girl fun), and the new teak table--recently stained to match the new fence:

Our tray was not quite as unusual as the charcuterie tray (below) from Thursday night's (Ravenous Pig) excursion into foodie heaven, but yet, fully satisfying.

Here is our shared tray, but I don't remember the names of all these fun foods:

I continued the pork thing at 4 Rivers Smokehouse on the afternoon of the second day, with a messy pig pork plate, sandwiched with coleslaw (like I was trying to save carbs or something) and smothered in their special sauce. After all the meandering in the gardens, I devoured it all, easily, without taking any photos. Messy Pig was tasty, but not photogenic.

Later that night we did our classic lomo al trappo (which is a beef tenderloin) in the chimenea. I have described that before and it was as good as ever, perfectly tender and bright red in the middle--and as usual, accompanied by lots of red wine (selected at Costco by my friend O) and enjoyed with crusty bread and steamed asparagus. A little taste of Costco's dark chocolate almond clusters and we were thoroughly sated.

One-eyed owl

We didn't have the time or budget to check out the food and wine festival at Epcot, but opted for another local attraction that I have wondered about for years, the Audubon Center for Birds of Prey. We happened to be there at the end of the day when it was not busy and felt privileged to view the big eagles and hawks and owls closeup, as they were carried on gloved arms to their night cages. (Not one of these birds pooped while being held.) We enjoyed a little history of the age and injuries of each bird and learned many other interesting bird facts.

Other activities included kayaking and hot-tubbing which I did not participate in, and a couple of Netflix flicks. All in all, a great weekend, thanks to our super hosts, who provided all the accommodations. Also a big thank you to daughter E, who provided most of the chauffeuring.

The last night, sharing the last bottle of red wine, the girls watched the sun go down on Florida:

Photo from dock taken with E's phone

(I thought I was pretty knowledgeable about plants, but there is a whole world of exotic beauty out there that I have no clue about. I will end with a few more photos from Leu Gardens.)

Equador Princess Tibouchin - took a photo of label!

I know this flower - Hibiscus!

Back in the Olden Days!

I like to complain a little when little things go awry.  Don't you? Sometimes it's the small things in life that are the most annoying.

Every day and every week something breaks or is lost or spoils disgustingly in the refrigerator.

This week a branch broke off the giant honey locust tree in our front yard, hanging precariously over our driveway and the electric wires to our house. I cut the hanging pods (edible pods in some parts of the world!) off the branches to lighten the load. The local power company was called and the crisis was solved the next day, with only a brief electrical interruption. A small annoyance to be sure.

My tub drain finally slowed to a complete halt last week. (Maybe this is why plumbers are paid pretty well.) The stuff that came out of that drain when the husband took it apart this week....well, I probably don't have to tell you: the mother of all black hair balls. Blech! (Disgusting, nasty, horrid, gross.) I still need to bleach the heck out of the blech in that tub! I had to wear shower shoes in a tub that is used only by me. Even though we have another tub and even another old basement shower with a great shower massage, this was most annoying to me.

One of my lawn mowers is still held together with duct tape! A few more weeks and we can junk it or decide to have it repaired over the winter. My back hurts when I use it because the taped handle is sagging. Is this not more trouble than I deserve?

Just today an electrical fire a couple of blocks away plunged our whole neighborhood into (indoor) darkness. This doesn't happen very often and I had forgotten how little can be done without power.  How really spoiled we have become. One can take a shower or nap or read--I couldn't think of anything else to do! The garage door was stuck open. The street I needed to take to access the garage sale where I had purchased three lawn chairs earlier for $2 each was blocked totally by a fire truck. I was frustrated. But this occurrence again reminded me how much we depend on our computers and machines and our pretty reliable electrical grid.

The husband was so annoyed (when he came home from golfing) that he wasn't able to watch the golf tournament that he decided to fire up that generator we bought last winter. He got the television going, but forgot that our cable and Internet access is dependent on electric! It was good to know the generator is still functional--just in case! We could have watched a DVD I suppose--but the electric was back on within the hour.

These are just little examples of the small things that all of us experience from time to time. Perhaps worse are the annoyances of people in our lives that we have to deal with. They are less easily fixed--no duct tape or plungers are available for people! And inconsiderate drivers, litterers, etc. etc. ... there really is no avoiding them.

But then, sometimes I like to think back to the "olden days." I think of the stories told to me by my now long ago deceased parents. I still remember many things of childhood. How good were those good ol' days, really?

 I can't identify easily with the difficulties of earlier centuries or even less developed countries today. Sometimes old novels gloss over the grittier details of life. Houses were colder, transportation was limited and food was less available, but things of the bedroom or bathroom (for instance) were rarely described. The smell of the unwashed and un-deodorized--and the horse poop in the street--is unimaginable. (A poop reference has now become standard in every post.)

On Antiques Road Show last week a beautiful old bracelet was shown to open up with a small well for perfume which a lady could access in the event that the bad smells in the street became too overwhelming.

dahlias and toad lilies

The Book Club read The Orphan Master's Son this month, which is a recent fictional prize-winning novel that attempts to be a window into the world of repression and starvation and worse that is North Korea. There was no glossing. But those realities are far removed from my experience and I quickly forget how completely much better my life is.

Freedom, food, flushing toilets and fresh flowers are givens in my life!

But just a generation ago, with the knowledge I have of it first-hand, life was way more difficult.

My mother had to hitch up the horse and buggy to get to a piano (or was it violin?) lesson. That sounds pretty crazy to me--like a bad joke; like the claim that you had to walk to school uphill and barefoot, both ways! Or claims to have lived in a cardboard box. I think that actually happened in The Glass Castle.

My parents were so poor that they sat on peach crates for chairs in their first home. Really!

I remember taking baths in a modest amount of (soft) rain water that was collected in a cistern. It was a little yellow but I can't recall how funky it must have smelled. When I was very young I seem to remember occasionally using the water for more than one person. My father used a makeshift open shower in the basement and he did not always procure the use of a towel when he strolled through the living room to his dressing area!

I also (barely) remember that when I was very young, my farm cousin S had only an outhouse. Am I remembering catalogs for toilet paper? (subtle poop reference)

One quart of home-canned (blech!) meat fed my mother-in law's poor farm family for a week. The only food that was not rationed was the abundance from the summer vegetable garden. Radish sandwiches! I'll bet she would have been happy with the orange in her Christmas stocking.

To cook a chicken for dinner in the mid-century I remember that I had to catch one by the legs, chop off its head, dip it in boiling water and pick off the feathers, burning the small hairs off with a rolled up flaming newspaper. Holding the legs of a chicken while my mother sliced through its head with a sharp butcher knife, and then tossing it quickly on the grass to avoid the blood spatters--and then watching it until it stopped dancing around.......who could ever forget that?

I never went hungry as a child. We had our own eggs, our own meat, our own vegetables. We had apples and pears and even an apricot tree. My mother baked her famous buns and a chocolate cake every other day, it seemed. We ate well--sumptuously well, really. We enjoyed cream for  years. It floated to the top (called top milk--it was more like half & half) of the jars of abundant milk from our hand-milked cow that we kept for awhile after abandoning the larger cow-milking enterprise. (The cow would have to be "freshened" with a new calf every year to keep up that supply, which the new calf shared with us for a time.) And almost every night we enjoyed a small bowl of ice cream. Fenn's ice cream, as I recall, would go on sale for 49 cents for a real 1/2 gallon and my mother would have the basement freezer stocked with a variety of flavors. Does anyone remember butter brickle flavor? (We never churned our own butter or made homemade ice cream, in my experience).

AND my home was fully furnished. Not a single peach crate! Two large sofas (we called them davenports) and two large freezers!

But we did not have the variety of fresh foods that I now enjoy. I eat things every week that I had never heard of as a farm girl in the 50's. Edamame, portabellas, feta cheese, avocado, mango (not really), papaya (not really), Diet Coke Zero (really). Paleo Bread--not! Blech!

I have been purchasing spaghetti squash lately, readily available, although the grocery cashiers have still never heard of it. It is a very good low-carb pasta alternative! Ten minutes in the microwave and voila!


This week I tried the new Land O'Lakes product for easy sauteing--just drop a pre-seasoned bar into the fry pan with the prepared chicken tenders or stir fry veggies. Is that not the height of decadence for the lazy cook?

Even easier, I pick up a savory deli chicken every Thursday night on my way home from work--all hot, spiced right and juicy. I eat it plain or in a Caesar salad with lots of fresh Parmesan. Yum!

There is so much variety in the stores it is hard to decide what to buy. I have the regular stores mastered fairly well but have recently switched from Sam's Club to Costco and all the additional brands and products only add to the overwhelming array of available choices. And how does one manage to remember to incorporate all those super foods when the convenience foods are so tempting?

I have an acquaintance--an older woman living alone (with cats) and a garden of 900 day lilies. She says sometimes a spoon of peanut butter is her dinner. Some still live with surprising simplicity, while I fret over the lack of a decent red wine to pair with my Italian-themed dinner (that spaghetti squash topped with a jar of Ragu and (previously) frozen Italian meatballs and lots of Parm).

(While thinking about this post, I asked one family member what deprivation (he) remembers suffering through earlier in life. Would you believe, dial-up Internet!?)

And getting back to the bathroom--imagine how luxurious it would seem to a couple living a century ago to each have a bathtub to fill with hot water every day.

It is hard to imagine what the next generation will say is horse-and-buggy-ish about these times. It is inevitable that these days will one day be olden. But will they seem golden? They could seem golden in the aftermath of a nuclear blast I suppose, if we were alive to notice...

Thanks for listening to me blather on about my life. I must be talking to my computer, because I'm not sure anyone will get to this point in the post--or get the !point! of this post!

So to conclude, although aches and pains and parts that bulge in all the wrong places become more pervasive as I age, I wouldn't go back to any decade of the olden days. In spite of all the trouble and brokenness, all in all, my life keeps getting better. No more dial-up Internet, after all! And who would go back after HD cable television and smart phones?

I promised to be more thankful this year for the good life I live. And I am. Really!

And I promise to use less exclamation points in my next post!!!

Staying Well - Eat This Bread

I was sucked in by the incessant ads on Facebook.

If I am every going to really "go Paleo," a bread substitute would be a game-changer. I found out recently that Harvest Health carries this (frozen) almond bread made by Julian Bakery in a nearby store. I had to try it! So last weekend I trekked out to the store with Marissa and bought the most expensive loaf of bread ever. I am not willing to admit publicly what I paid for it.

The next day, Sunday morning, I got up early and started sucking down some black coffee. I had agreed to play my trombone in a brass quartet to accompany the choir and hymns at my church and needed to make it to a morning rehearsal.

Figuring I needed some sustenance along with my caffeine fix, I fried two eggs and toasted two slices of my new bread--just to try it. It is very heavy with almond flour and would stick to my ribs and get me through the morning.

I am not a morning person and eating this early was already a stretch for my stomach, but I bravely buttered the paleo bread and prepared to dip it in some egg yolk. But first I sniffed it and then I tried a bite with just butter on it. The bread smelled (was it my imagination?) like it was baked in a cave and tasted a bit worse! I wasn't sure if it was just me, so I offered a taste to the husband. He exclaimed that it tasted like POOP, chewed it a bit and then spit it out into the disposal sink. I was beginning to feel a little nauseous.

Once it was down, I was okay, and I made it through the morning just fine.

But I had some more issues with bread during the worship service. Instead of bits of delicious bakery bread that I remember from previous churches, we now have dreadful gluten-free wafers. I figure that eating those dry awful things is a way of helping me to remember Christ's suffering. Since I was playing, I took a wafer from the elder and set it on my music stand. But I had taken two!

Next, as I turned the page of my music, both wafers fell to the floor. Fortunately, in our church we do not hold to the belief that the wafers turn into the body of Christ, but I was embarrassed that my TWO wafers were now out of reach. After the service, I picked up the wafers and threw them into my trombone case ... and I ate one when I got home. I wasn't sure that was the right thing to do.

So I have one wafer left. Here it is, staged with a pewter communion pitcher--which has its own story.

Anyway, this (Monday) morning I thought I would give the Paleo bread one more try. How can I cover up that taste?

Sunday afternoon I had told my daughter about my very disappointing taste test. When I told my son-in-law about my cave thoughts and the husband's poop exclamation, he suggested it probably tasted like guano.

With the enhanced image of bat doodoo in my head, I got out some cheese and some salami and some spicy brown mustard. With all that spicy yumminess included, I managed a whole sandwich this morning with no thoughts of throwing up. I have to Eat this Bread. It is very nutritious, with almonds and egg whites and vinegar--and I paid a small fortune for it.

I am hoping that I don't need to eat Paleo bread in order to stay well. But I will continue to choke down that sacramental wafer for as long as I live here on earth. (I can't imagine having to eat something that distasteful in heaven.)

Staying Grounded

The boys next door--captured with zoom

I was out late last night. Out in the yard. In the dark.  I had been absorbed in some Sunday night television with the husband but still wanted to sprinkle a few things, including some grass I had cut short on Saturday late afternoon.

While I was hosing the grass in the dark, with the full force of our downhill from the water tower pressure, I noticed this huge fire two doors over.

There is a rumor that the boys will be putting the house up for sale soon. The bunny haven that has been accumulating for years in the backyard is being chipped and/or burned in preparation for selling. They have some sort of fire pit, but a flame this huge must be illegal. My neighbor tells me they had a hose handy.

Fire and water. Basic and elemental since time began. But I was participating in a new and "groundbreaking" experiment with the earth--grounding in my yard. Let me explain.

I can't believe that I have never heard of this before, but there is a movement called earthing or grounding which encourages tapping into earth's charges--supposedly electrons--which have all kinds of "positive" effects on the body: thinning the blood, charging the blood cells to promote flow, and promoting anti-oxidant effects (reduction of those dreaded free radicals and reduction in the body's inflammatory response). And you sleep better. All this from going barefoot in the grass--damp grass for better conductivity. Grounding on the wet lake shore is also optimal, but even concrete will allow for the flow.

Those already on blood thinners are actually warned against too much grounding! 80 minutes and your blood is thinned!

So ... I put on some dirty lawn-mowing socks and did a little grounding while I watered.

Rubber-soled shoes block the flow. Most of our shoes, even my birks, have rubber bottoms. But I have some old leather moccasins that should conduct as well as my cotton socks. On the earthing sites I noted that I could order some, e.g., buffalo or bull-leather moccasins designed for grounding. Some have copper or other metal points in the shoes to help with the transmission of the "free" electrons, but the ones I saw were pricey. The center of the ball of the foot is reputed to be the optimal transmission point.

Since winter time in Michigan is tough for bare feet, one can also apparently hook up a grounding mat that is attached electrically to a ground outside, so you can ground while you compute.

How totally crazy does this sound to you?

Having just viewed another episode of the popular Under the Dome mini-series (which totally strains credulity), this actually seems somewhat plausible to me.

Perhaps I knew this truth as a young child. My parents were not successful in getting me to wear shoes. I loved to go barefoot and took my shoes off in the car and whenever I could. My brothers even called me a nasty (poopy) name as a result of my going barefoot in the farmyard.

So ... I dug out my (not earth shoes), but earthing shoes! Which daughter now regrets leaving them home? They are machine washed and sanitized and ready to do some grounding in my yard!

Cake at the Lake

Another Costco Cake - it was supposed to say Birthdays

I had hoped to avoid eating so much birthday cake this year. However, with three July birthdays in our book club, I thought I would bring a cake to the lake for this year's golf outing, book discussion and cottage cookout. I planned dinner for 16 and served 15. People seemed to enjoy the cake but we also had brownies and ice cream available and people were either too full or too careful to indulge in large servings, so I was left with way too much cake to take home. It was cut up and put into individual serving containers in the freezer, but they were really easy to thaw and kept calling to me.

Like the flawed Florentino in my book club selection, Love in the Time of Cholera (who claimed to have kept himself a virgin while "courting" 622 women in his lifetime before he finally is united with his true love Fermina Daza late in life), in my heart I am anti-sugar and anti-carb, while along the way I have failed at least a thousand times. Today my daughter and son-in-law helped me finish the last piece. Next month, they both have birthdays. Will this mean another cake?

Not only did I "take the cake"--I failed to "walk the walk."

Two Women and a Truck

Today my friend and I spent a good chunk of the day in a truck. It was warm and we were in my uncle's red pickup with windows open and hair blowing.

After packing our load in the morning, including my friend's massive vine that she pulled off her pergola, we stopped at the drive-thru of a Tim Horton's, inquiring about the free coffee deal. It was 12:04 on my clock and although the offer ended at 12:00 noon, we sweet-talked our way to some coffee with cream, also purchasing some yummy apple fritters. The employee at the window was nice and even said, "You ladies have a nice day."

Ha! Ladies? I hardly felt like a lady. As we bumped along the road to the yard waste site with our load of brush, our hot coffees spilled a little. I had my work capris on, now newly stained with creamy coffee; I had my faded work hat crammed down over my pony tail; my dirty work gloves were on the seat between us.

It occurred to me that feeling like a lady at all was a ludicrous notion. Sometimes I see perfectly-coiffed white-haired grandmas with lips painted red, driving around in their older classic cars, looking very much like ladies. But will that ever be me? Do I ever even want to be called a lady? I imagine a day when I can no longer mow the lawn or mount the seat of a truck. It's getting more difficult every year! Maybe I will become a lady then ... in 10 or 20 years or so? It's not so hard to be a lady if you're sitting around in a chair most of the day.

After unloading our branches, we uploaded about 15 bags of wood chips, free for the taking. And then we stopped again, for diet Cokes and McDoubles, with bottom buns removed and hamburgers flipped up, per usual.

A photo from last August - I kindly cropped her buns!

Our second goal, besides stopping for refreshments 3 times, was to shovel 500 pounds (about $40) of Suwanee rock from Minnesota into pails to spread around the liner of my aunt's waterfall pond.

It was still hot and humid as we shoveled the pebbles into small pails that we could lift easily. The five gallon pails we lifted together, on the count of three. I have a photo of my friend wiping her brow as we loaded up the last few containers. She actually looks pretty good in her basic black. But it's a good thing you can't see her hot red face, or the coffee spills--definitely not lady-like!

We almost depleted the supply of stones--more stones are on order from MN.

After all this work (and still needing energy for the unloading), we once again rewarded ourselves--with a small chocolate dipped cone from the Dairy Queen drive-thru, chocolate chunks sliding off onto my dirty clothes.

On the way home I also indulged myself with a few purchases from my neighborhood gay guy's garage sale that I had passed up earlier. My friend bought those multi-colored plant watering globes. I bought 3 coffee mugs (against all my rules once again) which I couldn't resist for $.50 each and a pewter tray for my daughter.

After a long soak in a hot tub, scrubbing my toes and nails clean, applying some fragranced body lotion, and tossing all my dirty clothes into the washer--I felt more like a lady again--or at least, a woman.

As long as there is plenty of soap and hot water available, I clean up pretty well. I am guessing that having to wash up using a bowl and pitcher on my bureau would prove inadequate. And if I had to wear corsets and frocks every day--with no air-conditioning--even if I were rich, lived in a mansion and had a whole house full of servants--I wouldn't trade this dirty/clean, un-lady-like life I enjoy! I hope my friend continues to feel the same way, because we always have fun adventures together!!

I will probably never be a lady. But ... I am woman, hear me roar...or is that just my bad muffler?

The Twinkies Comeback

The sweetest comeback in the history of ever?

THE HISTORY OF NEVER
I have been thinking about avoiding falling as I get older and more clumsy. And I am trying to learn to be more careful. But I recently said out loud that I haven't fallen in a long time. So I fell--twice. Once I tripped on the wheel of the wheelbarrow while carrying some rocks. I sprawled out on the (soft, recently watered) lawn, rocks and glasses flying in different directions. This week I was hauling water in the rain and slipped on a muddy downhill patch, sliding on my khaki capris, my water jug flying. With each fall I twanged a shoulder a little, but was not really hurt.

For at least the last 20 years I have said I have never had a Twinkie. Which means I probably will have one. So today in the store, as the sweet comeback of Twinkies took center stage, I bought a box--on sale--and ate a Twinkie. Thought I might as well get it over with, since it was bound to happen anyway!

They are not terrible, just terribly sweet. Somebody better come over and help me eat some, though. They are good until August 22, advertised to have an extended shelf life of 45 days now.

But I feel just a little bit terrible for having broken my pattern of Twinkie avoidance.

I also bought a red pepper. Is this not the most beautiful, healthy thing you can imagine eating? But I chose to eat the Twinkie, while the pepper is still looking gorgeous on my counter.

Why does it never, in the history of ever, sound good to have a pepper with my coffee or tea?

Stuck "Under the Dome"

After recently finishing Stephen King's autobiographical work, On Writing, completed after the accident that nearly took his life, I was intrigued to try one or two of his novels. I haven't ventured into that realm yet, but the husband had taped the much-hyped Under the Dome, which is a 13-part mini-series based on King's 2009 novel of the same name. So we watched it.

While watching the first episode on the first of July, as the dome descends (?) on the town and splits a cow in half lengthwise (not really looking like the inside of a cow, but plenty graphically bloody--more like freshly ground hamburger) I was hooked. It turns out that nearly 17 million viewers watched with me.

After watching the second episode, I don't know whether to love it or leave it--or King. I recently re-watched a bit of Carrie and felt the same way. Why do I need to watch this stuff?

 I grew up with Little Women and Little House on the Prairie and no television at home until I was 17! Then we could watch Lassie and What's My Line--at least on Sundays--and it was a big step when my father graduated to Gunsmoke.

 I grew up with the (previously documented) violence of seeing a dying sow's throat slit, a warm pigeon gutted, and a pet pig taken to market for slaughter, but not the scary violence of science fiction, or vampire, terrorist or axe-murderer-type movies. I now am tentatively game for such things.

Strangely, I am looking forward to the third episode of Under the Dome on Monday night. We might tape it, but I will watch. Will you?

Seeking Solitude at the Lake

6 AM at Lake Michigan

I didn't really mean to stay up all night to see the dawn (and I might have dozed off for a few minutes), but last weekend I enjoyed a little more solitude than I had hoped for. (I did fall back asleep shortly after this 6 AM photo was taken).

So even though it was a holiday weekend, it turns out it was very quiet at night, except for crickets and birds. The Energizer Bunny surfer boys, down below--finally exhausted--were fast asleep.

Is it my camera or is it brighter a minute later?

The sunset the night before was a pretty good one, with lots of cloud patterns:

On Friday afternoon, as soon as we crested the dune, caught the first sight of Lake Michigan and inhaled the first whiff of the cool lake breeze, the stress began to roll down our backs and over the sand--disappearing into the lapping waves. Later, one sip of merlot and yes, we were mellow.

But by Sunday afternoon, having to clean up our mess, scrub the toilets, and pack up our leftover food and dirty laundry in the midday heat--the stress was back (and in my back). The last item to pack up--a large trash bag which held the remaining weekend detritus--developed a small leak, lightly spilling black coffee grounds down the deck stairs. All my work to clean up, and yet, I left a dirty little (if organic) trail in my wake. So annoying. I hoped it would rain clean or blow away in those awesome lake breezes soon. The brooms and hoses were all locked up and it was time to go.