Fashion Show

We are happy to announce the season's newest fashions! Whether you are a working girl or an expectant mom; a flashy gal or a demure dame, we've got something for you.

First, these casual slacks are more than meets the eye. Designer polyester blend fabric with a flirtatious sheen, they will please the fashion-forward lady who doesn't want to stand out in a crowd. The water repellent fabric and distracting pattern are perfect for the days when you spill your coffee on your lap between meetings. No one will see your stains and nothing will slow you down!

This next little number is the perfect item for a night on the town. With lots of pockets so you don't have to carry your purse on the dance floor, this vest is sexy yet sensible - sleeveless for warm nights, with removable padding in the back in case you sweat and don't want anyone to know. The padding also comes in handy in case you find yourself on your back for any reason during an alcohol-soaked evening. Classic plastic black buckles in the front allow you to snap it tight, or loosen it up for a little flash of cleavage and/or midriff.

The newest trend - travel girdles!  Get yours today!  These 2-piece girdles are a MUST HAVE this season, especially for the working woman who overeats at the China Buffet at lunch and has to return to work for an afternoon of incessant bloating.  Each panel has a firm cup for breast-boosting comfort, and they snap together at the side. The pattern makes them virtually undetectable under your silk blouse. They fold up and wrap together to be easily carried in your stylish Kate Spade handbag or Coach briefcase.

Next, we offer this Romance Harness. What lady won't feel feminine and super sexy in this tan, strappy, figure-flattering negligee?  Quick-release buckles in all the right places will not occupy your partner's hands for long. A zipper pocket in the back will come in handy for quick access to any accessories in the dark, like lubrication, things that tickle, or sandwiches.

For expectant mothers, we offer these trendy panel-front canvas pants. They are perfect for a day around town. The green canvas is reinforced to support swelling legs and expanding hips while flattering the oddly misshapen maternal figure.

Crocs are out and Ducks are in!  These unisex light-as-a-feather ducks are mix-and-match, so select for yourself a same-sex pair or dual-gender duck pairing. Because of their neutral colors, they will pair well with any item in your wardrobe. Simply tear off the plastic wrapper and you are ready to walk into your office looking spiffy and posh in downy comfort!

Resolutions 2016 Update: Physical

One of my New Year's Resolutions for 2016 was to touch my toes. Not as simple as it sounds! I am cursed with tight hamstrings, and am not sure I have ever in my life touched my toes with ease. A physical therapist once diagnosed me with a "tight kinetic chain" for whatever it's worth. What all this is getting at, is at face value, it sounds like it would potentially be the easiest of my 4 Resolutions, but it was not.  It was, in fact, the least successful. Here is a pictorial of my progress.

January in West Virginia (accused of nudity, but I'm in shorts).

March in Pennsylvania (in slipper socks, to prove that I am not naked).

May, atop Camelback Mountain overlooking Phoenix, Arizona.

Encouragement arrived from Cole in July. The perfect card!  The message inside was "Here's to achieving all of your New Year's Resolutions! Love & Support, Cole XOX."  I love him.

August in Newbrough, England, on a public footpath wall crossing.

October on the black beach of Vik i Myrdal, Iceland. I could touch them
here with a little bouncey-bounce - does bouncing count??

Although I reached my toes for the first time in who knows how long, I am declaring this resolution a FAIL because I was supposed to touch them comfortably. It's not comfortable at all, and gentle bouncing is required. I think I will keep this resolution on my list for 2017.

Resolutions 2016 Update: Spiritual

One of my resolutions for 2016 was to be continually thankful. Here is a smattering of the things, in no particular order, that I was (and continue to be) thankful for: the big things, the small things, and everything in between.

* flannel sheets * financial security * girlfriends * board games * Goldfish crackers * pain-free days for as long as they last * hiking boots * hiking buddies * hikes * anti-itch cream * hot tea * naps * naps with pets * Girl Scouts * reasonable airfare * Maricopa * AA * owls * yoga * veterinarians * intelligence * Jo * pedicures * husbands who humor me * National Parks * wrinkle cream * ability to swim * texting * lip balm * wi-fi * Graham Norton * KitKats * good health * safe travel * coloring books * strong teeth * Mom * boy cousins * sunshine * Giancarlo Esposito * my job * my brain * fresh blueberries * home ownership * baked goods * women who bake * rails to trails * good insoles * good health * good books * pandas of all kinds * fun days with the spouse * nature * fresh air * outdoor jazz * wine * Boris and his family * scallops * Prince * peaches at the peak of ripeness * padded bicycle seats * Smoochie and her parents * the local foodbank * music that moves me to tears * Facetime with hyperactive 7 year olds * HopeTree * nieces * nephews * Aleppo survivors * mornings on the deck with coffee * Olympics * husbands who make me laugh * attending international conferences * proper English tea * wild heather * silence * iron supplements * stool softeners * Dolly Parton's humanitarian efforts * American soldiers * the smell of Fall * the 'mute' button on the remote in an election year * puppies * the recovery of Jacob Wetterling's remains * chocolate chips * annual candy-making * emergency rooms * modern medicine * homemade Chex mix * good sense * a sense of humor * Harvey * oncologists * uplifting stories on the nightly news * Cole & Kevin * Netflix * peace * Christmas in PA * Betty White's immortality

Resolutions 2016 Update2: Community

Another year ends, and another New Year's Resolution goes with it.  Twelve months ago, I listed my 2016 resolutions, one of which was to repeatedly make a difference in the life of a stranger.  In June, I posted an update about this particular resolution, because it is an unpredictable one, and has been SUPER FUN.  The activities on this page pick up where the prior post left off.

Gave blood. I donated blood three times in the first half of the year. Perhaps it was no surprise that a blood test by my physician in August deemed me anemic. He said to take gobs of iron supplements and STOP donating blood. Rats.

Cake Delivery.  In Durham (England) this summer, Mom and I asked a local postman for dining advice. He recommended Vennel's Cafe.  Although he had never eaten there, he assured us their menu looked "quite lovely." We found the place tucked down an alleyway, and had a delicious lunch there. Mom and I conspired over tea, and before we left, we purchased a slice of lemon cake to go. We returned to the postal shop and presented him with the treat.  He was delighted, and also was oddly curious to know every detail of our meal (I had the pear, stilton and toasted walnut salad with carrot cake; Mom had onion and cheese quiche with banoffee pie). The postman good-naturedly posed for a photo, and we left assured that we made his day. Mom gets most of the credit for this random act.

Contractor's Tab.  Marty and I were waiting for our table on Date Night. It was crowded, and we waited at the bar. There were no pairs of bar stools available, so I sat and Marty stood behind me.  Soon a woman around the corner of the bar slid over so that 2 stools were available together and waved us over. She said she was waiting for a friend who was clearly not going to show up, and thought that Marty and I would enjoy the side-by-side stools.  She was a contractor in a knitted cap and a whole lotta swag. We had a lively conversation, and twenty minutes later we were seated.  I told her, "I'm glad your friend didn't show, or we wouldn't have met" and I sincerely meant it. We quietly got her check from the bar and paid her $10 tab without a word.

Science Fair.  I don't know how much of a difference this made in the life of a stranger, but I am counting it toward my resolution anyway.  I volunteered to be a judge at an elementary school science fair.  It was adorable at first, but the things kids do to gummy bears and fresh produce for the sake of science is disturbing. I voted Best in Show to the 5th grade girl who described her project, and at the end maturely explained to me that her original idea involved charging her brother's iPad with oranges, but she broke his iPad and got in trouble, so she changed her idea. I thought to myself, "And that right there is the whole premise behind research."

Angel Tree.  Every holiday season, our medical center erects a Christmas tree in the lobby, and hangs angels on it.  Each angel contains the name of a child in need, and an item requested for Christmas. I have never selected a name from the tree before. This year, I randomly pulled one off a branch for my resolution, and read it: "Zachary. 1-year old male.  Size 2T coat."  The day before the Angel Gift was due, I went to JCPenney. Penney's was having a sale and was trashed - I couldn't even find the kids' section.  Finally I found a lone, scant rack of boys' coats. There was only 1 size 2T - an adorable red and navy hooded coat. Score!  But it was $60.  Yikes!  When I saw the sign promoting a 60% discount I was pleased. At checkout, the clerk scanned an additional coupon for $10 and my total was $15.  Merry Christmas Zachary!!!

Finale.  On the last day of 2016, I did one more thing.  I wished a happy new year to the stranger parked beside me in the grocery store parking lot.  I told her, "I'd be happy to return your cart for you," and she smiled broadly.  New Year's Resolution completed! Now I can return to my crabby old heartless self in 2017.

Resolutions 2016 Update: Mental

What an enjoyable New Year's Resolution this was - to read at least 12 books I already own and pass them on! Achieving this was a piece of cake, but the Smithsonian magazines I usually read during the summertime backed up. Even though I let the subscription lapse, I have 12 issues from 2015-16 to read in 2017. Great. No matter what, crap is always piling up! And now, thanks to public school fundraisers, I renewed the Smithsonian subscription, and will also start receiving Traditional Home magazine any day.

But back to the joy of crossing off one of my 2016 New Year's Resolutions two months early!  If you are interested in knowing what indeed was lying around my house waiting to be read, here is the list in the order they were read, with one-sentence synopses.  Yes, my taste in literature is quite eclectic.

Circle of Friends by Maeve Binchy
Fiction, 1990. Paperback, 600 pages.
Irish wallflower in the 1950's has progessive friends and nasty people get their just desserts.

A Way Out of No Way: Claiming Family and Freedom in the New South by Dianne Swann-Wright
Nonfiction, 2002. Paperback, 177 pages.
Woman writes short piece of nonfiction for no apparent reason other than to bore us to death.

Cornbread Nation 1: The Best of Southern Food Writing edited by John T. Edge
Nonfiction, 2002. Paperback, 251 pages.
Interesting compilation of essays about American food by American food writers making me wish I was an American food writer.

A Passage to India by E.M. Forster
Fiction, 1924. Paperback, 362 pages.
Classic tale of the evils of colonization colorfully mixed with haughty Englishmen, Englishwomen with delicate sensibilities, and Indians caught between being themselves or behaving according to English expectations; a tea party and criminal trial ensue.

A Happy Marriage by Rafael Yglesias
Fiction, 2009. Paperback, 371 pages.
Man of no means meets and marries an upper class girl in New York City resulting in 20+ years of sometimes-complicated sometimes-blissful marriage culminating in a struggle about whether to fight for life or just let go in the end. <P.S. Any book with this title HAS to be fiction.>

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson
Fiction, 2005. Paperback, 590 pages.
Girl on Scandanavian island goes missing in the 1960's and her rich uncle determines to solve the mystery decades later by hiring an ostracized journalist and unbalanced "goth" female investigator to create havoc with the relatives, solving the crime while succeeding in partly avenging goth female's past.

Kitchens of the Great Midwest by J. Ryan Stradal
Fiction, 2015. Hardcover, 310 pages.
Story of a lonely girl with a mysterious knack for cooking is told amid much sumptuously delicious description.

John Adams by David McCullough
Nonfiction, 2001. Paperback, 752 pages (651 before references).
The epic biography of Presidential greatness and a First Lady way ahead of her time unfolds amid conflict, failures and successes in establishing the United States as an independent self-governing country. (Spoiler alert - Thomas Jefferson seems like kind of an asshole.)

Let's Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawless
Nonfiction, 2012. Paperback, 383 pages.
Unconventional memoir delightfully and brazenly told not without touching moments reflecting the softer side of familial and marital relationships.

Book of the Dead by Patricia Cornwell
Fiction, 2007. Hardcover, 405 pages
Conventional whodunnit murder mystery.

In America by Susan Sontag
Fiction, 2000. Hardcover, 387 pages.
Polish actress comes to America seeking greatness and...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

The Winter of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck
Fiction, 1961. Paperback, 358 pages.
Adorable, funny, well-liked hardworking man is faced with difficult choices and their consequences, reminding me that there is not a Steinbeck story out there that I don't like.

BONUS POINTS; PUBLIC LIBRARY LENDS
The Road to Little Dribbling: Adventures of an American in Britain by Bill Bryson
Nonfiction, 2015. Hardcover, 376 pages
Sassy American-turned-Brit recounts tales of woe trying to understand British ways while traveling the countryside. (Note: My friend "Petal" insisted I read this before leaving on my trip to England. It didn't really help with the NYResolution, but was a worthy read anyhow. Thanks, Petal!)

EXTRA CREDIT; AUDIOBOOKS
I love a good story while I am on the road. Audiobooks, most of them from the public library, save me from boredom while driving long distances.

The Hurricane Sisters by Dorothea Benton Frank
Fiction, 2014. Unabridged, 9 CDs.

Metro Girl by Janet Evanovich
Fiction, 2004. Abridged, 5 CDs.

The Johnstown Flood by David McCullough
Nonfiction, 1968. Unabridged, 8 CDs.

The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins
Fiction, 2015. Unabridged, 9 CDs.

Halls of Fame

Deep Thoughts from 2009:

Last month, I found time to catch up on some magazine reading. In the back of the January 2009 issue of Smithsonian magazine, I read an entertaining one-page commentary on the American fascination with Halls of Fame. The author, Richard Conniff, describes some of the country’s most unusual Halls of Fame, like the Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame in Wisconsin and the Alabama Road Builders Hall of Fame. He asserts that there’s a Hall of Fame out there for everyone, most of them for the Unfamous.

After reading this, I noticed Halls of Fame everywhere! I saw a story on msn.com about somebody I never heard of getting inducted into the Olympic Hall of Fame. I received my Spring issue of Triathlon Life announcing new inductees to the Triathlete Hall of Fame.  THEN I drove on Sixth Street by the Sportsman’s Hall of Fame right here in town. Suddenly, everywhere I went, I saw Halls of Fame.

Curiously, I emailed my friends and family and asked them to tell me which Halls of Fame they had visited in their lifetimes, and into which Halls they had been inducted. Their responses were clear. My friends and family don’t give a damn about Halls of Fame. For them, very few halls have been visited outside of Baseball, Country Music, and North Carolina’s own Auto Racing Hall of Fame. Not coincidentally, everyone who had visited the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown NY, was in the same station wagon - it was part of my family’s vacation in 1977. My cousin Jean, who has been to a zillion countries, has never been to a Hall of Fame anywhere in the world!  My sports fanatic husband claims that the only one he almost visited was the Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield Massachusetts the year we spent Christmas with my sister. I didn’t remember. He reminded me that we stopped there to use the restroom. Ah, yes.

I pondered these responses. Visiting a place where legacies are exhibited of so many young, fit, and brilliant people is inspirational! Halls remind us all that we can reach the limits of our hopes and dreams. But what could have kept my nearest and dearest from taking advantage of such sources of inspiration?  Could it be that the Halls of Fame available to them don’t match up with their own hopes and dreams?

My email also asked, “Into what Hall of Fame, real or fictional, would you like to be inducted and why?” Surely I would hear all about their hopes and dreams!  Nope. Disappointment again.

Other than Angie, who aspires induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame for her stellar Guitar Hero skills, my friends and family expressed very little inspiration, hopes or dreams - real or fictional. This says a lot about my social circle.

For example:

- Monica chose the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, stating frankly, “because I rock.”

- Dad said that he would belong “to the Imagination Mediocrity Hall of Fame for obvious reasons.”

- Lindsay declared, “I'd be in the Hall of Fame for people who have NEVER been to a Hall of Fame.”

With so many Halls of Fame out there, why did this group express so little interest in them?  Do these Halls ever serve some greater purpose than as a quick rest stop for weary travelers?  What is their purpose?

One person offered me clarity. This person was the only one of the bunch that I emailed who had actually been inducted into a Hall of Fame. In the Elizabethtown College Hall of Fame in Pennsylvania, you will learn that the 1961 women’s field hockey team played an entire season undefeated as well as not allowing any opponent to score against them that year. The members of the team were inducted in 1989 because their accomplishment had not been repeated in the 28 years that had passed.

Mom is the inductee. She was an 18-year-old sporty redhead at the time. Now she is well over 60, more gray than red, and training for her first sprint triathlon. I asked her what being a Hall of Famer means to her and she replied, “I was pleased that the college honored our team in this way. It was a reward for hard work.”

So perhaps right there was the reason Halls of Fame are so diverse and obscure. They offer thanks and recognition to ordinary people and what they accomplished in their sport, science or craft, no matter how small those personal accomplishments may be to others.  After all, not a lot of ordinary people are ever acknowledged for the small aspects of their hard work. Yes, so many Halls of Fame seem ridiculous. Who cares about record-breaking yo-yo-ers anyway?  I’ll tell you who:  Record-breaking yo-yo-ers! Halls of Fame have nothing to do with fame. Perhaps it’s a misnomer, and Halls of Personal Achievement would be a better term. Perhaps most ordinary Hall of Famers ascribe to Mom's way of thinking: “There isn’t any plate hanging up in my house to show everyone, it is just an achievement in my life that I have to be proud of in my quiet way.”

In reality, don’t we all belong to our own private Halls of Fame?  My friend Terri remembers, “I was the Hopscotch Champion of my grade school, but we didn’t have a Hall of Fame. Current generations will never know about my playground prowess, but being acknowledged as a champ even in the most obscure field is satisfying.”  And I, at age 6, received a small tacky plastic trophy in a bubble-blowing contest, which I kept well into my 20’s. Perhaps small triumphs like these are what we all keep in our own private Halls of Fame.

So the next time I drive by my city's Sportsman’s Hall of Fame, I think I’ll go in. The inductees may have achieved interesting things, but I’ll bet not a single one was a hopscotch queen or bubble-blowing star. I will look at their photos and read their stories and say about them what others might say about Mom's field hockey team:  “Isn’t it nice that they have been remembered?”

The Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame, Hayward, Wisconsin.

Driving Miss Daisy

Mom and I wrote separate posts about driving in England. The best part about this experiment, is that we did not see each other's post prior to writing our own. This is what we ended up with.


Shannon Writes:
Vacationing in England last month with Mom was a total treat.  Except for one thing. DRIVING. I am used to steering wheels, ignitions and stick shifts in their logical proper places. But in England, they are not in proper places. They are in illogical, improper places. So is the direction of traffic.

If you've ever driven in a country that drives on the opposite side of the road than you're used to, then you know how stressful it is.  Now imagine that stress, and put your mother in the passenger seat.  Additionally, if you've ever ridden in the passenger side of an opposite-vehicle, you know how stressful that is also. This was the perfect storm for mom and me to argue.

Mom Writes:
“Mom, you want to go to England with me?”  “Sure, we will have so much fun!” This will be so exciting, I have never been to England. But then there was the rental car experience!  I elected not to be a driver. It is bad enough being a passenger on the wrong side of the car let alone trying to drive. Shannon was confident she could drive, after all she had done this before. Well let me just say my neck has not recovered yet from her slamming into the wrong gear and my head flying forward at the speed of light. Thank goodness for seat belts holding me back from the windshield!  And let’s not forget about the stalling out in the middle of a busy roundabout and her blaspheming Jesus when it was Jesus that she needed at that moment!!  Thank you Jesus for not letting anyone rear-end us (He loves me and knew my neck was already hurting - no need for more).

Shannon Writes:
Me: (entering busy traffic circle, known as a roundabout) Road construction! I hope our exit isn't blocked.

True photo of the construction we faced in Durham,
at Leazes Bowl roundabout. NOT FUNNY. One of
the hundreds of roundabouts we navigated.

Mom: You'll want to exit.
Me:  Which one?
Mom:  THAT ONE!
Me: What? (I swerve, car honks, I shift up instead of down. Car stalls.)
Mom: You should have exited there.
Me: (starting engine) Well I was already past it and in the wrong lane. Give me more notice!
<We loop around again, and exit.  Soon we come upon another busy roundabout.>
Me: Three lanes in a traffic circle?  Are you kidding me?  Which lane do I need?
Mom:  Hold on.
Me:  Let me just loop - What's this?  Who puts a traffic light in a roundabout? (I shift to the wrong gear; vehicle stalls).  JESUS CHRIST, TRAFFIC CIRCLES!
Mom: Stop swearing!
Me: Why would they have a LIGHT if they are going to have a CIRCLE?
Mom: I don't know, but stop swearing.
Me: (mumbling) Bullocks.
Mom:  What?
Me: Nothing. Okay, the light is green. Which lane?
Mom: That one (pointing).
Me: The outer lane? Where are you pointing?
Mom:  Yes!  Exit!  This exit!
<Swerve, exit, accident avoided>

Mom Writes:
So she is the driver and I am the navigator. Is this a good idea? She hands me these maps that she had copied - copied from what? What order are these pages in? Where are we?  2458A exit here. Here? Yes, here, oops we missed it.  I take verbal abuse and surrender maps since I can’t read them!!  But we always have the trustworthy GPS!  It says, take the 3rd exit off this roundabout. Sounds easy right?  Guess again!!  First off, was that the second or third exit we just passed and which lane should we be in the first, second or third? Good grief, I said, “well just keep going round till I figure this out”.  Not the right answer, trust me!

Shannon Writes:
We didn't use the "Sat Nav" (GPS) for our wandering until we knew where we wanted to end up for the day. Mostly we liked to wander without agenda. When we activated it, the GPS would provide polite instruction in a British accent.
Mom: I didn't hear her, what did she say?
Me: I think she said continue straight at the V.
Mom: The map doesn't show a V.  Rewind her.
Me:  It's a GPS. I can't rewind it.
Mom:  Turn up her volume.
Me: I don't think we can. Do you have your hearing aid in?!?
Mom: SHHH!  We missed her again. Close your window so I can hear her.
Me: But it's sooo pretty outside!
Mom: SSHHHHH! Close it!

Mom Writes:
So we finally get into the country and I think, "Great! This is easy, no traffic, just sheep roaming everywhere. I can navigate out here." Have more copied maps now. The road ends. I hear, "Do we go right or left?"  The map says go straight!  SCREAM!!!!  I guess we are on different roads!!

Shannon Writes:

Mom:  Okay up here in a few miles there is a town called 'Once Brewed.'

Me: We just went through Once Brewed.

Mom: No, it's ahead. Who names a town Once Brewed?

Me: I don't know, but we just went through it. I drove past a sign that said "Welcome to Once Brewed."

Mom: Well, look!  <points to road map but I am driving and can't see tiny map.>

Me: What's after Once Brewed?

Mom: Are we on the yellow road or the red road?

Me: MOTHER. The roads are only yellow and red on the map you know...

Mom: Well if we are going west, it should be Haltwhistle. Are we going west?

I think that was the point where I gave up entirely.

Mom Writes:

I won’t even mention the tiny, narrow roads with stone walls on both sides and you see a huge tractor coming in the opposite direction. Just use your imagination!!  Or the times she forgot to be British and drove on the wrong side of the road till we saw a car coming head-on!!  By the end, I had no fingernails left or skin left on my thumbs from nervous chewing. They hurt so bad!!   But I must say on the very last day driving to the Manchester airport, first in the country and then in the city, we did very well together and I think we finally had all our fears conquered but then it was time to return home!!  Nothing like Mother-Daughter time travelling in a strange country. What fun we had and memories we made. I’ll do it again anytime, my thumbs are healed now. Love you my dear daughter. Thanks for asking me.

Shannon Writes:
This is how "driving on the wrong side" always seems to be! Stressful. Memorable. Accident-free (so far). We were always relieved to park and get out of the car, laughing and hoping we could find our way back in to the hotel more easily than we found our way out. But the next time I venture into the UK on 4-wheels with Mom, I'm going to do it with Uber.

New Foods

At the time I was establishing my New Year's Resolutions, Cole suggested trying a new food from time to time. I decided not to make it a resolution, but to make it common practice! I will go to Iceland in October and can't wait to try skyr, hákarl, and Brennivín.  In the meanwhile, here is my list, in order of deliciousness.

Steak and ale pie over mashed potatoes with carrots.

Steak and ale pie: Eaten piping hot on a rainy day in a pub in Hawkshead, England. Seriously, what's not to love? The Brits KNOW how to make meat pies.

Barramundi: I first heard about this fish on a Food Network show, so when I saw flash frozen fillets at the store, I purchased a few. Other than shark, I don't think I've ever tasted fish I didn't like. I pan seared it and served it with a sauce made from butter, white wine, lemon, onion and capers (thanks, Food Network!).

Albariño wine from Rías Baixas: delicious, crisp white wine from Spanish albariño grapes. Never heard of it, can't pronounce Rías Baixas, but bring it on!

Tatsoi: Asian leafy green (spinach). Prepared for me with butter and roasted radish. I guess I can also add roasted radishes to this list, which are so much better than raw ones. Delicious, in fact.

Chayote: I made a chicken poblano stew twice before and excluded this ingredient because I didn't know what it was. Not this time!  In the squash family, it has a cucumber quality. Like Rías Baixas, I can't pronounce it, but I'm down with chayote.

Tomato jam: Found in a blob on a delicious cheese plate appetizer, made with allspice. Tasty and strange. I can't imagine how else you would eat it if not with a slab of yummy foul-smelling cheese.

Homemade roasted radishes with carrots.

Roasted radishes: They were delicious with my tatsoi, so I tried them at home. I roasted them with carrots, olive oil, and thyme. They were not as delicious as the restaurant prepared them, but tasty still. I need to experiment further with them to perfect the flavor.

Farro: Not sure why it has a special name, but it's wheat kernels. Hard to rank, because how bland it is depends on how it's prepared. Mine was tossed with roasted vegetables and sauced with lemon, served over pureed peas. Meh. How excited can anyone possibly be about wheat kernels? Or pureed peas?

Goat vindaloo: Smoky, earthy, Indiany, but my portion from the Indian buffet had large hunks still connected to bone shards and occasional gristle. Maybe boneless goat vindaloo nuggets would be more my speed.

Pickled celery: Found on the same cheese plate as the tomato jam. Marty snatched it up. If you pickle it, Marty will eat it, even celery. For my palate, it was entirely tooooo pickled.

Summer Olympics Op-Ed

I love the Olympics. I really do. I love learning about the host country, watching the sporting events, and hearing the stories of the athletes' dedication, injuries, and success stories. I had a Dorothy Hamill haircut in the 70's and remember the excitement of the 1984 Los Angeles games when Mary Lou Retton's vault was awarded a 10. But here's what I don't get. Ping pong. Did the ancient Greeks deem ping pong so glorious that it should be included in their games?  The internet tells me that ping pong, or table tennis if I want to be professional about it, was not an Olympic sport until 1988. The games were in Seoul, South Korea that year.  Maybe it happened at the insistence of the host country, as it seems to be very popular among Asians. Not that you have to be Asian to play ping pong - excuse me, table tennis - but like the fields of medicine or fancy engineering, Asians are clearly better at it than everyone else.

And then there's Trampoline. Why is trampoline its own Olympic event? It seems logical to me that the trampoline would be an apparatus for gymnasts, regular gymnasts, but for some reason, they are separate at the Olympics. And by 'regular' gymnastics, I mean 'artistic' gymnastics, not rhythmic gymnastics. And rhythmic gymnastics aren't even gymnastics, they are dance. Why isn't dancing an Olympic sport? And where does synchronized swimming fall? NOBODY even knows what we are watching when that shit comes on. I'm secretly embarrassed for synchronized swimmers.If you are REQUIRED to wear nail polish and flamboyant water-proof make-up to win a medal, it's not a sport.

Even among the "real" sports, I get confused why all the events are necessary. Running includes 100 meters, 200, 400, 800, 1500, 5000, 10,000 meters all with or without hurdles for each gender. Add the team relays and marathon and steeplechase. Swimming is even worse with all the distances for each stroke style. It's dizzying. And all the heats and qualifying races - Lord, by the time I watch all the quarterfinals and semifinals and prelims and whatever, I am over it. I am asleep in time for the 10 or 20 second final relay at the end of the night where Michael Phelps and Usain Bolt are gilded and shown 400 times in instant replay replay replay replay.

And let's not forget how sexist the Olympic games are. Two words: Beach Volleyball. There's more crack at a woman's beach volleyball match than in a Colombian drug cartel. Are we not all wondering how those bikinis STAY ON? When Kerri Walsh Jennings dives, I am surprised EVERY TIME that her panties don't go flying into the stands. And why do women regular gymnasts - excuse me, artistic gymnasts - have 4 apparatus (apparati?) on which to compete and men have 6? Therefore the men have more opportunities to medal. I am pretty sure Simone Biles could handle the pommel horse (or trampoline) if given the chance, even if her heiney hangs out of her sexist glittery one-piece while Danell Leyva and the men's team get to wear shorts. Why do the women only have the heptathlon but the men get a decathlon? For the sake of feminism, let's equal things up a bit. We can do it, ladies!

If we did away with some events, we could add others like Dodgeball and Kickball. Dodgeball requires much more athleticism than pistol events or table tennis. If you are not going to make dodgeball or kickball Olympic events, why do they hammer them home in elementary school?  As Americans, we might be better off teaching trampoline in the third grade. Then again, maybe pistol and table tennis are more our speed because we can gobble McBurgers and fries during training.

And don't forget about the - wait! It's 8:00!  Prime time coverage is about to begin! It's time to watch. I love it. I really do. I wish there were 100 things different about it, but it's wonderful and exciting and emotional and educational and inspirational. The theme is playing! IT'S ON! IT'S ON! I CAN'T WAIT TO WATCH HANDBALL AND DRESSAGE!  Da Daaaaa Da Da Da Da Da, Dum Dum-Dee-Dum Da Da Da Da-Da Da Da......

Refrigerator Casserole

It's 1:00 on a lazy Saturday. A VERY lazy Saturday, because I am still in my pajamas. And hungry.  I assess the contents of the refrigerator and make a mental note: Go grocery shopping today. There is nothing in there but lonesome scraps. That's okay, I can always forge a meal from scraps. It's one of my personal talents.

There was half of a raw onion, Cool Whip, 10 day old steamed broccoli, Greek yogurt, jam, assorted cheese and a thousand condiments (Marty has a condiment problem). And there were the chicken tidbits I picked out of my Trader Joe garlic udon noodles earlier in the week. (There was too much chicken; I am mostly into the noodles.)  Bingo! I will make chicken noodles. With broccoli and cheese and a random condiment. Everything is good with noodles.

Before

I microwaved the chicken and broccoli, boiled some linguine, and mixed it all together with parmesan and maple chipotle finishing sauce that is no less than 3 years old.

After

I can't let anything spoil because I can't throw food away. I can't. It's a neurosis. An illness. My hard-wiring. I was brought up this way.  My mom's people were resourceful Mennonite farmers and to waste is to sin. I cannot sin in the kitchen. Anywhere else I'm okay to sin galore, but I CANNOT THROW AWAY FOOD!

Many times I catch myself calculating the age of leftovers and determining when I need to eat them before they mold or transform into a liquid. Marty will watch me settle down in front of a microwaved plate of two week old lasagna with a side of last week's spinach fritatta. He calls these combos and creations Refrigerator Casserole, and he does not partake.  He will say, offended by my delicacies, "Does that even TASTE good?" Sometimes, no, but that's not the point. He doesn't get it.  Very few people do.  And I've never had food poisoning either (except for the time I made my own oyster stew).

Was today's Refrigerator Casserole tasty?  Maybe not, but my dessert of Cool Whip and chocolate chips was scrumptious.

Waffle House Bargain

Rebekah and Dorothy (Reb & Dot) delight us from time to time by stopping in for an overnighter with or without their boys. We are conveniently located halfway between their home and Reb's family, normally a 10-hour trip. They are the most polite guests ever. They even travel with their own scented candle to burn in our bathroom because, as Reb puts it, "Boys are stinky." I doubted that a 7 or 14-year-old can create a stench in the bathroom worse than Marty's. "You'd be surprised," Reb replied. Dot nodded, and the look in her eyes made me a believer.

This time, Reb and Dot planned to overnight with us, but got a very late start. Although the boys were not with them for this trip, they didn't make it too far south before stopping overnight. "Maybe we can meet for breakfast instead?" they offered, "We have your quilt rack."

Oh crap. I forgot about that quilt rack. Reb offered it on Facebook for 40 bucks months ago, and I said I'd take it. I'd been looking for a nice one to display my great-grandmother's quilt. Our house is actually a little out of the way for them. Staying overnight is a convenience, but given their late start I knew it would be more convenient for us to meet them along interstate 77 in the morning. It would take us only a half hour to get there - no biggie. They selected a Waffle House and texted the address. Our text messaging in the morning went something like this:

Reb:  We are hitting the road. See you at 11:15.

Me:  (10:54 a.m.) Damn construction delays. We are stopped, of course.

Reb: (11:05 a.m.) We're here. Moving yet?
Me: Order without us; don't let us hold you up. GPS says we still have 30 miles.
Reb: Gotcha.

Me: (11:15 a.m.) GPS still says 30 miles.
Reb: On a Saturday? Are they at least working on the road?
Me: Don't know. Still merging.
Reb: Oh joy. Lord. We'll leave it in the grass by the parking lot for you.
Me: Sounds perfect. This better be an amazing quilt fuckin rack. <smile emoji>

Me: (11:26 a.m.) I have to poop.
Reb: Eeewwwwwwwhhhh. I'm eating. You shouldda done that at home.

Me: (11:37 a.m.) Finally moving!
Dot: Are you talking about traffic or your bowels?!?
Me: Does it matter?

Me: (11:50 a.m.) 8 more miles!
Reb: Waiting for you in the parking lot. Got an offer of $75 for the quilt rack.
Me: SELL IT! I'm only willing to do $40.
Reb: Are you sure?
Me: YES! I would do it to you in a heartbeat.

And this is how it came to be that Reb & Dot got $75 richer by selling a quilt rack to a creepy stranger in a Waffle House parking lot, and how Marty and I drove 30 miles in 90 minutes to NOT have breakfast with our friends, AND return home empty-handed. After exchanging hugs and brief family news, they continued south, leaving Marty and me waving from the parking lot.

Furniture sales - Reb & Dot's next career.

Resolutions Update: Community

This year, I created not one, but several New Year's Resolutions geared toward personal growth. Since the year is now half over, I thought it was time for an update on the most complicated one: make a difference in the life of a stranger. It has been fun! Here is a report on the first 4 events in the Community category. "Paying it forward" feels good and is fun! Most of the time...

Retriever Aid.  Earlier this year, I posted about the Retrievers. I wonder how they are doing now?

Gave Blood.  Kathleen's church sponsored a blood drive, and I signed up. Donated blood provides immediate relief to a stranger having a bad day - goal met, and free! But sometimes I get queasy while bleeding into a pint bag, and once I passed out. It's not my favorite thing. However Dad's final surgery required 100 pints of blood, which blows my mind. Adult humans only have about 10 pints in their veins on a given day. In my lifetime I will never donate the amount of blood needed for a single surgery like dad's. I had NO queasiness or other emergencies at Kathleen's church, and enjoyed home made churchlady baked goods at the recovery table. What a good day. And a special thank-you to the universe for the women of the world who bake for charity.

Tony's Tip.  Marty took me out for a wonderful birthday dinner. Our food and service were excellent. I had a question for the server, Tony, about Albariño wine. He knew all about it, I tried it, and it was delicious. Tony advised Marty to order a cup of their rib eye chili - he loved it! After reading the dessert menu, I asked him what's the difference between chantilly, whipped cream and creme fraiche - he explained! Tony cleared our dishes promptly, and de-crumbed our table before coffee. My chantilly-drizzled coconut cake came with a lit candle on it (cute!), but no singing (thank God!). We left an obscene wad of cash on the table for him and skedaddled before he discovered it.

Hydrangeas.  This week, I filled a Ball jar with blooms from my hydrangea bush and left them on the sink in the ladies bathroom at work. After heating my lunch, I passed several residents (I work in Pediatrics) leaving the bathroom remarking how pretty the flowers were. Between our afternoon meetings, Jodi used the john and afterward said to me, "Did you see the flowers in the bathroom? I bet Diane did that. That's something Diane would do."  I replied, "Yes, probably Diane."

Fail: One Sunday, I cleaned out the freezer at the office. Two weeks prior, I put an anonymous note on the freezer door, asking coworkers to label all their food, or toss what they don't want prior to the cleaning. Thankfully, most of it was gone/labeled by the time I cleaned the freezer, revealing melted horrors on the left side - a strange, orange syrupy mess. A box of unclaimed heat-and-eat rice was frozen to it. I scraped and scraped at the mess until a gleaming freezer emerged. I would have needed a hazmat suit in another department, but our freezer was free from biologic samples and body fluids. Several handfuls of freezer burned and unclaimed food went into the trash. The 2 expired Lean Cuisine meals, I took home and ate later of course. So far, this freezer endeavor was the only random act of kindness that I did not enjoy. It was hard for me to remain cheerful and I found myself cursing careless colleagues, ruining the spirit of the task. Shame on me.

There are 6 months remaining in the year to find more opportunities to make a difference in someone else's life. I can't wait to see what inspires me!

The Eeyore Within

I have a (former) friend who is a complainer. I call her Eeyore behind her back. Eeyore, if you recall, is the donkey from the Hundred Acre Wood where Winnie the Pooh and all his friends live. Eeyore is perpetually unhappy, complaining about everything. Being around Eeyores zaps my energy and brings me down. What a drag. Don't they notice they are sucking the air from the room? What my friend has taught me, is that I never want to be an Eeyore.

Of course sometimes I feel like Eeyore, I think we all do. Life gets complicated and makes us weary. When someone asks, “How’s it going?” it's so much easier to say “This sucks," than "I'm full of joy today!" and break into song. Yes, finding inspiration in the daily struggle is often a chore. In my line of work, I meet medically fragile children. It’s a privilege. When I am feeling Eeyoreish, I think of those children and I remember that my worst day is still pretty good compared to their situations. Sometimes I think about Tina.

Tina was 16 when she was diagnosed with bone cancer in her arm. Even after chemotherapy and radiation, she needed an amputation. To make things worse, she would need it amputated at the shoulder joint which would mean no prosthetic would be possible. She would live the rest of her life with 1 arm. But Tina and her family were gracious and grateful. They were SO pleased that the amputation would saveTina's life. Prior to surgery, Tina went to Glamour Shots as bald as could be, and posed in a tiara and sleeveless blouse, showing off both arms as a perfect pair for one last time. She was beautiful. She hung this picture on her hospital door to share with the nurses during her stay when they cut off her arm. She never once complained. She remained optimistic and cheerful right until the end. As a reminder of her spirit, her family buried her in the sparkling tiara a week before her would-be graduation.

As sad a story as that is, I am inspired by Tina. She reminds me that no matter how bad things feel, my problems are always petty and life is wonderful and amazing every minute I get to live it. Even with its heartbreak, its complexities, life is a GIFT! We get to wake up every day and unwrap its mystery. None of our problems today or tomorrow are as big as Tina’s. We have nothing to complain about.

Other times, I think about the Watsons. They are parents to four children, two girls and two boys. The girls are healthy, but both boys have a genetic condition called Spinal Muscular Atrophy. Their condition has progressed so they cannot move at all, except their eyes. They need ventilators to breathe. They are 5 and 2 years old. I recently spoke to their mother, Erica. Erica remarked to me how blessed they are as a family; how fortunate their family is, and how happy they are. I said “Erica, this is remarkable to me – with your sons fighting for every breath, how do you find yourself blessed?” She said, “When our first son was born, they told us it would be a miracle if he lived to be 5. He did. We are the parents of a miracle and we are so happy about that.” Erica inspires me. To find so much good in so much tragedy is uplifting.

When I feel my Inner Eeyore start to surface, I remember the struggles of Tina and the Watsons. The more I squash the urge to complain about life, the easier it gets. I’m not going to lie – I still have some work to do. I still complain. But I recognize that complaining forces me to dwell on the negative, and letting it go sets me free. When I feel good, I notice people around me feel good. Erica’s attitude is contagious! Tina’s spirit is contagious! Every time I think of them or tell their stories, I feel inspired to be a better person. To complain less. To not sweat the small stuff.  My worst day is still a pretty good day.

The Yellow Bus

I was reminded today of Grandpa’s yellow bus. I saw an old school bus parked in a field with long grass growing up around it. I thought about my Grandpa's bus.

After he retired from farming, my mother's dad drove a school bus for Conestoga Valley School District. He would back it into his driveway at the end of the day, and park it in the same place. He used to keep a large wedge of wood under the rear tire, although it didn’t appear to me that the bus would ever roll anywhere.

I loved that yellow bus. It was a funhouse to me! Grandpa kept the sliding doors slightly ajar, but I was small and had a hard time prying the rubber flaps open to hop aboard. The steps were high and black, and the driver seat was big. I would sit tall in that big seat. He kept a lightweight jacket on the seat-back, and sometimes I would wear it while I pretended to drive the bus. I adjusted the giant overhead mirror so I could see all the way to the back. For many years, my feet could not reach the pedals, but it didn’t matter to me. What mattered was that I could flip all the bright red and yellow switches to make the lights work - headlights, tail lights, hazard lights, warning lights – who knew which was which? Over and over the flashing switches would blink on and off, making a ticking sound like the turn signals, and I would pretend to drive that bus. As best I could, I shifted the long, metal gear shift and flashed those lights, stopping to let imaginary kids in and out of the door with the big black flaps. To close the doors, I had to leave my driver seat and use two hands to maneuver the heavy silver handle. No matter what, I figured as long as that big block of wood was under the tire, I would be okay.

I would run fast up and down the aisle just for the sake of it. Sometimes I would tap the tops of each seat as I ran by to see how fast I could go without missing a seat. And sometimes I would jump out the emergency exit at the back because there was a pretend fire.

Grandpa always kept his bus very clean, and it smelled like vinyl and rubber. I would go from seat to seat and flip the cushions up from the back to find combs, barrettes, chewed gum, sticky dirt-covered sourballs, and pencils in the cracks. I never found money like I wanted to. I also never understood why Grandpa could keep a drawer full of candy in his desk in the house, but never any on that yellow bus for me to eat.

Then there was Easter. Never fail, every year an Easter egg was ALWAYS tucked inside the bus's exhaust pipe for us to find on our hunt. Sometimes there was an egg on the bumper or the tire, but never inside the bus.

Me finding Easter eggs behind the yellow bus, Easter, 1974. 

I remember riding with him one day, in the afternoon. I sat in the seat behind him, against the window. I could look up in the overhead mirror and see Grandpa’s face. I was very quiet, and nobody sat with me that day. Two big kids, probably 5th graders, tapped my head and I turned around in my seat. They asked me what my name was, and if I was a boy or girl. I told them I was a girl and my Grandpa was the bus driver. I must have been five, because that was the year I had a boyish Dorothy Hamill haircut. They were nice, and one of them gave me a ruler. I don’t remember if it was the same time or another time when I was riding the bus, that Grandpa told the kids to behave. Since I was in the front seat I didn’t know what was going on in the back, but I know Grandpa was mad. He told those kids to sit down or he was turning that bus around and going back to the school – Is that what you want? To go back to the school and have your parents come for you??  I was scared because I never heard Grandpa with anger in his voice before that, and probably never after that. Things must have resolved, because he didn’t turn the bus around. I sat there, riding in the seat behind him, watching his face in the overhead mirror. One by one the kids got off the bus until it was just me and Grandpa, riding home.

I was 12 when he died, and the yellow bus disappeared from his driveway. It left behind strange shallow oval divots in the pavement where the tires used to be - a quiet tribute in the blacktop to the man and his bus.

My grandparents, me, and the yellow bus in the background. There are only
two bus pictures in my entire album, both from the same day in 1974.

Myrtle's Gift

In the year since dad's death, some unexpected items have turned up around the house as mom sorts through his belongings. Among them are a pair of new-in-the-box river waders, countless pocket knives, and someone's gold crown (as in dental work, not royalty). "What do I DO with all this?" Mom often asks. Most of the pocket knives went as family Christmas presents. The gold crown went for scrap ($21!). The river waders are still up for grabs.

Another strange item was a ring. Mom asked me to look at it. "Have you ever seen this before?" she asked. It was a man's ring with a black Trojan or Roman soldier on it. Not my area of expertise.

"No." I said, "Where did you find it?"

"It was in the safe deposit box. I haven't been in the safe deposit box in decades."

I rolled the ring between my fingers. It felt light, but looked heavy - the discolored band may or may not be gold, and my guess is that the engraved Trojan is hematite. When I flipped it over, I noticed some engraving on the inside. "Oh look!" I exclaimed. "It says MRP to LJU 12-25-45! Aunt Myrtle gave this to Uncle Lloyd for Christmas after the war."

Uncle Lloyd was my dad's uncle. He was the eldest of 5, born on a Lampeter farm in 1910. He joined the army in 1941, and fought with the Allies in Europe. I need to read the yellowed newspaper clippings for the whole story, but Uncle Lloyd was wounded while rescuing other wounded soldiers under German artillery fire in Belgium or France in 1943. He was awarded a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star for his actions. Uncle Lloyd's sister gave birth to a son in 1943, my dad, and named him after her heroic brother.

Uncle Lloyd in Europe during the war, mounted on weaponry. Weiner jokes are timeless.

Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Myrtle in Pennsylvania, date unknown.

Uncle Lloyd and Aunt Myrtle were 36 when they married, and had no children. I don't have any specific memories of Uncle Lloyd, who died in 1981, but I do remember Aunt Myrtle. She was tall, gangly, cheerful and always wearing cat-eye glasses. She outlived her husband by 13 years.

This 60 year old ring - a gift between lovers - has perhaps spent half of its life in a safe deposit box. But this week, I wore it to work. A vintage accessory last worn by a World War II decorated veteran saw the light of day.