All Good Things Carry Forward

Today marks eight-months since my mother passed away and my own life changed.
And wouldn't you know it, today is the day all of the blooms on her orchid dropped off the plant.

This orchid has been in bloom since about two weeks before she passed away! Isn't that phenomenal?
I used to grow orchids and I still have a few, but I've never had one remain in bloom that long.

So, I'm taking that as a sign -- one I haven't quite figured out all the way, yet. But here's what I've got, so far.
How lucky am I to have had this orchid fill my home with its beauty for more than eight-months?
How lucky and blessed am I to have had my mother in my life for nearly 60-years, caring and looking out for me?
How lucky am I to have had the honor and privilege to care for my mother and have her live with us for more than 10-years?
And how lucky am I to have learned so many things from my mother?

Some might say, "All good things must come to an end."
But to that I say, "All good things carry forward."

Mom taught me how to bake, so today, rather than wallow in my sorrow, I'm celebrating the gift passed from my mother to me, and I'm baking blueberry cupcakes.

I'd love for you to make them, too, because the recipe is an example of how my mother taught me that it's okay to just be me - color outside the lines, so to speak.

Blueberry Cupcakes

After going blueberry picking with my son and daughter-in-law, I had blueberries coming out of my ears -- more than five-pounds. So I quickly froze most of them and started looking for recipes. I found one, but decided it was way too much work with way too many ingredients, so I Sydney-ized it and came up with this:

What you'll need:

1/3 cup of heavy cream
vanilla cake mix
1/2-cup vanilla vodka
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup of vegetable oil
3 eggs
1 Vanilla bean
1 cup of blueberries

Set oven for 350-degrees. Prepare cupcake tins with papers.

1. Pour the heavy cream into a medium bowl and mix on medium speed for about a minute, then increase the speed to high until soft peaks form. Set aside.
2. Pour cake mix, vodka, water and vegetable oil into large bowl and mix on medium speed for about a minute.
3. Add eggs, mix well for about two minutes, scraping down bowl.
4. Slice the vanilla bean length-wise and scrape the inside of the bean out into the bowl. and Mix well.
5. Gently fold in the whipped cream.
6. Gently fold in the blueberries.

Using an ice cream scooper, scoop into muffin tins (making sure you have blueberries in each scoop) and bake for about 18-minutes or until golden on top.

Cool completely.

I frosted mine with cream cheese frosting:
8-ounces of cream cheese at room temperature
2 sticks of sweetened unsalted butter at room temperature
Mix well, then slowly add one box of 10-X powdered sugar (one-pound of confectioner's sugar).
Then add one-teaspoon of vanilla flavoring.

I piped the frosting on to  my cupcakes and added a blueberry as a garnish.

These cupcakes are so moist and delicious, but they wouldn't have been created were it not for my mother teaching me to be me and experiment in the kitchen.

All set for the Memorial Day picnic with our friends.

Thanks, Mom!

Recipe for a delicious Memorial Day picnic

Mother absolutely loved being what used to be called a "housewife." I have never seen anyone as proud as she was of her perfectly polished terrazzo floors, her fresh-smelling laundry after taking it all off the clothesline, or her crisply ironed everything we owned.

I never considered Mom to be obsessive about cleaning, but in looking back, maybe she was just a tad over the top at times. Like when she'd clean the house spotless - clean sheets on the beds, every dish washed, dried and put away, no dirty clothes anywhere and the outside completely swept - as we were walking out the door to go on vacation. She never wanted to come home to any kind of mess. I can't really say that I blame her. There's enough to do after returning from a one or two week vacation without having "leftovers."

And isn't it funny how the passing of traits goes; bits and pieces of the good and not-so-good going out like debris flying around in a tornado and haphazardly landing where it may. You never know where it's going to go; who's going to end up with what trait, or how far the apple will fall from the tree. My youngest sister is definitely most like Mom when it comes to house cleaning and organizing; her daughters laughing one time when they told me about an incident that involved a spot on the floor (and the spot winning). My oldest sister is the complete opposite, keeping her home tidy, but not the winner of any Good House-Keeping awards. My brother can be very picky about his things, particularly about his truck (although that could be just the story of a man and his truck, as opposed to genetics). And I guess I'm somewhere in the middle of it all; my house is very clean and organized, but it doesn't have to be that way at all times. In fact, since Mother passed away, there have actually been days when I didn't make the bed, and it didn't cause any nervous facial ticks. (Although, the key words there were "since Mother passed away." I can't say I'd have done that while she was living with us.)

Another thing that made Mom very happy was cooking. Daddy always said he taught her everything she knew. He was such a kidder and prankster that, to this day, I don't really know if that story's true, because Mom never actually denied it. Enjoying the kitchen is something that three of us inherited - my brother, younger sister and I. My older sister, well, not so much. She doesn't cook.

But that brings me to the reason for this post today. We have Memorial Day weekend coming up; a time when families and friends get together for some beaching, fishing and swimming. It marks the start of summer, so I thought I'd share the simplest of recipes with you to take to your cookout. It's a dip that's sure to please even the most discerning of foodies.

My mother made this dip for as long as I can remember, and none of us ever asked her how it was made. We just assumed it was an old family recipe that would be too difficult for us to master. Then one day, my niece very innocently asked her gramma, "How do you make this? Can I have the recipe?"

You could hear a pin drop.

Then Mom started laughing, more like a guffaw and pretty much uncontrollably. When she finally settled down, Mom shared the "family recipe" with all of us.

Here's what you'll need:
One package of cream cheese
One bottle of Catalina salad dressing

Yep, that's it. Take the cream cheese out of the fridge for about an hour to soften, then put it in a bowl. Add about a 1/4-cup of the Catalina dressing and then beat with an electric mixer until it's all blended and softened. If you want additional flavor, add more dressing.
That's it.
Absolutely delicious with chips and crackers, but Mom used to also put it on the curly, tubed inside of celery strips and it was yummy!

This photo was taken about three years ago when I was in the middle of helping Mom make scrapbook cookbooks to give to all of her children for Christmas. We were talking about the day my niece asked how to make the dip, when she once again was filled with laughter.

Here's the clincher to the story. This wasn't a recipe that had been handed down from her mother and her mother's mother, like we had all imagined. Mom got the recipe off the back of the label of the Catalina dressing bottle decades ago! How funny is that?

Every single person in our family loves this dip, and we all associate Mom with it. So, while it wasn't an old family recipe being passed down to a new generation, it was a 'new' family recipe that will go forward with all of us.

This is one of those "traits" we all retained from Mom -- and the deliciousness of that dip is an apple that hasn't even fallen off the tree, and likely never will.

Technology Update

Since my last post http://alwaysonmymindforeverinmyheart.blogspot.com/2013/05/becoming-one-with-technologys.html, I have taken advantage of this cold-bug I have and became one with my cell phone.

Mother would be proud - I guess.

So, I have changed the settings within Facebook, turning off the annoying notifications, but turned them on for text messages.
I enlarged the size of the print for emails, and learned much more about the camera portion of the phone.
I figured out how to turn the screen so I can take a picture of my husband and me and see what I'm doing, and I figured out how to take video -- did it and emailed the video to myself.
I imported a new app - Instagram, but I think learning how to use it will take another sitting.
I emailed about 35 photos that I've taken with my cell phone to my personal email account and then saved them to my hard drive.
I looked at the calendar and decided that I'm still not ready to give up my Day-timer, but at least I looked at it.

That's where I stand right now as I happily learn new things about my phone other than making and receiving calls.

Who knew it could be fun?

I'm home alone today with this cold-bug, so now I'm going to get creative in Studio Sydney.

Still learning - Becoming one with technology's globalization

When it comes to today's technology, my mother would say, "I don't get it."
And I'd respond by saying, "Me, either, Mom. Anymore than I understand how we see television programs."

But even with her not getting it, she'd always follow along during conversations about the intricacies of laptops, cell phones, newspaper production, etc.
Even at 94 years of age, she understood the terms we used most often at the dinner table when talking about the day's events: tablets, smart phones, iPod, pagination, dummy clerk, Saxo, Facebook, skyping, etc. When she'd call me at work on Thursdays, she'd start off with, "Did you get your dummies on time? Are you finished paginating?"

Mother didn't use a computer or a cell phone, but she did love to read, and when she had completed one book, we'd make a trip to Sam's Club to buy another. (Sam's Club carried her favorite author, Debbie Macomber.) When I suggested we buy a Nook, she hesitated. The thought of using something she considered to be "high-tech" scared the bajeebies out of her. But when I showed her how easy it was to use mine, and how she could order the next book without waiting for me to take her to the store, she was ready, willing and able.
I must admit, it was so cute seeing Mother in bed with her Nook - it still puts a smile on my face.

Technology - where would we be today without it?

My cell phone buzzes all day long, notifying me of each and every little thing being said on Facebook, often vibrating right off my desk; something I've hated. Yet, it never has notified me when I receive a text message.
Not knowing enough about my phone to know where to begin to look within its settings to change that notification thing, or even to know there was such a thing as settings - I asked my son for help.
At which time, someone else asked, "How long have you had that phone?"

Hmmm...

At first, I was offended.
Learning how to use a smart phone takes undivided attention, in my opinion. Sitting and doing nothing else. Because of my nearly 60-years of multi-tasking, giving undivided attention to anything for any length of time is actually hard for me to accomplish.
I don't sit still. I'm a mover. I'm a doer.
I don't watch TV (other than a half-hour at 9 p.m. on Wednesday nights to watch Modern Family and the occasional overseas trip with International House Hunters). I sometimes have the television on in the background, while I'm sewing or painting - doing things.
I'm a doer. I don't sit around. I don't nap.
If I read, I'm reading while I'm on the treadmill or while I'm riding my stationary bike. I don't sit and read.
I'm a mover and doer.
I realize not everyone is like that, but I always have been.

Some might think I've avoided the "glory of technology" by moving into the 21st century kicking and screaming all the way. I don't entirely disagree. Technology scares the bajeebies out of me. Unlike the generation behind the Boomers, I was not born with a chip in my brain (maybe a chip on my shoulder, ha ha). I am, however, a quick study; can still learn how to do most anything in record-breaking time. But without user manuals, I'm a bit lost, apprehensive and, frankly, intimidated. Without taking notes, I have nothing to refer back to when I'm struggling with something.

So, when that person asked, "How long have you had that phone?" it took me back to when Mother hesitated to get a Nook, because she, like me, was intimidated by technology. And yet, look how we think using a Nook is so simple today -- probably the easiest of all things considered to be in the "high-tech" family.
Two things popped into my head: my lack of understanding regarding my mother's fears about using a Nook, and how this person lacked the same understanding of my same fears.

It happens all day, every day. "How can that person be that way?"
Judgements.
Rarely do we know what goes into the reasoning behind why a person is the way he/she is; why a person makes certain decisions; why a person avoids certain things, dresses a certain way or eats certain foods; why a person seems to refuse to learn something new.

It is with that realization - the asking of that simple question - that has helped me make the decision to set aside time two nights a week and learn something new about my cell phone.

I learned something new about myself just from someone asking how long I'd had the phone.
Imagine what I'll learn when I actually dive into it and become one with its globalization.

Mother, I don't get it, but I'm now willing to try.

The 90-year long dash. What's in your dash?

Disclaimer: This starts off sad, but doesn't stay that way.

1912-2002
When my father passed away and we were tasked with the duty of writing his obituary, I couldn't believe we had to condense his life into three paragraphs. So much had happened during those 90-years that dash represented.
He shared his small town doctor father and his mother with two brothers and a sister. Growing up in the hills of southern Illinois during those much simpler times afforded him the opportunity to live a fun and carefree childhood, one where he could leave home of a morning with some of his little buddies and not return until sundown, where he could go swimming in the creek or fishing in the river, where he could wander through the woods and find his way back home - all without worrying his mother.
He survived the Great Depression, worked the copper mines of New Mexico, built LSTs in Indiana during World War II, delivered gasoline to small gas stations in southern Illinois, loved his parents with all his might, married my mother and together raised a family of four children and (this is very sad, but not uncommon) lived in the shadows of his siblings, whom, according to all accounts I've heard, his parents favored.
My father loved to fish, loved to go boating, loved to laugh and be the prankster. He loved his life in southern Illinois, but also recognized a decision to leave his cherished homeland was going to be one of the most important decisions he'd ever have to make. And so, in 1957, our family was Florida-bound.

That's really where my memories begin, because I was three-years old when we moved to Florida and my younger sister was a newborn baby.

One of the stories I so badly wanted to include in Daddy's obituary was how he'd let my younger sister and me sit on the back of the sofa while he sat there watching television. Not really unusual, right? But what made those times so special to us is that while we were sitting over his shoulders, my dad would let us put his hair into little curlers. How many fathers would do that? When I think back to those times, I can see how silly he looked, but he didn't care.
Don't get me wrong, our lives were not perfect. We had our problems; Dad had his - but compared to so much of what we see today, it was charmed.

I could go on and on - all kinds of stories I would have liked to have included in his obituary, so it didn't sound as though he was "here today and gone tomorrow;" so many good things, learning opportunities, loving moments, struggles and more are included in that dash.

After he passed away, it was soon time for Mother to move in with us, and that same feeling came over me when she had a yard sale. The things my father treasured so much - his tools, fishing rods and reels, lawn equipment, and his massive collection of baseball caps - all meant very little to those cheap yard sale frequent flyers. I cried my eyes out when his caps, that he spent a lifetime collecting, ended up in a big box going to the local charity thrift store.

Fast forward to today.

You can probably guess where this is going, but I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by the ending.

I've spent the week cleaning out my mother's bedroom (very slowly going through one drawer at a time), and I'm back to thinking about how her 94-years have now been reduced to just a few boxes, packed up and ready to be donated to charity.
There is a bit of a difference this time, though. Thank goodness, Mother made things pretty easy for me. Before she moved in with us, she went through her life's treasures herself, decided who she'd like to give them to, and did it. She boxed up her silver service for my younger sister, gave her dining room furniture to my niece, gave a wooden cabinet made by my brother when he was a kid taking a shop class back to him, and so on. By the time she did move in with us, she had reduced her worldly goods down to what would fit in her new bedroom and living room.

After cleaning out Mother's dresser and closet and boxing up her things for charity, I went through a few of her containers of Christmas decorations and added more to the stack of boxes ready for the trip to the thrift store. I needed to then reorganize my garage, which Mom said I did way too often, so I'd have room for the boxes until I have the chance to put them in the truck and actually take them to the thrift store.

Here's the really cool thing that has happened all day.
Remember my post written on Feb. 5, 2013 entitled "The Red Bird Comes All Winter," and I talked about how the cardinal was my mother's favorite bird? http://alwaysonmymindforeverinmyheart.blogspot.com/2013_02_05_archive.html

All day today there have been two cardinals, a male and a female, following my every move. They were in the bush outside my mother's bedroom window this morning while I packed up her things. I needed to put the boxes in the garage, and when I opened the garage door to let in the beautifully cool breezes, the two cardinals were standing right there on our driveway!
The whole time I was in the garage, they were flitting between the small tree that sits right outside the garage door and the oak tree that's at the end of my driveway. And now I'm sitting on the back porch, and they are flying between the three cypress trees, stopping every once in a while to get some seed out of the feeder.

I feel as though both Mom and Dad have been right here with me all day, and that has made what I feared to be a daunting task so much easier.

                    Here's the male cardinal, but "Mom" wouldn't sit still long enough for me to get
                    her picture, which is pretty typical of Mother. She hated having her photo taken.

So, even though the remainder of my parent's "things" have now been packed into boxes taking up a relatively small space in my garage, 48 of my dad's 90-years and 58 of my mother's 94-years will forever be in my heart and on my mind. Their lives have not been reduced, but rather I'm bubbling over with tales and memories of the past. And someday, I hope to share those stories and more with grandchildren, extending the lives of my parents longer and farther. In the meantime, my son, who loved his grammpa and gramma with all his might, will continue to hear more of those stories.

The science of forensics

Have you heard of Theresa Caputo, the Long Island Medium?
To me, she seems to be an ordinary family woman -- with an extraordinary gift. She uses her powers as a spiritual medium to connect people with loved ones who have passed away. She actually has a television show on the TLC.
Before my mother passed away, I probably wouldn't have given Theresa Caputo or her show a second thought, but as I struggle with accepting my loss, I admit - I am more than interested.

A particularly weird and freaky thing happened to me this week, and thank goodness I have my colleague as a witness, or you probably wouldn't give this a second thought, either.

As the editor of a social magazine, I use many photos in the weekly publication -- many, many. And most of those photos are emailed to me, so I have to save them to a particular folder, which is then picked up by our pre-press department for toning and sizing for newsprint. (I know, a lot of technical jargon.) It's routine, so I rarely even look up at the screen while I'm doing it. I just basically click and save, click and save, click and save.
While saving a photo to the much-used folder this past Monday, I clicked on the Save button and just happened to look up at the screen. There on that screen were four pictures of my mother and me! I had never seen them, had no idea where they came from, when they were taken or why they suddenly popped up on my screen.
It freaked me out, and luckily my colleague was there to see it all.
Then, right before my eyes, the folder "disappeared" and the photo I was trying to save was saved.
For some strange reason, I caught a glimpse of the name of the folder the pictures of my mother and me were in -- 101MSCDF. But I didn't have time to react; I didn't have the time at that moment to go back and look for those pictures. It weighed heavy on my mind all that night, so yesterday I spent some time trying to find the folder and those photos.
Major fail.
Disappointed, I decided to email our I.T. Department and ask them to look for the pictures when they had a moment to spare, explaining the photos were of my mother who had passed away seven months ago, and I gave them what I remembered to be the name of the folder the photos were in.
This morning, someone from our I.T. Department did it. They found the photos! And I was finally able to take a close look at them and recall when and where they were taken.

I can see the photo was taken at a restaurant in the town to our south. I remember the night, and I think we were celebrating either my birthday or Mother's, but I can't remember for sure. I can tell from the bracelet I'm wearing the photo was taken about two years ago, because it's a bracelet I made at one of my monthly Craft Nights with my Crafting Sistas'. And my mother, who absolutely hated alcohol and never understood how anyone could acquire a taste for it, is sharing my martini - sipping it through a straw. (I'm sure it's the only sip she took - for the sake of the photo, perhaps.)

This weird and freaky thing caused me to pause, because, according to the person from our I.T. Department, the photos were on a drive that is located on a server that I do not have access to. (More technical jargon.) I do know the pictures were taken by my husband using my old Sony camera, and you can tell that by the name of the folder the photos were in. I upload photos from my camera nearly every day of the week, because it's my job to take pictures at all the events I attend. It's not unusual to see my photos stored on my work computer.

But how did these pictures get into that server that I don't have access to? We may never know.

Amidst all of this, my husband decided to go on a motorcycle trip with some of his buddies, knowing I hate being alone in this house now that Mother is gone. But, I'm taking the appearance of the pictures of Mom and me as a sign.

As much as I'd like to sit with Theresa Caputo, the Long Island Medium, and have my mother speak to me and tell me she's okay, I don't think I need Theresa today to know that my mother was speaking through these pictures.
And, just like it's a person's choice to believe in the "powers" of a medium, I choose to believe the sudden appearance of these photos was my mother's way of reminding me of all the fun we had together, reminding me to embrace those good memories and relish in the thought that perhaps I'm leaving the same legacy for my son.

I love you, Mom!