Fun lessons from Mom

Growing up, Mother often used a phrase that still resonates today, "A wasteful will is a woeful want."
Of course, like so many other Mommyisms, it took me a few years to figure out she was saying that if you deliberately waste things, eventually, you will desperately want.
Like everyone who grew up in the 1950s and 60s, at nearly every meal, I heard, "Sydney, clean your plate. There are starving children in Africa."
I'd have gladly sent those children my peas, salmon cakes or my fried bologna. I'll bet they would have loved my cold, soggy, fried egg sandwich, with ketchup, Mom would send me off to school with every Wednesday.
Of course, that's the part that never made sense to any of us, right? Those poor children weren't going to get any of our food, whether we ate it or not.
But it is something I thought about today when my husband and I visited our little "farm," a part of the Community Garden, and found so many tomatoes that had gone to waste. I felt bad about it.

So that brings me to a few more Mommyisms that popped into my head today.

Here's one: "Don't throw the baby out with the bath water."
In today's world it's a reminder not to discard something valuable in your eagerness to get rid of some useless thing that's associated with it. I heard a politician use the phrase today while I was watching the news, and it reminded me of when my little sister and I were very young.
Mother would take a bath, and when she was done and dressed, she'd put the two of us in the bath together, using the same water she had just bathed in. She'd warm it up a little before we got in, but it wasn't something I ever gave any thought to.
As I got a little older and my sister and I no longer bathed together, Mother would remind me to save the water for my little sister. 
Puts a new meaning to that little 'proverb,' doesn't it?

And speaking of baths, she'd also say, "Wash as far as possible and then wash possible." Yikes, I don't even want to think about what that meant. But I can tell you this - we for sure didn't want her to have come in and wash us herself. She was downright brutal. She'd could literally scrub a mole off my face. I swear, she used sandpaper. Whew!
And one more thing about bathing; is there anything more disturbing than having your mother spit-shine you in front of your friends? She'd lick her thumb and then press it back and forth across the dirty spot on my forehead. Yuck!

In the 59-years I knew my mother, I never heard her say one single curse word. I think I've mentioned this, but it's worth telling, again. There's a wine my husband and I buy called Fat Bastard, and we'd often try like the dickens to get my mother to read the name on the label, but all she would do is smile. 
I, on the other hand, have been known to have the mouth of a sailor (no disrespect intended). Letting my anger about something get the best of me, I once cursed in front of Mom (and I do mean only once). Her response was - and this is priceless - "Something just came out of your mouth that I wouldn't hold in my hand."
Isn't that great?

Parting thoughts... 
My husband always leaves a restaurant with a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. It drives me crazy, and I always try to pull it -- sometimes to the point that he gets angry with me. I'm pretty sure it's my mom's fault that I feel this way. She used to say, "Never pick your nose or your teeth in public. Nobody wants to see what comes out of either one."

Of course, she also said, "Never try to be someone you're not. Be genuine and be yourself." So, I guess if a toothpick sticking out of the side of his mouth is the worse thing about my husband being himself, then I can accept that and be grateful for what I have. He was always so good to my mother, deeply misses her and remembers her with great respect and love.

I love you, Mom, and miss you like the dickens.

 

The Mizpah Prayer and Devil's Food Cake - Fate Brought Them Together

While my cousin and her husband were here last month for their surprise visit from Colorado, she gave me the gift of an old recipe book, published in 1925 by one of the Circles of the Methodist Episcopal Church in St. Joseph, Illinois. The book had belonged to my aunt (my mother's sister) who gave it to my cousin's mother as a wedding gift (when she married my mother's brother). I'm thrilled to now have it in my little collection.

 

But what immediately caught my eye was the name of the Circle - The Mizpah Circle Ladies.

Was it fate?
In my mind, it was just that - an early connection to what would be my later,
very fortunate, fate - marrying my Jewish husband.
Mizpah is Hebrew for "watchtower," and is often related to Genesis 31:49.

"The Lord watch between me and thee

while we are absent, one from another."

I was taught by a Jewish friend, probably sometime in junior high school, that the verse was often referred to as the Mizpah Prayer.

I was drawn into the cookbook, because of it's connection to my own past; my mother having lived in Homer, Illinois right outside St. Joseph, and her oldest sister being the original owner of the book. But, in a way, that cookbook is also a part of my present.

So, lets' delve inside this no-nonsense, picture-less recipe book, and see what we can bake today. Each of the many recipes is nothing more than a paragraph. No list of ingredients, just the directions, and there are quite a few of them for Devil's Food Cake - so I picked one that was marked on the page. I'm thinking there must be a reason for it being marked. Perhaps after it's baked and frosted, we'll learn this is the best cake recipe ever. It comes to us compliments of one Mrs. Cynthia Fiock from St. Joseph, Illinois.

Devil's Food Cake - Cream one cup sugar and 1/2 cup butter together, then add two well-beaten eggs. 1/4 cup of cocoa in 1/2 cup boiling water; 1/2 teaspoon soda with 1/2 cup sour cream; 1 teaspoon Royal baking powder; 1 1/2 cups flour. Flavor with vanilla.

That's it -- that's all it says.
I'm guessing it goes into a 350-degree oven and I'm guessing it will either make two rounds or one 11X9-inch baking dish.
Let's give it a whirl and see.

I gathered the ingredients, but don't you do what I almost did and forget the vanilla flavoring.

Here's the creamed sugar/butter, the cocoa mixture and the beaten eggs.

I added the eggs and beat the mixture until it was fluffy. Then I added the cocoa mixture and beat well; added the baking soda, sour cream, baking powder, flour and about a teaspoon of vanilla and beat it on medium for about a minute.

I decided to use a prepared 11X9 baking dish.

It went into the oven at 350-degrees and took 25-minutes to bake.

 

 

I made half of a recipe for a classic chocolate frosting to top it:
1/2 cup softened butter, a couple tablespoons of cocoa and about a 1/2 box of 10X powdered sugar, with about 1/8th cup of milk and a teaspoon of vanilla.

It's delicious, moist, chocolaty and it's a recipe from a 1925 cookbook

that took only minutes to prepare - very easy.

I know, it's easier to pick up a box of cake mix, even easier to buy one already baked, but try this. I'm sure you'll like it.

Many of you have probably heard of a Mizpah coin. It's a gold heart inscribed with the Mizpah Prayer, but halved, so that each of the two persons can carry a piece of it. It's what I gave my husband as a wedding gift and we each carried our halves on our key-rings for many years. Today, neither of us knows what happened to them, sad, I know, but still it was a part of our lives.
And now, this little cookbook created by the Mizpah Circle Ladies of the Methodist Episcopal Church of St. Joseph, Illinois is also a part of my life - thanks to my cousin.

Here's a funny advertisement from the cookbook.

I love and miss you, Mom

You Can Pick Your Friends...

We've all heard the old adage, "You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family."

Lucky for me, the person who was my best friend for most of my adult life (of course, other than my husband), was also family...my mother.

Don't get me wrong, she was the last person on earth that I'd have considered to be a friend when I was in high school and going through my own "growing pains." In fact, I thought she and my dad were the enemy, the devil reincarnated, the worst thing to happen since I lost first chair in the clarinet section. I heard the word, "NO" come out of their mouths more often than not, and they absolutely hated my (then) boyfriend - which, of course drove me right into his arms.

Live and learn. As so often happens, my parents turned out to be right about that guy; he was a definite schmo.

It wasn't until after my mother passed away that I saw and bought this adorable ornament, which sums up my feelings in one short quote:

"The truth is, even if she weren't my mom, I would go out of my way to be friends with her."

Today, I have a new-to-me family member about whom I feel the same way. When my cousin was here visiting a few weeks ago - and even though we did not know each other - we both were immediately comfortable enough to be completely real and open - right from the start.
Not too long after my mother passed away, my cousin and I were united through Facebook, and feeling my sadness, she sent me a very special, yet simple gift. She called it a Blessing Ring. (You can find lots of samples on Pinterest.)
It's basically a keepsake in the making; a unique and practical way to save cards, notes and special mementos you receive from family and friends. As you build your Blessing Ring, you keep it hanging where you can see it everyday.

The one my cousin sent me had a few of her handmade cards on the ring and this message:
"Our gift to you is a Blessing Ring. Each time someone encourages you in word or action, put it on our ring. It may be a birthday card or a note of encouragement from a close friend. Hang your Blessing Ring on your door knob so that each time you walk into your room, you're reminded that you, too, are a blessing to your family, your friends and especially to God!"

Since then, among the things I've added have been a very special card my daughter-in-law sent me when I lost Mother, a couple of favorite photographs, and some hilarious cards from my husband. I've added strands of ribbon between the cards to bling it out.

This is a birthday card my husband gave me, and it's so very much me. It's also what my mother always said to me and to others about me.

This is a favorite card our son gave us for our 40th wedding anniversary. He has the best sense of humor.

And this is a photo of two of my cousin's handmade cards and one of my ornament/mantras I have hanging in my Blessing Ring.

This is such an easy project, and can be a very meaningful gift to your bestie, a daughter going off to college, a friend feeling sadness, etc. I think I'm going to work on about a dozen of them for my Craftin' Sistas.
I'm so glad my cousin has come into my life. I not only choose her to be my friend, I also choose her to be in my family.

I love you, Mom

Discovering Family - Good, Better, Best

You might remember that I wrote on March 14 about the Girl Scout Council of SE Florida presenting an award created in my mother's name to a deserving local Girl Scout leader.  (http://alwaysonmymindforeverinmyheart.blogspot.com/2014/03/building-girls-of-courage.html)
The award was presented at a luncheon I co-chaired on May 10. Four other very deserving women received recognition for their accomplishments in the fields of science, technology, engineering and mathematics - careers that have traditionally been filled with men, but these women have broken through that glass ceiling.

What was already a GOOD day was made BETTER by the recognition of the exceptional Girl Scout leader in memory of Mom, my leader. The recipient has found perfect balance in caring for both her family and the girls entrusted to her care.

What made the BETTER day BEST, was being totally surprised when my brother from Texas, my cousins from Colorado and my sister from Titusville, Fla. traveled all that distance to be here, because they, along with my husband, my son and his wife, wanted to be a part of the celebration of my mother's memory and her role as a Girl Scout leader.

To make a long story short, my cousin and I do not know each other, but I recognized her immediately - thanks to our Facebook friendship we began soon after Mother passed away.

After the luncheon, we all went back to our house and began a six-day marathon of remembering Mom and Daddy, aunts and uncles, grandparents, old neighborhoods and more. With other cousins (some I also do not know) posting old photographs to Facebook, my cousin, her husband, my brother and me would sometimes sit at the kitchen table with our electronic devices and, together, look at and discuss those postings, which prompted more memories coming forward. It was fabulous!

How funny is this? Truly, we're all looking at photos being posted on Facebook. You can't beat technology!

One afternoon we sat with a box full of old photos spread out over the entire dining room tabletop and looked at each and everyone of them. My dad had made the task slightly easier; he had written on the backs of some of them. But there were still many that I've looked at time and time, again, and had no idea who was in the picture. Thanks to my cousin, photos of my grandparents and great grandparents were discovered and identified - even photos of my grandfather's family were in the box (he passed away when my mother was a young child).

For me, though, the pièce de résistance was when I found a photo of me sitting next to my grandmother (Mom's mother) with her arm around me and a baby in her lap. Although we don't know who that baby is, it's the only photo there is of me with Gramma! She passed away on my third birthday as we were having a 'pretend' tea party; my only memory of her.
The photo was an amazing discovery.

A few months ago, I mentioned to someone that I wasn't finding joy in much of anything these days. Not since Sept. 26, 2012 have I enjoyed anything like I enjoyed this past week. Connecting and reconnecting with "lost" and known family, listening to stories and learning more about my own past is - to me - priceless.

 I think it was the therapy I didn't know I needed.

My brother is planning a Cousin Union in Texas next year, and I can't wait. We can't actually call it a reunion, since many of us have never met.
I already know of a few cousins who are making plans to be there, and I can't wait.
Did I mention - I can't wait?
Some of the newly identified pictures from that old box will be a welcome sight to many.
I look forward to another great week of discovering family.

Mom, how much fun did you have this past week? WOW!

The generous hearts of grandparents

On my way to work every morning, I see - what to me - is a very beautiful sight.
It's not the sun rising in the east or the moon disappearing in the west. It's not the tall palm trees against the colorful Florida morning sky.
It's something completely different...

Coming from opposite directions and ending up at the same bus stop are a boy walking hand-in-hand with whom I assume is his grandfather, and a girl about the same age, walking hand-in-hand with whom I assume is her grandmother. The boy and girl look to be about 10- or 11-years old.
I've driven past them at different times each morning for the past five-months, witnessing this loving bond between grandparent and grandchild. Neither the boy nor the girl seems to mind that their grandparents stay with them until the bus comes.
It's beautiful, and every morning I pray those two relationships will never change.

It reminds me of the relationship shared by my son and his grandparents.
From the first day he could talk, he spoke to my parents on the phone nearly everyday.

 

 

And when he started school, I was lucky enough to be living only blocks away from my parents, so when I went back to work full-time, the school bus dropped him off at Grampa and Gramma's house every afternoon, where he stayed until I picked him up on my way home from work. It was ideal.

He loved Grampa and Gramma very much, and was never ever embarrassed that he went to their house after school, as opposed to many of his friends who went to empty homes. This continued until we bought our son his first car at the age of 16.

 

My parents never missed a soccer game, a play, a musical performance, a band half-time show, or anything else in which my son was involved. Never.

 

When my son entered college, he still called his grandparents at least twice a week, and when he worked overseas in Japan, he phoned Gramma weekly. (By then my father had passed away and Mother was living with us.) Even after he married the love of his life, he phoned Gramma everyday on his way home from work. Up until the day before she passed away, he spoke to her every single day.

 

I loved that relationship he shared with Gramma -- loved it.

I never had that.

 My father's parents passed away before I was born, my mother's father passed away before I was born and my mother's mother passed away on my third birthday. My younger sister and I never experienced the special love and spoiling of grandparents.

It was a special bond between my son and my parents, especially my mother.
The same type of bond I see in the boy and girl and their grandparents each morning on my way to work.
 It's a beautiful thing.

 

If I'm ever blessed to have grandchildren, I pray for that same beautiful relationship of unconditional love.

 

 

Miss you and love you, Mom and Daddy!

From rags to riches

Those of you who read my blog must think sometimes, "Wow, she jumps around!"
It's true.

I use this space to reminisce about my parents and my childhood, but I also use it to share crafting ideas and recipes. So, I can see how you'd be confused.

Tonight, let's make something!

The last time I visited my younger sister I noticed an adorable wreath hanging from her front door. She made it by tying strips of fabric to a double-wire wreath form. Hers was red; so cute!
I told her I wanted her to make me one, and she said she would and had me pick out some fabric she had in her stash.

But I haven't been able to get that wreath out of my head. So, of course, I couldn't wait and began making one of my own.

I used a double-wire wreath form that I already had, but it's huge; 18-inches in diameter. You'd probably want to use a smaller one. Luckily I had a bunch of fabric that I was able to use, also, so I didn't actually have to make the mega-mile round trip to Michael's, Joann's, Hobby Lobby or  AC Moore for any supplies. For a change, I had everything I needed. (It's a springtime miracle.)

Although the whole project, from start to finish, took about three-hours - including cutting or tearing the fabric strips - I actually worked on mine for four nights, while watching television with my husband and my Baby Girl Ginger.

My 18-inch diameter wire form took a total of five-yards of 42-inch wide fabric, cut into 2.5-inch wide strips, and then cut into 8-inch long strips. Naturally, the smaller the wreath form, the less fabric it will take. I used eight different fabrics, because it's what I had laying around, but you could use all one color - like my sister did. (And, I think her strips of fabric were not as wide as mine.)

Let's get started:

This is what the double-wire wreath form looks like. They sell for about $6. It's the kind of wreath form that is used with the big wide mesh ribbon you see so much of today. As you can see, mine is left over from Christmas, but it didn't matter, because the whole thing gets covered up in knots.
Then begin tying your strips of fabric onto the wreath form. Just use one knot, don't double it (it will be too thick).

Keep tying all the way around one ring (I started with the inside ring) and when you're finished with that one, tie strips of fabric all the way around the other ring.

When you've covered the whole double-ring wreath form, stick a fork in it, because you're done! You've turned fabric scraps into a beautiful wreath that could enhance any décor.
Cute, huh?

Experiment. Use a smaller wreath form, fabric strips that aren't as wide or as long - whatever. It's your project.
Enjoy!


Love and miss you, Mom and Dad

Building girls of courage

"A mother is a person who, seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie."

I love that quote, because it completely embodies the very being of my mother--- selflessness.

I'm chairing an upcoming fundraiser for Girl Scouts, and the Girl Scout Council is going to present an award to one of our local Girl Scout leaders that will enable her to purchase supplies at no cost. They have named the award after my own Girl Scout leader -- my mother; the Julia Jackson Leader Scholarship.

In order for it to be awarded, they have asked me to come up with a sort of application for potential recipients to complete and to list the characteristics of Mother that would also embody the true meaning of Girl Scouting.

If you visit the website https://www.girlscouts.org/, you'll see the mission: "Girl Scouting builds girls of courage, confidence, and character, who make the world a better place."

Without a doubt, my mother instilled in me a sense of courage:

• Right from the "get-go," my name gave me courage (although, it's not my mom that named me; it was my father's choice). Back in the day, with a name like Sydney you needed courage to go to school on the first day. That's back when you'd learn what classroom you were in only as you arrived on that first day. There were lists of names posted to the classroom doors -- lists of boys and lists of girls. I was ALWAYS on the boys' list. Terribly embarrassing, but I survived.
• When I was just five, I danced at my recital and fell on my face, only to get back up and continue dancing.
• I auditioned for every school or church play, even though I rarely got the part I had hoped for.
• I wore socks to school until seventh-grade. (trust me, that took courage) Back in the dark ages, girls wore socks only until sixth-grade, but my mother made me wear them until seventh. AND, she wouldn't let me shave my legs until eighth-grade. Ugh!

Those things might seem minor today, but not so much when you're a young, impressionable girl wishing to be popular.

• In all seriousness, when it came time for me to make a life-altering decision while I was in high-school, I had learned from my parents just how essential an ingredient like courage is. As I once read, "Courage is what propels us to reach new milestones, even though the effort might be painful."  The courage to do what I did remains the most painful decision I've ever made, but it was the right thing.
• Although I still struggle to make it through my days without the physical presence of my mother, it is her example of true courage after my father passed away that leads me on my path.

My mother believed in me, which helped give me the confidence to get up every morning and face the day with courage. I don't remember ever hearing her say, "You can't do that," unless, of course, I was doing something I shouldn't have been doing. Mother was, and still is, my number one cheerleader.

My mother's character never wavered; always true to her family and true to herself. She was the single most honest, loving, caring, giving and God loving woman I have ever known -- and likely ever will know (and I wish she could come home).

And did she ever make this world a better place!
Her children are all productive members of society, good parents, some are good grand-parents, loving and willing to help others when possible.

Although selflessness is not listed in the Girl Scout mission, those are the characteristics I will look for in the recipient of the inaugural Julia Jackson Leader Scholarship, and I know Mother will be beaming down on the recipient as that woman leads her girls to new heights.

What do comfort foods and small towns have in common?

I have a confession:
The town in which I live, is not the town I call home.
I live in Port St. Lucie, and have lived here for more than 10-years. But I used to live just four short miles away from here, in Fort Pierce, for 24-years. When asked, I still say I'm from Fort Pierce.

When my parents moved to Florida from Southern Illinois, they landed in Fort Pierce. And even though they lived there for only three-years, it's the neighbors they had in Fort Pierce that became their life-long and devoted friends. And it's where they returned when they retired.

I have another confession:
When it's a holiday or birthday or I have guests, I love to do something special; most often it's food related.

So did my mother.

Mom had special recipes for certain holidays and birthdays; German chocolate cake for Christmas, a steak for my Jewish husband while the rest of us ate ham for Easter,  stinky black-eyed peas for New Year's day, "burnt" green beans for my birthday (they weren't actually burnt, but it's what we called them), her fabulous, sweet meatloaf for my dad's birthday and oatmeal cake for my brother's birthday.

It was sometime in the early 1970s that Mother and Daddy drove up to Fort Pierce from Miami for a weekend with their best friends. While visiting, they went to a small restaurant in downtown - a place we all lovingly called the "greasy spoon" - that served Peanut Butter Pie only on a certain day of the week. That pie quickly became Mom's favorite recipe to fix for special occasions....which brings me to the topic of this post, Mother's comforting Peanut Butter Pie.

She convinced one of the waitresses to give her the recipe, but went home and tweaked it a little by changing the topping. It became the "go-to" dessert for two very special birthdays when my son and my niece both referred to it as their "favorite."
It popped into my head this past week, and I suddenly needed to make it for some new friends who were coming over for a visit.

This is Mom's recipe card for Peanut Butter Pie.
ha ha
Like so many of her cards, much of the information is missing. She kept so much in her head. Luckily, unlike the Orange Kiss Me Cake, I had watched her make it many times. Otherwise, I'm sure I wouldn't have known what to do. In fact, without even looking at it, I sent it to my niece a few months ago, because she wanted to make it. I hadn't even noticed, until she called, that the entire recipe wasn't even on the card.
The recipe Mom copied onto a napkin ( I wish I had it.) listed meringue as the topping, which is very good, but Mother changed her topping to a generous portion of Cool Whip (much easier).

Like Mom, I've tweaked it just a little to include more peanut butter. I've had many different samplings of Peanut Butter Pie, but I must say that this recipe is by far my favorite.

Peanut Butter Pie

one baked pie shell
one 1 oz. box of instant vanilla pudding
2-cups of cold milk
1-cup powdered sugar
2/3-cup of peanut butter (crunchy or creamy)
8 oz. container of Cool Whip

Make the instant vanilla pudding according to directions on box and set aside.
Combine the powdered sugar and peanut butter until crumbly.
Set aside about a tablespoon of the crumbly peanut butter mixture and pour the remainder into the baked pie shell.
Pat down lightly, then pour all of the pudding on top of the crumbly peanut butter mixture.
Top the pudding with a generous amount of Cool Whip.
Sprinkle with the crumbly peanut butter mixture that had been set aside.
I also cut some Mini-Reeses Cups into small pieces and sprinkled them on the pie.

You can do the same -- tweak it and make it yours.
As my mother always told me, "Be Who You Are."

The feeling that comes from some very common foods - like this peanut butter pie, or meatloaf, or mac 'n cheese - is much like the feeling that comes from living in a small town. Both surround me with flavors of love and, well, comfort.

I love and miss you, Mom.

Life can be overwhelming - embracing my limits

Most of you who know me also know that realizing my limits isn't in my genetic makeup. I've never let anything get in the way of getting things done. I raised a son, while working full-time, volunteering for several organizations, making dinner every night for family meal-time, loving my husband, attending college, making many of my clothes, keeping up the yard and the house, etc. I didn't do anything that others didn't or don't do; I wasn't "Super Woman."

And I never seemed to be overwhelmed by any of it.

But today, I sure do seem to be a champion at making my life much more complicated than it has to be. Maybe most people do the same thing this time of year, but I seem to be that award recipient year-round.

What worked for me when I was 30-, 40- or even 50-years old, doesn't seem to work for me today; yet I can't seem to get that into my thick skull (or maybe I'm in deep denial).

I don't decorate the outside of my house in a very big way for Christmas, but I do have a tree for every room inside...a fully decorated, themed tree for each room, including the bathroom, as well as pine garland, lights and more. I used to be able to knock it out in a day and a half all by myself -- not any more.

I have home decorations for every holiday on the calendar -- Valentine's Day, Easter, St. Patrick's Day, Fourth of July - but when it comes to Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas, that's a different situation. I have so many decorations that I have to remove things from inside the house and store them in boxes in the garage to replace with holiday decorations.
I have huge collections of scary pumpkin-head dolls, autumn leaf plates, pumpkins enough to fill a patch, snowmen, enough cute hand-made reindeer that Santa would have a Plan B, C and D on Christmas Eve, hundreds of Santas, every kind and color of ornament, just in case I want an all white tree, or all red, or all Santa heads, or all ...
You get the picture.
And bags - holy goodness - what is my obsession with bags?

This is my collection of bags -- what the heck??

This is the year I've realized I'm led around by my nose by my decorations - just crazy.

Last year it was the emptiness left in my heart when my mother passed away that kept me from being able to truly embrace the holidays.
This year, it's still a matter of the heart -- atrial fibrillation -- that keeps me from having the energy to decorate, etc.
But it's much more than that. Don't get me wrong; I haven't become Scrooge. I love the holidays. However, nothing is the same as it used to be - nothing. So why do I have to make myself crazy stressing over whether or not I can decorate my home in order to enjoy the holidays? What's wrong with that picture? Everything!

Because I can't lift or climb right now, my fabulous husband has taken care of the successful partial decorating job this year. In so doing, I have realized my limits; not only today's limits, but the limits that will come in the future. Besides, would I rather be home decorating my house with 10 Christmas trees, or would I rather be out to dinner with my husband?

Everyone will be stunned, but next year, if it can't be done to the old standard - a day and a half - then it won't get done. Period.
A new leaf has been turned.

Some of my Santas strategically placed on top of our entertainment center by my wonderful husband.

I'm going to spend the first three months of 2014 going through my many boxes of holiday decorations. I'm going to purge and purge. I don't have to hold on to the item in order to hold on to the memory (as long as that dreaded disease doesn't rob me).

I love you, Mom and miss you bunches.

This little guy will make it to July

In Shel Silverstein's "Where the Sidewalk Ends," there is a story about a snowman who is determined to make it to July. Sweet story.

So, tonight I have a fun and easy Christmas craft to share with you -- inspired by that story and another blog I follow.
It's one of the first crafts I "pinned" to my "Christmas Inspirations" board on Pinterest, but I changed it up a little.

Speaking of Pinterest...when I first started using Pinterest, my mother was awed by it. Most of what I pinned at the time were crafting projects, DIY projects and recipes. I don't remember how many pins I had at the time, but my mother wanted to calculate approximately how long it would take me to complete every project I had pinned - allowing five-hours for each project.
She laughed so hard when she announced it would take me 18-years, 3-months and 16 days to complete what I had on my "to-do" list.


Well, here's what you'll need to make this adorable snowman:

White yarn, 20-gauge black wire, wire clippers, black buttons, sticky glue or hot glue gun, 2-inch wide ribbon of your choice and scissors.

I rolled up the yarn into three balls. One is about 5-inches in diameter, the next is about 4-inches in diameter and the third one is about 3-inches in diameter. I used a little blob of sticky glue to hold the end of the yarn in place.

Then I used the hot glue gun to glue all three of the balls together and to glue the buttons in place. This little snowman will not stand up on his own. You'll have to lean him against something.

Cut two pieces of the black wire into 18-inch lengths. Twist the wire forming the hand and arms of the snowman.

Then using the glue gun, put some glue on the end of the arm and stab it into the middle ball of yarn, about where the snowman's arms would be.

The snowman's hat is a tad more difficult. Start wrapping the black wire around something that is about 3 1/2-inches in diameter to form the brim. Wrap it about four or five times, then switch to something that is about 2-inches in diameter. Wrap it about eight times, then cut the wire and keep working with it until the hat holds its shape.

Tie a piece of ribbon around the snowman's neck for his scarf and you can call this project "done."
How cute is he?

*  Note -- The project I pinned to my Pinterest board was made using Styrofoam disks wrapped in the yarn, but I just thought the balls of yarn would be cuter.


Love you, Mom.
Thanksgiving will never be the same without you.

After Apple Picking

I have many, many memories of my mother, but not as many of my father. Perhaps it's because he's been gone longer. And, perhaps, because he was the one out of the house working when I was very young, and my mother was the one home with us, playing with us, teaching us.

One very vivid memory I have of Daddy is his constant craving for sweets (an unfortunate trait I inherited. You know how some people have a sweet tooth? Well, Dad and I have sweet teeth. ha ha) Specifically, my father loved his apple pie.

We had family dinner every single night, and my father always cleaned his plate then asked, "Julia, do we have apple pie tonight?"

More times than not, my mother had apple pie waiting for my dad. How cool is that?

Last year my friends who have property in Elijah, Georgia brought back a huge bag of apples for me and I made apple butter for any and all. In fact, I still have one last jar in my refrigerator. They did the same this year, delivering the apples to me about two weeks ago. This morning I thought I'd better do something with them before they spoil. I had wanted to be able to make all kinds of apple desserts for the coming holidays, but needed to get the apples cooked and preserved.

So, here's my recipe for preserving the apples, making freezable apple pie filling:

18-cups of thinly sliced apples
3-tblsp. lemon juice
4 1/2-cups white sugar
1-cup cornstarch
2-tsp. ground cinnamon
1-tsp. salt
1/4-tsp. ground nutmeg
10-cups water

I slice and peel my apples using my Pampered Chef Apple Corer/Peeler/Slicer. I love it!!
After the apples are sliced, put them in a very large bowl and toss the slices with the lemon juice - then set aside.

Fill a Dutch oven or great big pot with 10-cups of water over medium heat.( Remember, the pot has to be big enough to also fill with the 18-cups of apple slices.)

Combine the sugar, cornstarch, cinnamon, salt and nutmeg. Add the mixture to the water, stir well and bring it to a boil. Boil for two-minutes, stirring constantly - using a long handled spoon. (The cornstarch is going to thicken the mixture as it heats, so keep stirring.)

After the mixture has boiled for two-minutes, add the apples and return to a boil. Reduce the heat, cover and simmer until the apples are tender - about 6-8 minutes.
Cool for 30-minutes.

Ladle the apple-pie filling into freezer-friendly containers. Cool at room temperature no longer than  1 1/2-hours.  I put mine in the cheap containers you can get at any grocery store, but then I bag the container in a zipper plastic freezer bag to double seal it.
Seal and freeze.
This can be stored for up to 12-months.

I have enough apple pie filling to make at least five desserts.

My dad had a real gusto for eating his home-cooked meals, lovingly prepared every night by Mom. I love my memories of his appreciation for her cooking.

Thanksgiving 1973, Daddy enjoying the last bite of his slice of apple pie.

For you, Daddy!

Life is a Mosaic

Get over the idea that only children should spend their time in study.  Be a student so long as you still have something to learn, and this will mean all your life.  ~Henry L. Doherty

Have you ever had the experience of learning something new that sort of takes over your brain - your thinking patterns or how you actually see things?

For example:
My mother once told me that when she was learning how to sew, she actually sewed her dreams. She sewed peoples faces as she stood talking to them. She sewed the landscape of southern Illinois. In other words, she saw everything as pieces of fabric stitched together.
Can you imagine? You're looking someone square in the eye and all you can see are the stitches that are holding their baby blues in place?
We laughed so hard, but I actually understood what she was saying.

She shared that story with me when I was in high school and taking the mandatory typing class (which I hated and skipped most of the time, because - and I quote - "I am never going to be any one's secretary. I'm going to be an actress. I will never need this skill."). This was, of course, long before computers, cell phones and tablets. I had mentioned to Mom that learning how to type was driving me crazy, not only because I inherently hated it and what it stood for in my mind, but also because I typed everything out in my head; every single thing I said and was said to me, every sentence uttered on television and every song on the radio - it all had to be typed out in my mind before I could actually process it. It drove me crazy.

The same thing happened to me when I was learning how to decorate cakes. I had taken a Wilton cake decorating class back in the mid-1970s - before covering a cake in fondant was the norm. We used actual colored frosting, and everything I looked at was smeared in buttercream. I'm not kidding. From people's faces to the beautiful Fort Lauderdale Beach, it all presented a cake decorating opportunity. It was a much sweeter picture than looking at Frankenstein's head, don't you think? Still it was very distracting when I'd try to have a conversation with someone.

Believe it or not, I'm experiencing it all over, again. I've been working on a mosaic to donate to a local homeless center for an auction folks there are planning. They asked nine local and well-known artists  - and me - to re-purpose some items picked out from the center's thrift store. I laughed when they asked me to "join the fun," because I'm far from being an artist. But I love a challenge and, frankly, I prefer to be as busy as possible. So, I said, "Sure!"

I decided on the two-drawer night stand to update, and possibly make a buffet

platter using the chandelier. We'll see.

I picked out a two-drawer night stand, thinking all I'd do would be to repaint it. But I soon decided that I'd cover the top of it in a mosaic.
Now, be sure you understand this - I have never made a mosaic, and I'm no artist.

I started off sanding and repainting the nightstand, then drew my pattern on a piece of paper the same size as the top of it. I transferred my pattern to the wood top, cracked up some pieces of colored glass (supplied by a very good friend) and began gluing them in place (using Liquid Nails).

It started to take shape and that's when the "trouble" began. I'm sure it will stop in a few days, but right now, everything I look at is a mosaic. I can't look at anything without wondering what it would look like as a pattern for a mosaic or if it would make a good surface for one. I close my eyes and see a mosaic. Ha!

(By the way...once all the glass pieces were glued down, I grouted the top of the nightstand with sandless pre-made grout available at any home improvement store. I wiped off the excess and waited a day or two for it to completely dry. Then I cleaned all of the glass and sealed the grout.)

Back in high school, when I couldn't get the crazy keyboard off my mind, Mom convinced me that my problem of typing everything out in my head would soon go away and I'd be left with a skill that I'd use - even if I wasn't someone else's secretary. She convinced me to see it through; that deep down I knew it was the right thing to do to continue getting good grades. I guessed that, in other words, I really did care and wanted to be the best I could be, no matter what the subject was. She must have been right, because although I did skip at least 60-percent of my typing classes (truly, at least 60-percent), I still made straight As. (Not sure if that meant I was brilliant or if the teacher was stupid.)

The same held true for cake decorating. After weeks and weeks of imagining everything I looked at covered in frosting, I finally got past that. I wasn't half-bad at cake decorating; creating my sister's wedding cake (which to me was such an honor), as well as many others throughout the years.

I'm still not an artist, certainly no Italo Botti. But I am enjoying this new art form/craft and actually hope to have the time to do more. (I'm hoping I can bid on my beautiful nightstand.)

Lesson learned: Life is a mosaic of pleasure and pain. Grief is an interval between two moments of joy, and I'm beginning to see that second moment. Also, you're never too old to learn something new...now on to the chandelier makeover.

 

 

Love you, Mom. 

A 30-Day Slide into the Big Six-Oh!

Mother was a prudent woman. As a child growing up in a very frugal home, nothing went to waste.

There was a drawer in our kitchen that housed the dish towels and the used and folded pieces of aluminum foil (something that, for some reason, really bothered me, so I vowed there would be no small pieces of foil being saved in my home - ever.)
She rarely purchased "store-bought cookies," but if a recipe she was using called for just the yolk of an egg, then Mom saved the white until she had the time to make meringue. Then she'd put small spoon fulls of the meringue on top of saltine crackers, broil them for just a minute and that would be our afternoon treat. The opposite was also true of the yolk. If that was left over, she'd fry it up, put it between two pieces of bread, smother it in ketchup and send it to school with me as my lunch. Just plain horrible.
If she had any icing left over from one of her famous cakes, she'd smear it over a graham cracker, put another graham cracker over that and - voilà! - we'd have her version of sandwich cookies.

For the sake of being thrifty, my birthday was celebrated with my father's (I was born the day before his birthday), and since it was so close to Halloween, the decorations were never ordinary birthday hats and balloons - they were orange and black things that could be used, again, for Halloween.

So, although after living with us for more than 10-years she grew to understand my antics and - I think - oftentimes enjoyed them, I'm not sure how she'd take this whole idea of celebrating my birthday for 30-days. (Which, by the way, ends tomorrow.)

I'm not fond of the idea of turning 60. Yes, I know how lucky I am to be on this side of the ground, and yes, I know how blessed I am to have family and friends surrounding me everyday. But this is the year I've faced my mortality, and - well - you know.
So I came up with this fabulous idea of celebrating the slide into 60 for the 30-days prior. What fun it's been.

My dream of a husband has gone out of his way to think of me everyday for the past 29-days, bringing me everything from a package of Pop Rocks to a giant pumpkin that's so large and heavy I can't lift it to renting a limousine so my girl friends and I could go on a Girls' Night Out and more.

I'm not so sure Mother would approve of the expenditure; she'd have probably lifted an eyebrow. But, I also can't say that I care or that I'm regretful for the exuberance my husband has shown or even the over-indulgence of the past month. One thing I do know, Mom celebrated my birthday every year with just as much love in her heart for me as I have in mine for her. So maybe she would have enjoyed this, as well. Maybe she wouldn't have seen it as being wasteful.

I faintly remember my husband and some friends having a dinner party for me on my birthday last year -- just three weeks after Mother had passed away. But I was in a state of not being able to think for myself, and if you held a gun to my head today, I wouldn't be able to tell you who was there.

This year, things are different. I'm working hard to embrace my age, embrace the changes in my life, and embrace the memories. With that in mind, the countdown to turning 60 has actually been a year-long journey. It's not just been fun things that either I've done for myself or that my husband has done for me - it's been about the time we've spent together, talking, laughing and appreciating one another.

While my mother's extreme frugal ways did not rub off on me, some of her talent and her love for family did.

"Mother, thank you for having me. I miss sending you flowers on this day. Happy birthday!"
 

It's over - The last of the firsts

I was reading the Sports section of the newspaper the other day -- okay, not really reading it, but noticed a headline about a high school football game -- and it reminded me of when my son was in high school.
He didn't play football.
But he did play percussion in the marching band, specifically the snare - and his schedule was every bit as grueling as any player's on that football team.
I was a band parent - and every bit as loyal to my drummer as the mother who runs onto the field when her son the quarterback isn't properly guarded by the center.
Don't even try to come between a mother and her son. Right?

My husband and I didn't miss a single game or other performance of our Marching Jaguars. That Friday night ritual was a habit we enjoyed for four-years, and in the course of those years, we naturally became friends with many other band parent geeks.
At the first game at the start of my son's senior year, I turned to one of the other senior band member mothers (who was as emotional as I) and looked into her eyes - both of us crying - and said, "This is the last first game of the season we'll ever have."
We both laughed, knowing how silly that sounded, but also knowing how true it was.

It seems I've been faced with similar dilemmas ever since.
When my son went to college, I thought, "There won't be anymore first days of school. I won't be there for any of his firsts in college - his first all-nighter, his first hangover, his first induction into a fraternity."
When my father passed away, I experienced my first time not having someone to answer my every question. Growing up, and well into adulthood, my father answered all of my questions. No matter what it was, he always had an answer for everything. I never heard him say, "I don't know."
This past year, I have faced a multitude of firsts: the first time my birthday went by without even a phone call to or from my mother; my first holidays as an orphan; my first medical situation without her to talk to for strength; my first, my first, my first.
Of course, I'm not alone. Everyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one so dear has had to also experience all of the firsts that come with that first year.

But the good news is, they were all the last first times!
The unknown of all those firsts is now known. 

My friend who took me to lunch on the beach only weeks after Mother passed away, saw a person in need, hugged her with conversation, undivided time and sympathy - and she spoke the truth. She promised that I'd get through it, and although I didn't believe her at the time, I did make it through to the other side --- the last of all those firsts is now over. It feels like the time passed in the blink of an eye, yet it also feels like an eternity.

But the bottom line is that I did make it, and I never lost sight of how blessed I am, not even for a moment.

For those special moments...and we all have them.

For all of us, there are moments we'd like to have frozen in time. Maybe that special date with the one you ended up marrying, maybe the wedding, maybe the moment you saw your child for the first time. I could go on and on. For me, a story I'm going to share here today ranks way up there. It's a moment in time - a celebration of sorts - that I hope (and I say "hope" because of that dreadful Alzheimer's disease) will remain etched in my mind forever.

For nearly all of the celebrations in our lives as I was growing up, Mom made her fabulous, unlike any other meatloaf. Birthdays, good grades, choir concerts and other momentous occasions  were made even more special with Mom's home-cooked meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans. And if that meal was on the table, there was also a party goin' on in our mouths, because everyone in the family agreed that Mom's sweet meatloaf was the absolute best.

So, tonight, as I reflect on this past year, my husband and I are celebrating my mother's life with a special meal - her meatloaf. I haven't made it since before she passed away one year ago tomorrow.

Before I get out all the ingredients, I want to share a story that's been difficult for me to discuss. I hope you don't mind, but you'll understand why I need to share it today, and why I've chosen today to celebrate Mom and all she was and still is to me.

In the late afternoon on Sept. 25, as she was lying in her newly erected hospital bed (which she did not want brought in, and had to be convinced that it would be the best thing for her), I took her bag of cross-stitching to her. She had been in severe pain, and I thought I could help get her mind off of that and on to something more positive. I've mentioned in past posts that she cross-stitched ornaments for all of the girls in the family every year and gave them as gifts at Thanksgiving.

When I opened the bag and told her that I could only find three of her ornaments, there was an immediate change in her -- exactly at that moment -- a change that lasted about three hours. But in looking back, it seems like it was only minutes. She took the bag from me and began looking through it saying she had made more than that. She wanted out of bed and wanted to go into her living room and sit in her recliner.

I called my husband and brother in from the garage, granting Mom's wish, and we moved her into her living room. In the back of my mind - I knew what was happening. My mother was having what I call an awakening. She was completely pain free, spoke to my son on the phone for more than a half hour, went through all her cross-stitching instruction books and told me which ones she had made in past years and for whom, ate dinner with my husband, my brother and me, and tried to work a crossword puzzle.

Mother was filled with such happiness; the smile on her face went literally from ear to ear. She was more beautiful than I had ever seen her -- almost child-like. It was as if she was floating on Cloud Nine; glowing.

As we sat at the dinner table while she tried to work the crossword puzzle, I saw her eyelids getting heavy. I didn't want her to fall asleep, because I knew it would all end, so I did all I could to keep her awake. Finally, we had no choice but to move her back into her bed and then Mother and I started watching Dancing With The Stars on television. She commented how Kirstie Alley was her favorite competitor, but within moments, she fell asleep. About an hour later, she awoke in pain.

I won't go into all that happened during the rest of the night, because I am determined to celebrate and not mourn.

I am so blessed to have been a part of those three-hours with my mother in her euphoric state. It was nothing short of beautiful. I wish I could have frozen it in time.

And, how fitting that today our household is also celebrating another great moment - my husband is the winner of the coveted mirror ball trophy from our own version of the popular TV dance show - here called Dancing With Our PALs. It's an annual fundraiser for the local Police Athletic League and the children it serves. I truly wish my mother could have seen him dance his Paso Doble', Country Two-Step and Wobble; she'd have been both stunned and so very proud! (I guess this is what they call a full circle.)

So let's celebrate with Mom's Meatloaf:

 

For meatloaf:
1 lb. ground beef                         1 egg
1 tsp. salt                                     1/2 cup catsup
1 small onion, chopped               1 cup oats

Mix it all together and form a loaf.
Bake at 35-degrees in a covered baking dish for about one-hour, pouring sauce over the top of the meatloaf about 45-minutes into baking.

And now for the sauce:
1 cup catsup                                1/2 cup light brown sugar
2 tbsp. mustard

Mix all ingredients together.
Remove cover from baking meatloaf and pour sauce over meatloaf 45-minutes into baking. Continue baking for about 15-minutes at 350-degrees. (or until done)

Bon Appetit, Mom!

For dessert, I prepared a parfait of brownie bits and white chocolate pudding.

Yummy.

Tonight we celebrate my mother, her influence on me, her love for family, her culinary prowess, her appreciation for my husband, her Girl Scout leadership skills, her being the greatest grandmother on this earth, her smile - her life.

"Thank you, Mom, for giving me those three-ish hours to look back on with such happiness. I'm still trying to figure things out, Mom, but tomorrow I'll jump right in and do it all, again. I love you and miss you."