It's A New Day

The Last Page

Sometimes life goes by like a rocket, moving so fast it makes your head spin. And other times you look back and wonder Wow! Has it really been eight years?

That's how much time has evaporated since I first sat down at this little Compose window and keyed in the first post on my blog. The subject matter? Why I had joined the blogging world. Most of the reasons were pretty straight-forward. To keep up with friends and family. To establish a record of the everyday stories of our lives. To easily share what we were seeing and doing on our travels. And in the eight years I written in this space that never changed.

There was another reason too: A creative outlet. I've always loved to write and this gave me an excuse to muse on everything from the mundane to the miraculous. A little scrapbooking here, a few recipes there and probably too much complaining about the weather. A snapshot of life over a span of 96 months.

It's funny because I tried never to be thinking about who would read the blog...that would add a layer of pressure I didn't want. I wrote for myself and the end result was as if "you" were sitting here with me and I was telling "you" the story. It wasn't a style I adopted; I simply don't know another way to write and be authentic. It's surprising how many times I look back through the blog to find some detail we've forgotten or nail down some date and when that happens, I still find myself pleased with the words that reside here. Either I like to hear myself "talk" or the words have stood the test of time.

But one thing about that rocket ship of life; you don't stay in one place for very long. You're there and then it's time to move on. And that's how I'm feeling about the blog. The creative energy I once found in it has waned and that lack of interest has clearly been reflected in the infrequency of the posts. I gave serious consideration to giving it up last year when it came up for renewal but was not fully convinced it was time to let it go. This year I know. It's had its season in the creative sun and now it's time for something else.

The decision is not without regrets. I've made some amazing friends thanks to my little corner of the World Wide Web, some who truly are world wide. And while we may never meet in person, there is a very special relationship formed through the exchanged of typed words. The good news is I'll still be just an email away. And who knows, maybe I'll actually do more than just read Facebook now as a way to stay in touch.

It seems odd that in a year in which I've chosen Open as my word of the year that I would opt to close the blog. I'm hoping that there's truth in these words:

If you are brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello. Anon.

Goodbye, blog. I'm ready to say hello to a different kind of New Day.

Summer Visitors

We had the pleasure of entertaining Miss Kayla last weekend. And while she stayed at Brad's house this year, it was still the fulfillment of a summer tradition.

She didn't come alone; three college friends joined her for the trip south. I think she must have been a very organized tour guide as they did plenty of her favorite things...things that are almost as much of a tradition as the trip herself. They went to the zoo in Gulf Shores to play with the lemurs, caught a few rolls thrown at them at Lambert's in Foley (and ate plenty of country cooking too), watched dolphins play in the Gulf on a local charter, and spent time on the white sands of Pensacola Beach.

As great as that last one is, the real attraction might have been these:

Wayne grilled steaks. Well, Wayne grills steak for Kayla on every visit, much to her delight. The girl loves her steak and she put away one of these big ol' babies all by herself. Plus all the fixings that went with it. I'll admit...they were good.

Here's Brad and his bevy of beautiful house guests. It was fun to share a little of their trip with them and see the interaction among these friends. Kayla is normally quite chatty when she's here but with all the other female voices going, we didn't hear as much from her as usual. Brad said his house was unbelievably quiet after they all departed.

By all accounts they had a good time. Enough so they were all promising to come back next summer, with or without Kayla. We, of course, prefer the former but it's a nice endorsement on our hospitality. In fact, who says they have to wait until summer?

I'll Take "Amazing Connections" For $1,000, Alex

Answer: Jost Hite and John Bruce.

Question: What ancestor in my dad's branch of the family tree provided the land to which ancestor in Wayne's mom's side of the family more than 275 years ago?

The story: I've been researching Jost Hite, my 8th great-grandfather, for several months now. It's taken that long mostly because my family research time is sporadic but also because there has been a good bit of information on him. Rightly so; he was one of the first white settlers in the Shenandoah Valley.

Jost was an enterprising fellow, acquiring the rights to thousands of acres of wilderness if he could convince others to join him in establishing settlements there. In 1731 he sold his mill and farm and led a colony of 16 families into the unknown. They ultimately settled on the Opequon Creek near what is now Winchester, Virginia.

My 7th great-grandparents, Paul Froman and Elizabeth Hite Froman, were one of those families. As the generations progressed, the Fromans migrated to Kentucky before moving on to Illinois where my 3rd great-grandparents, Harrison Waters Riggs and Juliet Froman Riggs, were among the first settlers south of Edwards River in Mercer County. No matter how many stories I read about these pioneering families, not just in my family line but in general, I continue to be amazed by their bravery and sense of adventure. And for those family members keeping track, follow down two more generations and you would find Ada Riggs who married William Newton Steele, my great-grandparents.

I'm still documenting Jost who ended up amassing more than 140,000 acres in grants in the Shenandoah Valley before his death in 1761. While frequently described as a land baron, he distributed large parcels of that land to the families who came with him and in the years after that.

But sometimes I get a little bored with Jost or I don't have a big block of time to figure out where I am and where I was going on him. There hasn't been much of that time lately except when Mother Nature sends me an afternoon thunderstorm to drive me indoors. On those occasions, I look for someone in the tree I haven't done much on but whose name/family looks promising for research. Most recently I settled on Sara Ellen Smith, wife of John Wesley Kitterman...Wayne's 2nd great-grandmother.

Census records gave me her parents; records at Ancestry.com and a couple of old books available online gave me several more generations until I was back to John Bruce, Wayne's 7th great-grandfather born in Scotland about 1690. According to the Shenandoah Valley Pioneers Bruce was living on the Opequon Creek near what is now Winchester by 1740. Sound familiar? Wayne's 7th great-grandfather and my 8th great-grandfather were essentially neighbors.

There's more. The land upon which Bruce lived was part of the grant Jost Hite received. Jost gave a large block of land to his oldest son John Hite who then sold part of it to a group of Scotch-Irish immigrants, one of whom was John Bruce. Bruce was a carpenter and Jost owned a grist mill; perhaps they traded with one another. Bruce died in 1748 but his son James continued to live in the Winchester area until 1792 when he migrated to Kentucky...the same county and same year as the Froman family. That could mean Wayne's ancestors and mine were part of the same wagon train but at this point I don't have any resources to tell me that. I do have two books related to the Bruce line to find in libraries out of state. The Bruce family headed west as well but settled in Indiana rather than Illinois.

For those keeping track on Wayne's side of the family, the line goes Whilma Pearl Kitterman > William Alfred Kitterman > Sarah Ellen Smith Kitterman > Sarah Albin Smith > Margaret Bruce Albin > James Bruce, Jr. > James Bruce > John Bruce.

Connections like this simply amaze me...and make me wish for more afternoon thunderstorms so I have time to climb around in the family tree. It's more entertaining than a game show any day.

Git 'R Done

So where have I been? It's a question that's been asked of me by phone and email more than a few times over the last few weeks. It's nice to be missed although there was no need for worry. I didn't mean to let so much time lapse between posts; I've been right here all along.

And by right here, I do mean right here. Me and the yard chores have been spending a lot of time together and, thankfully, the results are showing.

I power washed the pool deck and Wayne did the driveway and sidewalks. We invested in one of those surface cleaners that attach to the washer itself and it was worth every penny. I did the entire pool deck in less than three hours, clean-up included. Of course, I then spent far more than that vacuuming all the fine dirt out of the pool but that was going to happen no matter what tool I used to wash the deck. Boy, does it look good now!

And I've literally spent weeks working in the flower bed next to the pool. A couple of summers of minimal attention have meant that only the hardiest plants have survived. Apparently hardy is synonymous with purple because with the exception of the roses, everything left produces purple blooms. I'm well on my way to remedying that.

I carried all 72 of the stones that make the twisty path through the flower bed up three steps, across the back porch and down three steps to the drive where Wayne power washed them...then I carried them back again. Each one probably weighs about 12 pounds except for the four big ones which tip the scales at about 40 pounds each. It was like a gym workout that went on and on and on. I've washed them in place before but I didn't want all the algae that had grown on the stones over the last two (or maybe three) summers to find a home in the flower bed so I carted them to the drive and back.

Gone too is the top layer of tired soil in the flower bed itself and in its place are six big bags of garden soil plus some Black Cow. Any weeds that are thinking about returning better think again! New plants are going in and even though there are still lots of open spaces, it's looking more like a real flower bed every day instead of the forgotten space it had become. Now when I stand at my kitchen sink and look out I see pinks and reds and yellows and whites. It makes my heart happy although I'm not sure my nails will ever be the same. Wayne has been a trooper throughout this: Truck driver, bag toter and plant-payer-for-er. We're getting there.

The flower bed isn't the only part of the yard getting attention. I'm at war with the weeds that think they should live among the blades of grass...or more accurately, instead of the blades of grass. Spring a year ago was particularly wet with numerous heavy downpours, and when the water overran the curb and made small rivers across the lawn, it brought a host of weeds we've never had before. It's not just us; almost every house in the subdivision is in the same boat. A neighbor two doors east and another about five doors west have re-sodded their entire yards.

My next door neighbor and I aren't going to that extreme but after minimal success last year, we're bringing out the heavy artillery this growing season. We're spreading and spraying and digging and pulling. It's a pain to lug a sprayer back and forth across the front and side lawn every week but I figure I'm better off to zap those trespassers when they're young and tender than to let them get a foothold. If they can't get big enough to reseed this year, next year should be better.

So that's my life these past few weeks: Yard work and more yard work. It's hardly exciting, hence no posts but I'm determined to git 'r done. One of these days I'll be able to sit back and enjoy it.

Take A Hike

We spent the better part of last week in Tennessee hiking at Pickett State Park. It was, in a word, delightful.

Cool and clear, the weather was perfect for tromping through the woods and we did just that, hitting trails both short and long. Wednesday was our most ambitious day as we struck out on the Hidden Passage trail, a loop route shown to be eight miles long. We knew we were doing more than that since we took several side trips to waterfalls and other interesting sights along the way but we were surprised when the track from Wayne's GPS showed we walked 10.5 miles. None of the other trails we did were nearly as long. The pictures that follow are from more than one trail and more than one day.

It was a second spring for us as the trees at the park were filled with fresh new leaves. For the most part, we were dwarfed by tall hardwoods but don't let this photo fool you; the path was seldom this level.

The trail heads were all at the top of the ridge but we found ourselves on the floor of the gorge more than once.

And if you go down, you have to come back up. Sometimes there were rock or wooden stairs like these but mostly we gained altitude via switchbacks. We gave Wayne's new knees quite the test over the course of our time there and they passed with flying colors. No complaints from him whatsoever.

Changes in elevation weren't all we encountered; we scrambled over and under some rocks too. This side trail on the long day was particularly worth it because it took us to a double waterfall. It was the perfect place to relax on a ledge and have lunch...as long as you didn't think too much about the long climb back up to return to the main trail.

The forest used to include stands of pine but beetles have pretty much wiped them out. These few sparsely-trees areas made us appreciate the dense shade that existed everywhere else. They had apparently had a significant storm a few days before we arrived as we saw damaged and downed trees along the highway as we neared the park. We climbed over or had to find our way around more than one tree blocking the trail, many still with green leaves on them.

We found things to go under, too. We saw natural bridges on three trails, one of which was a twin bridge or two arches. The power of nature, both in terms of dramatic events and more subtly over time, is just amazing.

We spent most of our time among the trees so when the trail gave us a panoramic view from the top of the ridge, we were almost surprised at the expanse of the gorge. Green as far as we could see.

But there was vastness at the lower levels too. That little dot of light in the dark is Wayne, just to give you some perspective. This was Hazard Cave which is, apparently, home to glow worms. We sort of entertained the idea of going to see them until the ranger said it was too early for them. Add to that the fact that it didn't seem to smart to attempt the steep and rugged section of trail after dark to get there...and that there were animal prints in the sand that clearly weren't made by puppy dogs. It would have been cool to see them though.

Up, down, over, under, through...it didn't matter; there was one constant on the trail: Mountain Laurel. The trails were lined with them and they were beautiful. In many spots the bushes were mostly buds but in sunny areas they were nearly in full bloom. We passed through one section on the long trail where the laurels lined both sides of the trail and were almost shoulder high. It was impressive. Our timing couldn't have been better and it was purely by accident.

I loved being back hiking again and I think Wayne did too. And while we're huge fans of national parks, there are plenty of amazing sights to be seen in state parks as well. We've made a vow not to wait so long before being back on the trail again.

A Sweet Victory...Of Sorts

In February 2011 I planted two blueberry bushes, one an early variety and the other one which blooms and produces fruit somewhat later in the spring.

Five generations of berries have been produced since that time and, up until now, you could count on the fingers of one hand the number that have actually gone into my mouth. The birds and the bunnies, however, have enjoyed the sweet little treats. One year the deer ate them, leaves and stems and all. Now I don't begrudge sharing with the neighborhood wildlife but I would like a few myself.

And that's just what happened this week; a handful of these blue beauties were the perfect addition to my lunch. Frankly I was a little surprised to find any berries at all on this early bush as it bloomed way earlier than usual when we had a sudden warm spell in like January. I expected all the blooms to have frozen when winter weather returned but there were a couple of clusters of big, fat berries hidden away. So hidden, in fact, that the wildlife hadn't found them before I did.

Usually the only ones I get are because I picked them before they're fully ripened. They're tasty then but so much better when their sweetness has a chance to really develop. These were perfect!

My victory was short-lived. I enjoyed those I picked but when I went back a few days later to see if the rest of the cluster had ripened, they were gone. There's still hope, however, there are plenty of berries just coming on the later variety. They're much more exposed than the early bush but I'm hoping I can secure another handful of these little blue bundles of goodness before the wildlife nabs them all.

Put Me In, Coach

We've been spending our Saturday mornings at a Pensacola soccer field watching a U15 Boys team playing in the Gulf Coast Soccer League. No, we don't really know any of the boys playing on the team...but we do know the coaches, and they need someone cheering them on too.

It's not our first experience watching headers and corner kicks although those days are quite a ways back. Our oldest son Brad was deeply involved in youth soccer, playing in city recreational leagues, select teams, high school squads and even at the college level. And when there wasn't an organized soccer game or practice on tap, Brad could be found in the front yard or street kicking a soccer ball around with his best friend and teammate Johnny.

These two were inseparable in middle and high school. Johnny just lived a block away...well, formally anyway. It almost seemed as though he lived at our house but that was perfectly fine with us. His quick laugh and sunny disposition made him fun to be around. We joked then and still do that he's like another son. Piling Johnny into the van with us for out-of-town tournaments was a given but on one of those trips Wayne had to accompany him to the emergency room when Johnny broke his leg during a game. Second parenting only goes so far; we knew the best thing was to get a temporary splint on Johnny's leg and get him back to Pensacola for his real mom and dad to make all the decisions.

So when Johnny (he's probably shortened that to John as an adult but he'll always be Johnny to us) was looking for a soccer coach, he recruited Brad. Johnny could help coach the team on which his significant other's son played but he was also coaching her daughter's team too; he needed someone to head up the boys team. It seems only right that after all those years sharing a soccer field, they should be back there together again. Had I known what the picture of them as youths looked like, I'd have had them switch sides when I took this one Saturday so they'd be in the same relative positions.

As a parent, it's rewarding to see Johnny and Brad mentor the boys playing on their team. They were both lucky enough to have a great coach as they came up through the levels of youth soccer, one who thought so much of the core group of boys that he moved along with them. Like Brad, he didn't have a child playing; he just wanted to share what he knew about soccer.

I can see his coaching philosophy being carried on by Brad and Johnny. Don't mistake Brad's seriousness in the above photo for anger; that's not his style. He's all about the positives of what you're doing right and how to get better at what you're doing wrong. Just like the coach he had growing up. We're enjoying seeing that in action and seeing the boys get better every week.

There are just two more games left in their season. I think Brad has enjoyed the experience and it's been good for him to be involved in something away from work a few hours every week. And it's been fun for us to be back on the sidelines again too. Once a fan maybe always a fan.

Comings and Goings

This For Sale sign went up last week. No, it's not ours; it's the one next door to us. After sitting empty for more than four years, it will be nice to have it occupied again. When the husband of the couple who owned it last died suddenly of a heart attack, it went into foreclosure where it languished far longer than it should have. It's a great house, originally built by our friends Hiram and Bonnie, and it deserves a family who will love and appreciate it.

Someone bought it at the foreclosure sale and has spent the past six months renovating it with the intent to flip it. Me? I'm glad the nasty pool water and the frogs who lived in it are gone and that the landscape will no longer be neglected. Wayne and a neighbor took turns mowing the lawn for two summers to keep it from being more overgrown than it was. The home looked sad and forgotten for too long.

I'm hoping for a friendly, retired couple to match us and the homeowners across and down the street for several houses but there are younger families with kids going the other way so the new residents will fit in either way. There have been lookers already so maybe new neighbors will be coming soon.

This For Sale sign went up last week too. No, it's not our house either but it belongs to my best friend Charlotte. My walks around the neighbor won't be the same after they move as several times a week Charlotte and I solve the world's problems and rehash our favorite television shows as we cruise the streets together.

Charolotte and I have a long history together...since 1992 actually. She and her husband Michael built here not long after we did then moved when Michael's job took him first to Cincinnati and then Houston before testing retirement in Naples. In the end, however, they came back to Pace. After eleven years, a bigger city is again calling Michael's name so a move is in the works.

I'm adjusting to the idea that she's going and I'm staying. We've proven, however, that our friendship endures even when she's several states away instead of just several blocks. We've joked that we'll have to coordinate our walks for the same time so we can talk on the phone while we each hoof our way around our respective neighborhoods.

True friendship is not being inseparable; it's being separate and nothing changes.

I think I'll have that framed as a going-away gift...for both of us.

Oops!

Three good things about this photo:

1. No one was electrocuted.

2. The hedge trimmer still works. (It didn't even trip the breaker.)

3. Hubby can fix the cord. We'll never miss that extra three feet.

It's been a long time but apparently I haven't forgotten this trick.

Birthday Gym Day

As I told my better half goodbye this morning and headed for the door, he commented that the instructors would probably take it easy on me at the gym today since it was my birthday. "Not likely," I responded. "They won't know that and I don't plan on telling them."

I didn't have to; my workout neighbor (i.e., our mats are usually next to each other in class) did.

While I knew there was a possibility Linda would know it was my birthday thanks to Facebook, I guessed we'd be long done with the gym when that took place. Little did I know she gets birthday notifications on her phone about the time she arrives at the gym. So much for an anonymous birthday gym day.

The birthday wishes were nice, however, and even having Happy Birthday sung to me by everyone in yoga was fun. It was appropriately subdued and somewhat Zen-like coming at the end of class like it did. I'm not big on being the center of attention but the classes are small and, for the most part, filled with people who, like me, have been attending for a while. It was much more intimate and relaxed than say having a restaurant full of strangers join the wait staff in singing.

I wasn't prepared for what happened in the strength class though...but then I don't think Linda was either after having informed our instructor of the occasion. Apparently the practice in Crossfit is to give women's names to workout routines and the exercises in those routines match up to the letters in the name. Now we don't do Crossfit but for today anyway we borrowed that naming scheme. In the hour I was doing yoga, our instructor Lisa was coming up with the BRENDA routine.

The number of repetitions we'd be doing was tied to my birthday too. Lisa picked 46 to match with my birth year. I think we all were glad she hadn't chosen my age! Actually, we usually do three sets of fifteen so it really was only one extra. At the end of that third set, however, getting just one more can be a challenge.

So we squatted and curled, raised and lunged our way through the hour. Seven combinations is really more than we can accomplish in that time so I got to choose whether to finish with the "D" or the "A." I picked the abs.

As we're putting the weights away, Lisa warned everyone else not to plan to skip the gym on their own birthdays in the hopes of avoiding a similar fate. She said she would be developing workout routines to correspond to the names of all the regulars and would be springing them on us at random times. It's a dubious honor to have everyone else in the class suffering through a workout bearing your name.

In case you're wanting to take on the BRENDA on your own, here are the components:

Plie wall squats with stability Ball/Upright rows
Reverse lunges/Lateral raises
Elevated push-ups
Negative bicep curls (emphasis on lowering or negative motion with static hold)
Deadlifts/Bent-over rows
Abdominal crunch extensions/Abdominal flutter kicks

Who'd have thought I'd be spending my birthday doing this...but I wouldn't have it any other way. The benefit to my health is worth every bead of sweat and sore muscle that workout produced.

Gimme A Head With Hair

I have a new hair dryer. It's red and shiny and cleverly folds to take up less room in a suitcase. And after a month, I almost don't hate it. Almost.

Hair dryers are such a personal thing. I'm not one who can pick up just any old hair dryer and achieve styling success. Heck, that's hard enough to do with one I'm familiar with let alone a strange one. I guess that's why I've always packed my own when traveling instead of depending on the ones furnished by the hotel. And I had a long and happy relationship with the last dryer before it made a loud pop and began to emit a strange burning-electrical smell. After unceremoniously pitching it in the trash, I went looking for a new one.

The objective was to find a new one with the same features...and I thought I did. What I'mfinding, however, is that I need a heat setting in between the two choices I have on the new one. And even worse, I need a speed setting in between as well. The results even on Low look suspiciously like I've been outside on a windy day in Kansas. I suppose I could have just said like I've been outside in Kansas because every day there is windy but you get the picture.

The real source of my aggravation, however, is the concentrator which tames that tornadic output somewhat so I don't look like I've stirred my hair with a stick. Think of it as a funnel used in reverse, only with a fat slot for the output rather than a circle. It swivels...and therein lies the problem.

Dry your hair on the right side of your head and you need the slot at one angle; dry it on the other and it's a different angle. As I've freely admitted, my spacial skills aren't the best anyway but throw a mirror into the equation and I'm forever turning that darn thing to the wrong angle. It's entirely possible that this demon apparatus has caused me to say some unkind things about it under my breath. Okay...so maybe I said them out loud too.

I have a new (and much happier) approach though. I just look in the mirror, figure out which way I think I should turn that swiveling concentrator...then do the opposite. And you know what? That theory is working really well.

A Spring's Work Is Never Done

"Where have you been?" my brother asked when he called to tell me about his hole-in-one. (Congratulations again, John!) He was assuming the lack of posts on the blog meant we were out of town again. While that sounds exciting, the reason behind fewer keyboard musings can be summed up in two words: It's Spring.

Spring...when it seems like we're adding things to the to-do list faster than we're crossing them off. I've been cleaning flower beds, each of which has required a full day so far. I love the big live oak trees we have scattered around the yard, especially in the winter months when the green leaves make the landscape less grim. But come spring bright new leaves push off the old and boy, are there a lot of them! The job is a little bigger too now that we have to bag all yard trash rather than put it in the barrel. As I was cleaning this one I was observing how it needs trenched along the border so the volcano rock stays in better. That's a job for another day.

Spring...when it seems like everything needs winter's grub and nature's pollen washed away. Wayne pulled the power washer out of the garage today and tackled the bird bath. It's ready for a fresh coat of paint now. I'm anxious for my turn at the power washer too. The yellow clouds of pollen that have drifted across the yard seem to be gone so it's time to clean up the patio furniture. I'm ready for dinner outside.

Spring...when you don't have to look far to know what you accomplished. Or maybe you can just feel it in your tired bones. I might have fallen asleep in my chair more than one night instead of getting to the old blog but the rest was well-earned.

I love Spring; it's my favorite time of year. Good thing because it sure is a lot of work.

 

Happy Easter, Throwback Thursday Style

If you're not familiar with it, Throwback Thursday is an Internet theme day observed on, what else, Thursday. The concept is simple: People use social media sites to share photos of themselves taken in a different era and then look back fondly at the memories those photos engender. I saw plenty of childhood Easter photos on Facebook on Thursday and thought it would be fun to do something similar on the blog for Easter Sunday.

There are plenty of candidates to choose from as Easter at our house meant that the camera came out. And why not...John and I always had new outfits to model in the front yard while Mother snapped a picture or two. I was quite stylish here with both an Easter bonnet and a parasol.

This one is probably a year later. Everything about my brother's outfit makes me smile but then there's plenty to grin about in my own. I can't figure out if that's the price tag dangling from the purse or something else. And the white gloves...mothers everywhere had to celebrate when that accessory went out of style.

Another year later, or maybe two, we're back on the same sidewalk in new Easter duds. We're such a stylish pair. I think my purse matches John's spats quite well. Easter must have been later as we aren't wearing coats.

But if the criteria for Throwback Thursday (even though I'm doing it on Sunday) is to recall the memories associated with the photos, I can't really do that with any of these. I have vague memories of the cape in the middle picture as well as generic memories of wearing gloves and Easter hats, mostly because they "graduated" to the dress-up box soon after the holiday. I don't, however, really remember these specific Easters.

But I do remember standing in the front yard of my grandma's house and having this pictures taken before the three of us headed off to church. I can even tell you the exact date without looking to see if it's written on the back of the photo: April 21, 1957.

That's because it was my birthday. I was born on Easter Sunday, a reason I attribute to my love for chocolate, bunnies and otherwise. This is the only occasion when my birthday fell on Easter again. Well, so far anyway. If I can make it to 2030, the two events will line up again. If I've inherited my dad's longevity (he celebrated his 91st birthday on Saturday and is still going strong), there's a good chance I can. April 21, 2041, the next occurrence, is a little iffy however.

We'll be doing a small family celebration this Easter. It will be a simple dinner without a lot of the fanfare that usually accompanies holiday dinners. Hats and white gloves are optional.

Happy Easter!

Nashville Cats

We've spent the past few days in Nashville where we filled the days and evenings with fun ranging from show choirs to flea markets and everything in between. The excuse was to meet up with my brother Jerry, his wife Carol and their daughter Mindy and her family.  Mindy's son Nick is a member of a show choir that was competing in a national competition at the Grand Old Opry so we were there for that too.

The show choir competition was amazing. The kids were all so talented, singing and dancing in a multi-song set that lasted more than twenty minutes. It was a real-life Glee minus Sue Sylvester as the villain. I loved it! Nick's group did great but fell short of the finals and awards.

Among the other activities that filled our long weekend was a tour of the Hatch Show Print facility.

It's a real print shop that dates back to 1879 but remains unique in that the posters created there are hand-crafted and inked onto paper with essentially the same process Gutenberg invented. No digital conversion for them. It was and still is well-known for its posters that span everything from vaudeville and minstrel shows to the biggest names in the entertainment industry as well as politics.

If those wooden blocks could talk, they'd have an amazing story to tell. The two people who explained both the history and the process of making the prints did a great job on their behalf. I'm still fascinated that not only can someone hand-carve the blocks (both letters and designs) but do it backwards and in relief.

The print shop was idle since it was Saturday but normally is filled with artists and machines doing their thing. Well, the machines were there but they were quiet. The walls there and in the classroom were papered with posters old and new as well as the blocks of letters and designs.

The shop is more than a profitable business, however; they focus on preservation too. They produce restrikes of classic posters from the past to further their role as an historian of American advertising and entertainment and they offer and intern program to teach the craft to future generations of print makers.

While we certainly won't rise to the level of interns, we did get to try our hand at the press. The first step was rolling the brayer in the ink, a step Wayne was doing but can't be seen well because of the press.

Then we applied the ink to the blocks like Carol was doing here. It isn't hard but if you don't get all the letters covered, they obviously won't print.

The next step was placing the paper and holding it in position while we  started the weighted roller. Once we had enough of the poster under the roller to keep it from moving, we used two hands to move the press the rest of the way.

And then we carefully peeled the poster up off the block like Jerry was doing here. Needless to say we all got to make a print.

Here's the finished design. Each color is run separately and we did the last one, the orange letters. It's a cool memento of our tour.

I really had no idea what to expect when we set out on this activity but it was the perfect combination of history, learning how things work and being involved in something creative. And, of course, we got to share it with people we love.

Our weekend was the perfect mix between doing fun activities and relaxing conversations and you can't always say that about weekend getaways. We need to do this more often.

How To Lose A Customer In Three Easy Lessons

Loyalty is hard to find.
Trust is easy to lose
Actions speak louder than words.
    --Unknown

I'm an intensely loyal person...probably to a fault. Whether it's friends, a product I buy or a company I do business with, it takes a lot of disappointment before I move on. I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing as loyalty is an attribute to be valued as long as it doesn't make you a doormat.

Up until a few days ago, I was a loyal customer of a local heating/air conditioning company. They were my go-to source when the air coming out of the vents was hot when it should have been cold and vice versa. They showed up when they said they would, explained what fix was needed and charged fees that were reasonable. They earned my trust and my loyalty, and I was happy to (and did) recommend them to others. It helped too that they were a small business just minutes from my house. I like supporting the little guys.

Early last summer I called them when one of the AC units was blowing air that could best be described as "luke." Due to the configuration of our house, we have two smaller units (one on each side of the house) rather than a big one for heating and cooling. Given its age, we were prepared for the repairman to pronounce this unit as terminal and we'd be forced to purchase a new one. No, they said, we can make an economical repair. It might last six months was the advice, or it might last a year or two. It's easy to be loyal to someone who seems to have your best interest, i.e., pocketbook, at heart.

So when that same unit went bonkers a few weeks ago and would only work on the emergency heat setting, I knew just who to call. Sadly, what happened after that ended my status as a loyal customer. Their actions and inactions could be a case study on poor customer service in any business class. I can sum it all up in three easy lessons.

1. Don't answer the phone. My initial call was first thing on a Monday morning. I don't know why major things in your house always break on the weekend or a holiday but that seems to be our experience. An answering machine picked up which was unusual but I left my message and expected a call back. When that didn't happen the first day, Wayne called the next day. It was the only time over the course of four weeks that someone actually answered the phone. After repeated calls and repeated unanswered messages, I did what any scorned woman would do; I showed up at their office before they dispatched their trucks for the day. I think they were surprised.

2. Don't tell the truth. We've been really busy, the owner said, claiming he had relayed that information to Wayne. If he did, he had implied it might be a few days before they could get to us, a reasonable delay given the cold weather we'd been experiencing. With me standing across the desk from him, he  must have felt compelled to continue talking. We're short of help, he added. I told your husband it would be three to four weeks. I knew Wayne would have shared that information with me if he'd been told that. Still, we were more than halfway through that period at that point and after being assured they would get to us in that time frame, I put on my patience button and agreed to wait. I really didn't want to start with someone new and they'd always done such good work.

3. Don't value loyalty. The time came and went. Calls went unanswered and messages unreturned. I suspect they probably really were short of help and elected to put their limited resources into installing new systems for home builders which generated income in bigger chunks. I totally understand that; I just wish they'd been upfront about it. If they'd just said hey, look, we aren't doing residential repairs right now but here's someone you can call to take care of your problem and we hope you'll call us next time you need service and hopefully we'll be in a position to help you then...well, I'd have respected that. And I probably would have called them again.

We now have a brand new unit on the west side of the house. I called someone new who called me back within five minutes and was at my door less than an hour later. He explained how he could make a repair but he didn't think it would last long at all and recommended a new system. He gave me options and explained them all and then he did what he said he was going to do in getting it installed. And while one experience does not earn undying loyalty, I'll definitely be calling him again in the future...although after that cash outlay I hope it's a long time into the future.

I saw a statistic not long ago about why customers leave. It broke down this way:

  3% because the business moved
  5% preferred a competitor's product
  9% due to price increases
14% were dissatisfied with product/services
31% total

69% left because of poor service

In this case, the heating/air conditioning company might have said they wanted our business but their actions which indicated otherwise really did speak louder than their words. Poor service pushed my loyalty elsewhere.

And Then...

...it was Spring.

It's been a car-washing, yard mowing, throw-open-the-windows-and-air-out-the-house couple of days. Since daylight savings time arrived, it's like we lost an hour and gained a season and I love it! Today's high of 82 was twelve degrees above the normal temperature for this time of year but I figure that just makes up for all those days we had this winter that were well below average. It's going to moderate to more normal temperatures later in the week but we're enjoying this warm weather until then.

Wayne aerated the lawn then set the mower down a notch to pick up more oak leaves and dead grass, filling the bed of the truck before he was done. Judging by the line of vehicles at the dump when we pulled in this morning, we weren't the only ones doing spring clean-up this weekend.

And we stopped at Lowe's to buy fertilizer to encourage that green grass peeking through to show more of itself. It was busy there too but a lot of the activity was Lowe's employees hustling to get tables and shelves filled with colorful bedding plants. There were freezing temperatures just two weeks ago so everyone's a little unprepared for the sudden warmth.

We found time to celebrate Pi Day. Sun dried tomato/spinach pizza pie for dinner with mango/key lime pie for dessert. And we got a jump on St. Patrick's Day with corned beef and cabbage for dinner tonight as we'll eat out tomorrow evening. Meal planning is easier when there's a "holiday" meal on the schedule.

Life is busy...but we like it that way.

Best.Thing.Ever.

I used to say that if I were condemned to death and ready to order my last meal, it would be fried pork chops, fried potatoes and white gravy. We won't speculate on what might have gotten me to that point in life that that would be my choice for a final dining experience. I don't eat like that anymore, although I guess if it's the end, what's the point in avoiding food that's not very healthy. Now I might still order those old fried favorites but I'd also add a salad. Not just any salad, however, but a Cafe Rio sweet pork salad...my new favorite meal.

To be honest, I have no idea what a real Cafe Rio sweet pork salad tastes like because this restaurant chain has no locations near us. However, when I read Cathy Zielske's rave review of her salad made from copycat recipes, I had to try it. Not only did she make it sound delicious but it fit right in with my effort to do more experimenting with new recipes in 2015. This one shot right to the top of the "keepers" list after just a few bites.

You can find a number of copycat variations for the pork barbacoa but I used one recommended by Cathy. You'll find it here. It couldn't be easier: Throw the pork and a bottle of Dr. Pepper in the crockpot; add the rest of the ingredients a few hours later. The result is tender, juicy, sweet and just a tiny bit spicy...a delicious combination. We gobbled it up the first time I made it, looking forward to leftovers until it was gone. And it was the same thing the second time. I cut the amount of sugar in half this time and it was every bit as good.

Wayne usually makes burritos/tacos out of it for himself or piles it on top of a baked potato. Me...I'm hooked on the salad. Chopped romaine, creamy tomatillo dressing, black beans, guacamole, queso fresco, cilantro and crunchy tortilla strips. It's the perfect combination of crisp, creamy, sweet and spicy. I could eat it every night. Seriously. One of those little containers of Wholly Guacamole Minis is the perfect amount for the salad and so good (and easy), too.

Photo credit: onesweetappetite.com.

I followed Cathy's recommendation on the copycat recipe for the Creamy Tomatillo Ranch Dressing too and really liked it but I wasn't sure it would hold for an extended time in the refrigerator. The second time I fixed the salad, I just added the jalapeno, tomatillo, cilantro and lime juice to regular ranch dressing. It was fine but definitely lacked the same tang. I'll probably go back to making the dressing next time but try to cut the recipe in half.

The first few new recipes I tried this year were just so-so. Edible but not keepers. Things improved with the Italian Meatball Sliders. This one, however, produces "This is sooo good!" comments every time we eat it, even the second go-round of leftovers. Someday I'll get to Cafe Rio to compare it to the real thing but until then, I'm thinking the copycat version is the best.thing.ever.

A Walk in the Woods

Sunshine and warm temperatures (finally!) had us anxious to be outdoors today. I'm not sure I'd say we are suffering from cabin fever but Mother Nature has given us little in terms of weather to make us want to leave the house. Today was different.

We headed to the university to walk some of the trails in the extended woods behind the main part of the campus. Wayne took his hand-held GPS which allowed him to track our route and then laid that route over a Google Earth map to show just where we went. That's some of the campus buildings in the lower right and the power plant on Escambia River at the top. All that green area where we hiked is owned by the university and available for future expansion.

We walked some of this same path last spring when Wayne wanted to give his new knees a test run on uneven ground. He did well then, a vast improvement over his pre-surgery condition, but it was rewarding to see how much better he is now. He bounds up the trail, hardly giving a second thought to steep grades and big steps.

To be honest, I was so excited about the chance to be outdoors I didn't even think about grabbing my camera. As it turns out, the one on my phone was a capable substitute...and it was quite liberating to hike without that weight around my neck.

There's a maze of trails through that forested area so any path you take will soon cross another one, allowing you to make your hike as short or as long as you like. The trail charted on the map was a little over 4 miles. We met a few other hikers and a couple of mountain bikers but for the most part the walk was quiet and peaceful because it's all so spread out.

The trees are a mix of primarily oaks and pines which means at this time of year the ground is littered with giant pine cones. At 7"-8" tall they're quite impressive. I kept thinking they'd be great at some craft project because of their size, although I don't know exactly what. I did, however, resist the urge to pick some up and bring them home with me.

And while the landscape was predominantly green and brown, we did manage to find a little color. I'm not sure what these plants are that we found in the swampy area near the boardwalk but their little yellow pikes certainly showed up in the afternoon sun.

We didn't cover all the trails, leaving a big loop for another day, but we did make a second stop for a short hike to find a cache. That makes the day a two-fer...exercise and a cache.

It was such a treat to be out. I'm sure some of that feeling comes from the spring-like weather but life got in the way of us doing much hiking last year. We both enjoyed our return to the woods and from the looks of this tree, the woods were happy to have us back too.

It's A Love Affair

I'm continuing to turn out a scrapbook page here and there, working to get my brother's share of the family photos into albums. It's a process, mostly a slow one but I figure every one I get done is a step in the right direction.

And, obviously, the design is a part of that process. The primary purpose, of course, is getting the photos preserved in a way that they can be seen and shared with at least some information about who is in them, where they were taken or what the story is behind them if it's known. I want the pages to look nice but I'm not inventing new scrapbooking trends here.

Enter the love of my life...well, other than Wayne, anyway. Perhaps I should have said my scrapbooking life. My Silhouette Cameo. It's the perfect tool for adding a little some'um some'um to a page to make it special without adding bulk. And since I control the color scheme, I can always make my design element match my layout.

I was looking for just such an element for a page with pictures of my mother as a child and young woman. Handwriting, especially a signature, is such a great connection for me, almost as personal as the photographic image of an individual so I decided to turn Mother's signature into a file I could cut on the Silhouette. Here's how to do it:

1. Scan the handwriting into a photo editing software. I use an older version of Photoshop but these instructions should work for Elements as well. I only wanted her first name so I cropped the image to remove the rest of her signature.

2. Select the eyedropper tool (it looks just like an eyedropper on the tool bar) and click on the actual writing in the image. Zoom in (CTRL + on a PC) for a better view so you can be sure you're on the line. Click Select at the top of the page and then Color Range from the drop down menu. A new dialogue box will appear. You want to move the Fuzziness slider to the right until the handwriting is nice and white against a black background. Click OK and you should see "marching ants" around the signature.

3. Great so far but what we really want is to get rid of everything but the signature. In other words, we want all the background gone. Simple enough. Click Select again and then Inverse from the drop down menu. Now the ants are marching around the outside too. Now go to Edit and click on Cut. Voila! your background should be gone.

4. You could save this now as a .png file but I found the size of the line in my image was awfully fine to take directly into Silhouette Studio. I used the brush tool and traced over the handwriting to make it bolder then clicked File then Save As and selected .png in the format box. Even then I still used the offset tool in Studio to fatten it up to cut.

5. Open your saved .png file in Studio, trace the image and cut it from the material of your choice. Here's a great video by Ali Edwards that explains that process if you haven't worked with this type of files before.

Your possibilities for designs are endless when you can save images as .pngs then cut them on the Cameo. I had a punch of a primitive heart (see, it pays never to toss scrapbook supplies!) that I punched, scanned, enlarged and cut from pattern paper for another design element on this page.

Here's the completed page:

There's no real theme to these photos except that they are of my mother so using her signature tied it all together. Throw in a couple of interesting shapes, some pretty paper and a few words and we're done. I say again, I love my Cameo!

Cookie Monster

Not everyone drives hundreds of miles to buy chocolate animal crackers but we did. Well, technically we were driving the hundreds of miles for other purposes; the fact that there was a store selling a specific brand of chocolate animal crackers in the town where we were staying was a bonus...and a tasty one at that.

My addiction to these simple little cookies started last year when we were making trips to and from Kansas every few weeks. Leaving early in the morning put us at either Jackson or Vicksburg, Mississippi, by lunchtime so we usually stopped at a Kroger's store just off the interstate. A little cheese, a piece of fruit and something crunchy/sweet was our normal menu. Wandering the cookie aisle on one of the first trips, I settled on animal crackers because they were small and in a box that would travel well. And they came in chocolate. It became a habit and I picked up a box (or more) on each subsequent trip.

Back home I found a handful of the leftover cookies to be the perfect cure for the post-gym hungries. You know, breakfast was early, I'd burned a lot of calories working out and lunch was still hours away. A few chocolate animal cookies was just enough to tide me over until a regular meal. And while I know I could pick something a lot higher up on the healthy snack index, there are plenty of other things much worse too. Like the Girl Scout cookies that are currently residing in my pantry. (I only bought them to support a good cause...at least that's my excuse.) I don't eat a lot of this crispy snack as evidenced by the fact that the three boxes of chocolate animal crackers I bought on our final Kansas trip in September lasted until mid-February.

The problem is we don't have Kroger stores in our area to replenish my supply. I tried several other brands I could get locally but they just weren't the same. Too sweet or not crispy enough; worse yet, not chocolate-y enough. it seems my addiction is not to chocolate animal crackers but to Kroger chocolate animal crackers.

So when plans were in place for this little trip, I went straight to the Kroger website to see if I could find a store in one of the cities we would be stopping in. Sure enough. And while I was getting ready for our day in Vidalia, my sweet chauffeur headed off to the nearby Kroger to replenish my stash. I confess, when I was looking up locations I made a mental note of the fact that there are Kroger stores in Auburn and Opelika, Alabama, cities much closer than our Georgia shopping trip and cities we pass frequently on road trips.

I may not be blue but I clearly have something in common with the Cookie Monster. I love me some cookies...as long as they're Kroger's chocolate animal cracker cookies. Om Nom Nom Nom.

Top Forty He's Not

We had a little get-away this week...a couple of days in Georgia. I had a family history book I really wanted to check out and the nearest library with that book was in Vidalia, Georgia. And since we were going to Georgia and we haven't seen Kayla since Christmas, we decided to swing by and take her to dinner. It doesn't take much of an excuse to go see her even if it really wasn't on the way to Vidalia.

It's so much better to catch up in person as her smiles and mannerisms add a special layer to communications that you just can't get in texts and phone calls. We're all filled in now on school, sorority life and her first experience flying alone which was a good one. And the book was indeed in the Vidalia library along with another one I was looking for, both brimming with good information. We even found time for a visit to the local museum and learned all kinds of things about growing, harvesting and cooking with Vidalia onions. All in all, it was a successful trip despite the rain.

We went in the truck which is fine with me. It's a roomy, comfortable ride and it's what Wayne drives most of the time. The only drawback is that I miss the smooth jazz found on the satellite radio I'm used to in my car. Not only is it commercial-free, I don't have to constantly search for a new station because we never lose the one we're listening to as the miles roll by.

Wayne, who normally listens to public radio as he cruises around town, humors me when I'm riding in the passenger seat and gives me control of the radio dial. Smooth jazz stations are hard to find except in big cities so I usually tune in to a station playing today's hits. BTT (that's before this truck) I couldn't have told you much about the popular music of the day because I just didn't listen to it anymore but thanks to time in the truck, I was actually familiar with most of the songs up for a Grammy as Song of the Year. Well...the truck and the young instructors leading my fitness classes who play pop songs.

My better half, however, is clueless and happy to be that way. Our drive was punctuated with comments proving that fact. What ARE they saying? Is that a guy or a girl singing that song? Didn't we just hear that song?

The answer to that last one was usually "yes" because it just happened that most of the stations with the best signals were affiliated with iHeart Radio which, because of it's interactive format, apparently repeats more frequently the songs that get the most thumbs up ratings. It became something of a joke about how many times we heard some of those tunes and I'm sure he could sing at least the chorus to Lips Are Movin as it seemed to be the most popular. I won't, however, be holding my breath waiting for that to happen. And while I think he generally just tuned out the music, he did ask if it was Paul McCartney on Four Five Seconds. Pretty astute as I'm not even sure Sir Paul does more than play the guitar on it.

All in all he was a good sport about indulging me even though the music wasn't what he would have chosen on his own. He commented as we pulled into our neighbor that he'd be glad to turn the dial back to public radio when he got in the truck this morning. Maybe it's time to get one of the music streaming apps on my phone and figure out how to play him some soothing smooth jazz when we're on the road. Hmmm, I wonder if I can work Uptown Funk into the playlist.

Bird Bird Bird, Bird Is The Word

I wish I could say I've been off to some exotic locale and that's the reason the blog hasn't been updated this past week but alas, that's what it would be...only a wish. My days have instead been spent right here in my comfy abode wishing, like everyone else, that winter would loosen its grip and these unseasonably cold temperatures would give way to Spring. That too is a wish yet to be fulfilled.

There is, however, hope. I know that because I saw the first robins in the yard on Friday morning. There weren't many and they didn't stay long but they were there, making their funny little run-stop-run trek across the grass looking for breakfast.

They're late this year but then so is warm weather. Sometimes I've seen them as early as the end of December but not this year. They're smart; it's been too cold. I knew I'd see them soon because I've been hearing their distinct chirp now and then as I went through the neighborhood on my walk. Heard but not seen until today. I saw them again Saturday afternoon but it was still the same small band of birds. Hopefully they'll be sending the word back to the rest of the flock that it's time to move north and the yard will be flooded with them, at least temporarily.

Robins weren't the only feathered friends I saw on Friday morning. I saw turkeys too. Four of them wandered across the fairway down by the green and spent twenty minutes or more dining on whatever it is that turkeys have for breakfast. The temps were down near freezing so the golfers were waiting for things to warm up, leaving the golf course to the turkeys. One could argue that even when golfers are on the course it's filled with turkeys but I won't go there. We haven't seen any of these big birds in some time and were afraid clear-cutting the pine trees just beyond the fairway had driven them away. Apparently not...hurray for that.

Robins. Turkeys. I guess you could say everybody's heard about the bird. And if that phrase and the title of this post sparked the memory of a melody in your mind, you can relive 1963 again in this video. You won't have to think too hard; I've already given you all the lyrics.

 

Hearts and Flowers

We spent our Valentine's dinner with our buddies Dr. Dale, Carol and their daughter Jen enjoying the finest Waffle House has to offer. It is, after all, tradition at this point. I know it's the third year but when the hostess (and yes, there is a hostess on Valentine's night) said this was the fifth year, we could have been there more.

I suppose some would scoff at idea and they'd get no argument from me that it's not exactly the most romantic or "special" place that comes to mind. But we don't take ourselves too seriously.

I was shocked to read that the average shopper would spend $142.31 this year on candy, flowers, apparel and more just to celebrate February 14. Love is grand but $142? You can buy a lot of waffles for that!

We don't go to Waffle House because we're cheap, although I will admit I'm too cheap to spend $142 on Valentine's Day. We go because it's fun. The paper hearts and tinsel wreaths that adorn the windows, stools and booths are kind of campy but somehow it just feels right. After all, how else would you decorate a Waffle House? Everyone from the busy wait staff to those patiently waiting for their turn at one of the dozen or so booths has a smile on their face. Like I said, it's just fun...and a whole lot less hassle than somewhere more glamorous and exclusive.

Give me the chance to spend a relaxing evening in the company of people close to my heart and I'll take it every time, no matter what the surroundings might be. A hot waffle swimming in sticky syrup and the pretty little pink rose handed to me as we left were just a bonus.

Hello. Goodbye.

Hello, Japanese Magnolia blooms. Your brown spots prove you've ignored my warnings that you've showed yourselves too early. Despite them, however, you make a bright splash in an otherwise drab landscape until the thermometer drops again.

Goodbye, warm temperatures. I was much happier with last weekend's days in the 70s than I am at the prospect of lows near 25 by the coming weekend.

Hello, repairman. At least that's what I'd like to be saying. One of the two units that heats our house is on the fritz and we're on the list for a service call. Apparently, it's a long list.

Goodbye, excess emails. I'm making a conscious effort to unsubscribe from mailing lists that yield clutter and not valuable information. The inbox fills up faster than I can keep up with anyway.

Hello, steam iron. It's amazing how appealing time with you becomes when there's an ailing heater in the house. I'm almost regretting the small number of items that need to be pressed this week. Almost.

Goodbye, sore muscles. Oh, wait...after this morning's workout, I can't say that for another day or two. I do like the challenge though and the increase in strength is apparent. Pretty good for an old lady.

Hello, Unolingo. It's a daily crossword with a Sudoku twist that stretches my brain cells in new ways. You'd like this puzzle, Mo...but don't blame me when you get hooked.

Goodbye, crepe myrtle branches. Gardening lore says they should be trimmed by February 14 and I've met that goal. I like the clean look, until they leaf out anyway, but the birds miss a favorite landing spot.

Hello, clever scrapbook page. It's been a while since a layout has made me want to sit right down and make my own just like it but this one sure did. Well, like it but with my own spin. It may be digital but it would be easy to translate it to paper.

Goodbye, stuff. I hauled a trunkload-ful to Goodwill and as I was gathering it all up, I kept asking myself why I'd held onto it for so long. It's kind of scary what collects in the back of cupboards I don't get into very often.

Hello, gusty north winds. We've spent far too much time together this winter. I thought I left you behind in Kansas.

Goodbye, complaints. I could live in Boston.

Treasures

We spent last Wednesday roaming the aisles of some of Pensacola's antique stores. We're not into antiques but our friends Tom and Durlene are so we were happy to tag along. Hitting some of the local places during their visit has been a plan for several years but we never got it done until this year, in part because they're staying two months instead of one. More time for fun that way. And to add to that fun, they brought along some snowbird friends of theirs, Bridget and David.

I may not be into antiques but I knew just who to contact for recommendations (thanks, Victoria!) and despite the rain, we had a great time seeing treasures from days gone by in a half dozen stores. Durlene and Bridget found a few things that called their names but my sole purchase was a small terra cotta angel that is more Christmas decoration than antique.

Part of the fun of a day out like this is having lunch together which, in this case, was Newk's. There were plenty of bowls of soup consumed to help fight off the weather's chill. And as we ate, Durlene was telling Bridget and David about how many meals the four of us had shared over the years. There is no treasure quite like that of old friends.

While I didn't buy much on our antique tour, I am the proud owner of new treasures. My dad sent me these two books.

The top one is an old autograph book that belonged to my grandfather. It's filled with sweet little poems written mostly by his school friends in 1908 and 1909. It reminds me of all the messages we wrote to classmates in the pages of our annual our senior year only there are no photos in this book.

Tucked among the pages, however, is a single blue bootie that Dad believes was probably his. And there's a note from my grandmother identifying some scraps of paper folded inside as an art project Dad brought home to her when he was in the first grade. I asked Dad what those scraps were supposed to be and he said he had no idea. We both got a good laugh out of his art talent or lack thereof but Grandma treasured it just the same.

The second book has photos. The note taped to the inside cover identifies the assortment of family pictures as having been assembled by Grandma for Dad in the winter of 1974, not long before her death. Some of the photos I've seen but there are lots of new ones too.

Like this one of Grandpa at age 16. Even Dad didn't remember having seen it before. The primary conversation about this picture is that he has hair...lots of it, too! That's remarkable because he was bald by his early twenties so almost every photo of him is sans hair. I can look at photos of my grandmother as a young woman and know it's her. Finding Grandpa in this face is harder but I love it.

And here's another one I've never seen. This ringlet-coiffed munchkin would be me although I have never seen my hair styled in that way in any other photo. Nor do I remember ever wearing it that way. It was always curly when I was little but never fell into ringlets like this. Someone had to put some time and effort into getting this result. It makes me wonder how long it lasted.

My final new treasure is this pretty headband made by my niece Dianne. It's hand-knitted, perfect for keeping my ears toasty on my walk with the cold wind we've had lately. It's special not only because she crafted this just for me but she took it a step further. It's hard to tell from the picture but those two shiny objects on both sides of the big white button are cufflinks. My grandfather's cufflinks to be exact. The same grandfather who is pictured above. I love that she thought to do that; it's a double keepsake.

All these treasures mean I'm going to have to get busy. Busy scanning the photos to share with other family members and busy documenting the who and what behind these items so my kids will know the stories when I'm gone. Without the stories, these treasures are just things.

One Bite At A Time

When eating an elephant, take one bite at a time.
                                        Creighton Abrams

Sometimes there are tasks that just seem too overwhelming to tackle. Cleaning closets are like that for me. Going through everything all at once and deciding what to keep and what to get rid of is more that my mind can wrap itself around. Rather than simply not do it, I adapt. My rule is one new thing in means one old thing out. Pulling just one thing (or two or three, depending on the buying spree) isn't overwhelming at all and, in truth, I often end up pulling out more old than the new that went in. It's an easy way to keep the closets in relatively good shape without boggling the old brain.

I apply a similar principle to the task of cleaning miles of floor tile. Well, it really isn't miles except when you have to get down on it and scrub every individual tile and the grout that surrounds it. Don't get me wrong, it gets mopped at least every week and often more frequently than that but I'm always surprised at how much dirt my trusty Swiffer can leave behind over time. The floor looks clean until I run a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser across it and am shocked at what it picks up. So periodically I play Cinderella and get down on my hands and knees and give it a good scrubbing.

That periodic time has arrived. December's goal was to clean the tile in the master bathroom. With everything else going on over the holidays, that seemed like a modest goal so meeting it wasn't difficult. January was more of a challenge: The kitchen and breakfast area. It's nearly 400 square feet of scrubbing fun.

And just like breaking this task down by rooms, I broke this big area down to more manageable segments too. One Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. That's right, I scrubbed until that perfectly new little rectangle was reduced to flimsy crumbs barely clinging to one another and then I could stop for the day. Oh, some days I was feeling particularly ambitious or had an abundance of time so I did more but knowing that I only had to do one eraser made this big task seem much smaller. Let's just say that instant gratification both in terms of the clean tile squares and the end of the day's duty is a great motivator.

This stop-and-start system of cleaning probably wouldn't work well for everyone but it does for me. I finished that sea of tile well before the end of the month and am enjoying looking down at those shiny clean squares of terra cotta. I thought they were clean before but now I know that they are. February's goal is the entry way and the laundry room.

To paraphrase Mr. Abrams, my theory is that when cleaning a floor, take one tile at a time.

Gumbo Tales

Life has been lazy at our house today. I slept in then did little all day that required much mental or physical exertion except for my walk. It was part left-over fatigue from a busy week and part left-over mellowness from a delightful evening last night with friends. Gumbo Night 2015 is in the books.

By all accounts it was a success. The diners proclaimed the bowls of spicy goodness as "the best gumbo ever" but then I wouldn't expect them to label it as so-so. They'd worry Chef Wayne might not repeat his culinary masterpiece next January. It was pretty darn tasty though, the perfect middle to some great appetizers and desserts carried in by the good friends who joined us.

Even Brad dropped by for some gumbo. I suspect he was less than thrilled at the menu choice but he was a good sport to humor his parents anyway. Our Missouri friends, Tom and Durlene, were thrilled as they haven't seen him in decades. Our families spent many a weekend night together when we all lived in Kansas, the adults playing cards and the kids playing games or toys until they fell asleep on the couch. Lots of fun times.

I have Durlene to thank for the photos. I moved my camera to the desk in my kitchen, thinking it would be handy to grab and snap a few shots, but I was too focused on getting things ready that I never got around to it. Well, there was also some yummy appetizers to taste and friends to chat up that occupied my time too. Thankfully Durlene was quick with her camera phone to record some of the night's moments.

Brad commented after everyone left about what an amazing circle of friends we have and he's right. Our friendship with Tom and Durlene exceeds 45 years and with all the others in our little gang it's 25 years or more. They're not just friends; they're family.

Gumbo night is more than just putting a tasty Cajun stew on the table and enjoying it. It's a celebration of people who hold a special place in our hearts. Such good food. Such good friends. Such good times.

Roux, Roux, Roux Your Pot

Wednesday was gumbo-making day at the Arnall homestead. Stirring up a pot of this Southern staple has become a January tradition, much to the delight of our friends...and us too. Not only is the soup delicious but it's also a fun night with people we love.

It's a team effort getting there, though. Wayne peels the shrimp; I de-vein them. Wayne chops and sautes; I cook the stocks and mix the spices. Wayne makes a mess; I clean it up. I'm just kidding on that last one as we both make our share of messes as the day goes on. And it is an all-day process.

Wayne's specialty, however, is the roux, that magical mixture of flour and oil cooked to the color of milk chocolate. It takes about thirty minutes of constant stirring to get it there because you have to throw it out if it scorches. His never does. It gives the gumbo that deep color and rich taste...well, that and all the other good things we put in it.

You can see the bowls of sauteed vegetables, chicken and andouille sausage there ready and waiting but there's also shrimp and crab on on hold until it's their turn to join the party. And oysters cooked separately for those who want them. (That would not be me.) Not everyone uses both meat and seafood but since we only make gumbo once a year, we go all out. There's three kinds of stock (turkey, chicken and seafood made from the shrimp peelings), ham hocks for flavoring, okra, and tomatoes but no filé powder. And, of course, some Cajun spice too. Just enough to make you want to shout Whoooeee, dats good!

At the end of the day we had six big containers of gumbo goodness ready to go into the refrigerator where the flavors will marry and live happily every after. Soup is always better that way.

If my tastings throughout today's process are any indication, it's going to be a very good year for gumbo. Good thing...I'm ready.

House Moving

I didn't mean to abandon the blog for so long but by the time evening rolled around this past week, I was exhausted. And rightly so...I've been house moving. House moving, you say? Yes, but probably not in the way you're envisioning. Let me explain.

Back in the mid-1980s, I bought a small sculpture as a souvenir of the cruise we were on at the time. The staggered roofs of the little houses on a hillside seemed to be the perfect reminder of what we were seeing in St. Thomas, even if the artist was fashioning them after English villages. A year or two later I saw another one by the same artist and bought it, intrigued by the detail and charm of these hand-crafted cottages. It wasn't long before we became serious David Winter collectors.

Had these been real houses, castles and other structures we could have populated an entire country when we stopped buying. The demand for these quaint sculptures had grown and in an effort to keep up, the artist sold out to Enesco, the giftware company that owned Prescious Moments, Department 56 and other collectibles. It was not a good thing, at least to our thinking. I was content with the ones we had.

A few weeks ago I was muttering about some of those pieces as I shuffled them around in the furniture in the guest bedroom. They were ones we'd taken down from the walls when we repainted Wayne's computer room. I told Wayne I'd sell them if I could instead of keeping them in a drawer; in fact, I added, I was willing to sell a good number of what we had.

One should be careful what one wishes for. It wasn't long before he was up in the attic bringing down the boxes all those houses, big and small, had come in. He rounded up the Certificates of Authenticity and built him a database to track what we had and what we were selling. Now it was up to me to sort them out.

The only way I could figure out how to do that was to take them out of the display cases where they lived. Keep in mind there are over 300 of them in three pieces of furniture, including this two-sided cabinet built into the wall in the dining room. The object was to keep only enough to fill two cabinets, assuming I could find enough I was willing to part with.

It was easier than I expected. I dusted all of the pieces (no small task there) and cleaned all the shelves and mirrors, then began putting the ones I wanted back in. All of the castles, all of the Christmas pieces with snow, all of the ones that were intriguing or unique or just said "keep me" when I held them. And as I came to ones I was sure I wanted to sell, I used the top of the entertainment center as a holding area for the ones someone else would treasure. When I finished, I had 93 I was happy to say good-bye to as well as the seven or eight pieces that had been living in a drawer in the extra bedroom.

It's really hard to get a photo of a see-through cabinet when there are windows behind it but it looks pretty all clean and newly-arranged. The one in the living room is bigger and holds the rest of the pieces.

Wayne took on the task of packing away the candidates for sale. He'll list them on ebay a few at a time but we'll need to photograph them first.

Finding the right box to match the piece was a challenge in itself. He had boxes stacked in every available free space in his computer room. Fortunately, all the empty boxes for the pieces we're keeping are now packed and ready to go back in the attic again so his office looks much better.

And I had a plan for the freshly-emptied cabinet in the dining room too. Two shelves hold the family keepsakes we've acquired recently and I was able to bring out the bigger serving pieces to the crystal that have been stored away. The top of the china cabinet was too full to hold them but now that have a home.

It's surprising how much lighter this room looks with the cabinet filled with sparkly, clear things instead of cottages. Of course, that sparkle came about because I washed everything before it went in here. And in true home re-do fashion, that only served to highlight the fact that the china cabinet could use the same treatment. That is, however, going to have to wait for a new burst of energy to strike.

I may not have moved a house house but it sure feels like I moved a lot of what's in ours.

No Hablo Español

We've been friends with Hiram and Bonnie for more than thirty years. They moved into the house they built next door just weeks before we moved into ours 24 years ago so we have a lot of history together. I might have wondered about that friendship when they sold theirs a few years later but they built and sold several others in the intervening years so we didn't take it personally. In fact, we jokingly tell them they've lived in more houses in the years we've know them than Wayne and I have our entire lives...combined. And it's true.

So when Hiram's mother passed away at the end of last week, we were on board to help in any way possible. Over those many years of friendship, we had plenty of contact with Miss Barbara (in the South every woman is called Miss Xxxxx) who was one of the sweetest people ever. She lived a long and happy life and will be missed by those who knew and loved her.

We were only too happy to be part of the team bringing and serving food to the family after the funeral. Charlotte, another close friend, and I were in charge of securing a giant box of fried chicken from Walmart and delivering it to Bonnie's house where the family would be gathering. Easy enough, right?

Now when I say giant, I mean GIANT. The chicken was just out of the fryer when we walked up to the deli case and in a matter of minutes they were packing that hot chicken into the biggest takeout box I'd ever seen. It was shaped like one you'd get for a box lunch where the top portion of the sides all fold in to not only close the box but also form a handle to carry it with. The clerk slapped a label on the top of the box and handed it to us with instructions to keep one hand on the bottom so it didn't come apart.

As we're walking to the checkout area, I asked Charlotte if she thought we could go through the self-check. After all, we only had one item. Sure, she said, confident we could figure out how to scan the label on the top without spilling hot chicken all over the checkout stand.

There are six or eight self-check stations at our Walmart and they were all busy but fortunately for us, a man picked up his sack and walked away from one of the machines as we walked up. We hurried to it and began the process of figuring just how much and at what angle to tip the giant box and where to hold on to keep the contents inside. We were soon rewarded with the familiar chirp of a successful scan.

Then the machine began talking to us...in Spanish. I looked at Charlotte; Charlotte looked at me. It was truly a Lucy and Ethel kind of moment.

It finally occurred to us that the man who had walked away was Hispanic and he'd selected Spanish when he started his transaction. We'd rushed up and started ours without making a language selection so I guess they machine just stuck with Spanish.

The machine said something else to us in Spanish, probably that we should put our purchase in the bagging area but I don't know since I don't speak much Spanish beyond taco and quesadilla. Do you see anywhere on here that we can change this back to English? I asked Charlotte. Neither of us did.

I was reluctant to push any buttons since I had no idea what they said. We could see the total purchase was what we were expecting so I was willing to gamble. I know, I said. I'll put my debit card through the machine and see if that closes out the transaction. Sure enough, as soon as I scanned the card the screen changed and the machine began to give us more instructions, still in Spanish. I didn't have to know a foreign language to know I needed to follow the instructions on the card reader which, fortunately, were in English. I've done that enough in the past I think I could do it without instructions but it was still comforting to know what was on the buttons before I pushed them.

Receipt in hand, I resisted the urge to tell the machine muchas gracias; I didn't want to toss around my entire Spanish repertoire all in one sentence. So off we went with our giant box of fried chicken and a few giggles too.

The Digital Word

My sweet husband bought me a Kindle for Christmas. I've toyed with the idea from time to time but was never sure enough about how much I'd use it to buy one. He knows me better than I know myself which makes it all the better choice as a gift as I'm loving it. I'd love it more if I could find more time to read but I haven't figured out how to add more hours to the day.

Although the Kindle came with a new Patricia Cornwell book, my first foray into digital reading is far from a mystery. Just before Christmas I discovered a book on the 124th Illinois Regiment with which my great-great-grandfather fought in the Civil War. It was written in 1889 so it's one of many historical books Google offers as free downloads since the copyright has long since expired. We wanted to see if it would work on the Kindle and it does. It wouldn't be something I'd ordinarily be interested in but this regiment served most of its time in Vicksburg and Mobile so the places are very familiar to me. And it's based on the diary the author kept during his enlistment so it's has an interesting mix of fact and personal experiences. It's not my ancestor telling these stories but if he had recorded his, I'm sure they'd be much the same.

In addition to the historical book we also downloaded one of the free books Amazon offers, again just to see how it works. Which immediately led to me signing up on BookBub and Pixel of Ink for information on other free and discounted books. Each day emails arrive in my inbox describing a dozen or more books I can download and little or no cost. Obviously, they aren't the newest books or the ones on the current best seller list but there's plenty to pique my interest. And since my local library doesn't offer ebooks, I've come to think of these emails as trips to a virtual library without the pressure of a due date.

I could probably find one or more books in each email that sound interesting enough to read but I've resisted. Well, mostly anyway. I do, however, love to read all the the story synopses. I suppose it's like picking up the book in the library or store and reading the inside jacket or back cover to get a clue as to what the book is about. What I've learned so far is that there are a) a lot of people running from deep secrets in their past and b) a lot more drawn to men/women who are wrong for them. At least that seems to be the recurring themes in the books promoted during my short experience. I don't believe I've chosen from either category yet but my Kindle is barely broken in. There's still time.

I think I hesitated about a digital reader because I was afraid I'd miss the feel of an actual book in my hand. But I don't. The Kindle is about the same size, its page reads just like a book page, and it remembers exactly where I am when I stop reading. And despite the warning to the contrary, I can get just as sleepy reading from it as I do a traditional book.

Now what I need is a plan to fit reading in among all my other hobbies. Or someone to do my housework so I can read during the time I usually devote to that. Let me know if you're interested...we'll work something out. :-)

Word Problems

I've made a conscious effort these first few weeks of 2015 to try one new recipe a week. We're always up for the adventure of having something new on the menu and to be honest, I get bored cooking the same old things. Besides, you never know when you might find a new family favorite. So far, however, the two experiments haven't been anything to write home about. Edible but not repeatable.

As it's turned out, both recipes were made in the crockpot. I didn't set out to find recipes for the slow cooker but since I was forced to buy a new one when the old one gave up the ghost, I was happy to put my new purchase to use.

The directions for one of the recipes called for a cooking time of ten hours on low or six hours on high. The only problem was I was prepared to let the crockpot do it's thing at 10:30am. With dinner planned for 6:00pm, I had more than six hours but not ten. No problem, I thought; I'll do some of the cooking on high then turn it down to low. The question was how to divide the time.

I did what any self-respecting non-math person would do...I guesstimated. I figured if I took half of each I'd have eight hours and since I only needed 7.5, I just reduced the extra thirty minutes at the same ratio. In my world ratios aren't math...lol.

Going through that process made me think about all those word problems we used to have in grade school or junior high. You know, if a train started from Denver going 80 mph and another one started from Philadelphia going 60 mph, where would they meet? I hated them. Somehow I must have come up with an answer but the method has escaped me long ago.

So I wandered into Wayne's computer room to pose my word problem to him, more as a joke than because I required his answer. I was content with my guesstimate but I was interested in what he would come up with. The main ingredient, after all, was chicken and I certainly didn't want to serve it raw.

His face lit up and I could see the wheels start to turn. Unlike me, Wayne likes math. I went on about doing other things around the house but it wasn't long before he came to find me. I wouldn't have been surprised to see a spreadsheet in his hand but instead he began his explanation of how to get the answer, ending with the formula 1x + .6x = 450. I tried to keep my eyes from glazing over. In the end his precise answer was almost the same as my guesstimate, and in crockpot time, the difference was immaterial.

We chuckled about who in our circle of friends would be able to come up with the answer so we posed the question at dinner a few nights later. There were a few blank stares from the men but in fairness, they didn't have a chance to offer their theories before some of the gals chimed in with the strategy of cooking it on high until it was done then turning it over to warm. It's a crockpot, they chided; it's supposed to be easy. And they're right.

There is, however, a second part to this word problem. How long will it take to be done if you don't plug in the crockpot? The answer: Infinity. Don't ask me how I know.

It's A Miracle!

Well....sorta. I scrapbooked, and given how little of that I've done in the last year or so, it qualifies as a miracle in my book.

I think I finally came to grips with the idea that I was never going to have big chunks of time to sit and create like I did when I had assignments and deadlines looming over my head. Truthfully, I don't know that I technically had big chunks of time then either but I reordered my priorities to make them. We all have the same 24 hours each day; I used blocks of mine to cut and paste while something else was left undone.

Now that those days are behind me, I'm want many of those undone things done so something has to give. And the last year or two, it's been creative time. I have, however, vowed to change that in 2015. I'm being open to creativity. I don't want to go back to what it was when I worked for the magazine but to have a more balanced approach. Something in between. I've been stuck in the I'll-scrapbook-when-I-have-more-time approach since the deadlines evaporate and that translated to never. Now I'm in the just-start mode, figuring I'll find thirty minutes here or an hour there and eventually finish something. It's what I used to do when I first started scrapbooking all those years ago; I don't know why it's taken me this long to go back to it.

So here's the first layout under the new plan:

It's a few more of my brother's share of the family pictures out of the box and into his scrapbook. Someday that box will be empty but it doesn't seem to be happening very fast.

That's our grandfather, William Harvey Hedrick, in the large picture on the left. And in the upper right on the other page is his father, William Cowdry Hedrick. Moving to the picture in the upper left is William Cowdry's mother, Nancy Logan, and the series of photos at the bottom are Nancy's parents, Tarlton Logan and Jane Campbell. That's quite a few "greats" when you add them all up.

There's nothing ground-breaking in the design as I've tried to keep the focus on the pictures in all the pages I've made for this book. I've got to have a little creative fun, however, so I made the tree with the root system which I thought went nicely with the family history theme. And to celebrate the miracle of my return to scrapbooking, I'm sharing it with anyone who wants it. It's a Silhouette Studio cut file and I'm running v.3 of the software.

        Download Tree and roots bArnall

If you experience any problems with the download or getting it to open, shoot me an email. I'm more confident about being able to get you the file through other means than solving Silhouette Studio problems. I love what the machine can do but it's far smarter than I am at this point.

One down, who knows how many more layouts to go in this new year. I do know that this little miracle has made me quite happy though. And that's going to continue...the next set of photos are on the table.

Scientifically Speaking

When I was putting up Christmas decorations a month ago, I decided I wanted to add some candles to the items on the mantle. Over the years I've accumulated an assortment of candlesticks of various sizes and textures and I thought adding them to the mantle would give it a fresher look. I've written before about wanting to totally redo that part of the decorations but not having the time this year so candlesticks were a bit of a compromise.

I was digging around in a drawer in the china cabinet where I keep the candles when I saw something small and dark that I didn't recognize. When I moved the candles around, I discovered it was our oldest son's baby spoon. And the reason that it was dark was that it was badly tarnished...as in black.

If you'd asked me beforehand if I still had it, I would probably have denied it. It has to have been in that drawer for the 24 years we've lived here and I can't tell you where it was kept in the old house. And while I might have forgotten still having it, I knew it was Brad's as soon as I saw it. It must have been a gift from someone as we certainly couldn't afford silver at that stage in our lives. I could probably dig around to find his baby book to determine from whom but I didn't. I know where the baby book is but I'd likely get lost in yesteryear looking at other memorabilia in that drawer in the process.

The spoon looks pretty bad, doesn't it. I wasn't sure it could be revived and frankly, I wasn't keen on the idea of spending hours with the silver polish. So I asked my friend Google how to clean badly tarnished silver. Sure enough, Google had an answer. In fact, several but I started with the simplest...baking soda, hot water and aluminum foil.

I lined a plastic bowl with aluminum foil, shiny side up, threw in some baking soda and poured in some water I heated in the microwave. In went the spoon for its cleansing bath.

Thanks to Google I learned that tarnish is actually silver sulfide but that process silver goes through to turn black can be reversed with the baking soda solution. The key is having the tarnished piece resting on aluminum and being fully immersed in the solution. Essentially, I created a small electrical current with a chemical reaction, causing the silver sulfide to transfer to the aluminium. Who knew I could be such a scientist? I was wishing for a lab coat.

While it only took a few minutes to see improvement, the spoon was still pretty black so I decided to take my science experiment one step further. Google also gave me a "recipe" that incorporated salt and vinegar with the baking soda/aluminum/hot water process I'd been using so I added both of those. Needless to say, it fizzed a good bit more so if you do it, be sure your bowl is big enough for this reaction. And be prepared for your kitchen to smell a little like a science lab too.

After a few minutes I took the spoon out to evaluate the progress. Note: Use tongs or something as the spoon gets hot sitting in the heated solution. You can see how the black was easily rubbing off as I was wiping it dry after rinsing it.

And here's the finished result. Amazing, isn't it? I did go over it with some silver polish and the black practically wiped off as I was wiping the polish on. I really didn't have to "polish" it; it practically did itself.

I'm pretty impressed that this blackened spoon in the back corner of a drawer has been restored to heirloom status, all thanks to some science. Needless to say, the spoon didn't go back in the drawer to be "lost" again for another 24 years; it's out with Grandma's cake plates now.

If you're interested, you'll find the basic "formula" and full scientific explanation here and the "improved" version with salt and vinegar here.

Don't you just love it when Google makes life easier?

There's Gold In Them Thar Hills

When I developed an interest in family history in the late 1990s, my mother-in-law was a willing co-conspirator. She was eager to fill me in on names and dates on both side of Wayne's family but she was even happier to solicit information from cousins and beyond to fill in the blanks she couldn't. If there was one thing Pansy loved, it was sending letters and cards and this gave her a new reason to drop a note to someone dear but not so near.

I've been spending my evenings this past week or so lost in the files she amassed from all the information she collected. Lost, in part, because  of the volume (the stack reaches about 6" high and needs to be viewed page by page, line by line) but also because of the condition. My sweet mother-in-law did not lack for enthusiasm but her organizational skills left a lot to be desired.

In those early years Pansy often brought the notes she made from the replies to her inquiries with her when she came to visit and we'd sit at the computer together, her directing me to the correct relative and me keying in the information she'd uncovered. Most of it was from cousins and second cousins listing their children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren, and even though I was far more interested in ancestors rather than distant descendants, I was grateful for her help and learned a lot about how various names I had seen or heard fit into the big picture during those sessions.

But Pansy never threw anything away so these files contain those same notes we went over plus the ones she continued to assemble when a store and then subsequent other positions associated with scrapbooking left me no time for family history. It's tedious to go through these files to verify I have the information but I don't want to wholesalely assume that I do without checking either.

There are pages with names and dates that I obviously don't have in my database. The problem is they are first names only and given all the families and their extended descendants, I have no what to know what last name they go with. And then there are the sheets with names and dates and a note at the bottom with a question mark and the comment, "I have no idea if or how these fit into the tree."

The files have other stuff in them too. Notes she made either from reading a letter or maybe a phone conversation about first one person then another. Shingles, hospitalizations, new babies...just the everyday happenings of life that really have nothing to do with family history. Sometimes there's a full name and sometimes it's just a first name, all without a date. And there are lists of who she sent birthday or anniversary cards to along with a description of the card so she wouldn't repeat a similar design or color the next year. I say lists but often they are just a name or two on a slip of paper. Never mind that she wouldn't be able to find them again buried in a folder labeled with a different branch of the family tree. I've smiled and shook my head a lot; it's typical Pansy. But there's a warm connection in that too.

Fortunately there are a few gems too that make it all worthwhile. Like the entire Civil War record for John Wesley Kitterman, Wayne's great-great grandfather, which someone else in the family obtained from the National Archives and shared with her. He was captured and taken prisoner in Kentucky in 1862 but released the same day, and he was also wounded in battle near Atlanta in August 1864. There's a personal connection for me in the handwriting of ancestors so I was thrilled to find the signatures of John W. Kitterman and his wife, Sarah Ellen Smith Kitterman, on the affidavits they filed on their respective applications for benefits from this service.

While it's not an original photo, I also found a copy of a picture of John and Sarah. True to the point I was making about organization or lack thereof, It was in a different file but still it was there. I'm guessing this picture could well have been taken not too long after the Civil War.

On another branch of Wayne's tree I was trying to determine if it was worth keeping a fistful of pages on the genealogy of James G. Blaine who had an interesting political career which included being a candidate for President. Family lore has it that he was a nephew of one of the men in Wayne's Blaine line but the reference as to whom is vague. I didn't prove or disprove that but I did discover that Wayne's 5th great grandfather, Michael Blaine, fought in the Revolutionary War. I had little more than his name but thanks to a DAR record that documents Wayne's direct line, I can fill in a lot of holes about him and his son as well as their wives and possibly more. I'm still looking on James.

My pile is now down to a few skinny folders that can't be more than half an inch high at most so the end is in sight. I've added a little information to the tree, found a few photos and other documents and uncovered a couple of things I had no Idea existed. But then I guess that's why I'm doing this. It's true what they say, you know. There is gold in them thar hills, only in this case it's them thar files.

One Little Word 2015

Who would have thought when I decided on that cold December day in 2006 to make choose joy my personal mantra for the year 2007 that it would become a ritual I'd be repeating with regularity. But here it is eight years later and it clearly has.

To those not familiar with the idea of choosing a word for the year, it's a little like making resolutions without the extra pressure. Resolutions set you up for failure because let's face it, we're not likely to keep all of them throughout the entire year. But a single word? We can keep that as our focus...or own personal lighthouse, if  you will...and renew our efforts without guilt when we stray from the course we'd hoped for. It's about personal growth and being a better version of ourselves, or at least making the effort to be.

I deliberately phrased the act of choosing a word as a ritual not because there's some actual ceremony or other special process involved because nothing could be farther from the truth. Words just sort of float in and out of my brain until finally one just feels "right" and settles in. Really scientific, huh? But it works for me. Then sometimes, like this year, the one that felt right for most of December was suddenly not right and replaced by a new one a few nights ago. Whether my subconscious thought I needed work in a different area or it's simply the fickleness of a woman's mind, I don't know but I'm just going with it.

No, the ritual part of the process is reading back through what I wrote on January 1 when I chose my word. It's a chance to reflect rather than determine success or failure, to see how having this word at the forefront shaped where I am and where I want to go in my life.

Better was the choice for 2014 and it was a good fit. Of course, choose joy, listen, rejoice, complete, now, lean forward, and breathe were good words too but some fit more comfortably at the beginning of the year than they did at the end. Better held its own.

Each of those words still holds a special significance for me. We know the power of negative words in our lives but we tend to overlook the strength positive words can give us. So I repeat the list each year as a reminder that I am still a work in progress. Better served me well in so many areas of my life yet I will still strive to be better, to choose joy, to breathe and to employ all the other words in that growing string.

It's funny how my 2015 word uprooted the pretender and cemented its place as the selection for the year. I was cleaning up my desk when I came across a piece of paper with three quotes scribbled on it:

The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live. 
               Flora Whittemore

Open the door to chance; forever is sitting outside.
               Maryanne Radmacher

There is no key to happiness. The door is always open.
               Mother Teresa.

I can't tell you when or why I wrote those quotes as the sheet they were written on was buried under a pile of other papers but I took finding them as the universe's way of telling me my guiding word for the coming years should be:

Open. Open doors that lead me to the life I want to live and the happiness that comes with it. Open eyes to look within and an open mind to change whatever needs it if I don't like what I see. An open heart to appreciate the many blessings in my life and to love those who are so important to me. And in a truly literal sense of the word, open doors taking me to new places, open books teaching me new ideas, and open packages of pretty new things to add to scrapbook pages I am determined to make.I see this word having so many adaptations in my life and I'm excited by all of them.

So bring it on, 2015...I'm open to whatever you've got.

Funny Money

Since she was old enough to write her first birthday/Christmas list, Kayla has been very good about making that list very specific. Part of it is her organized nature and the rest is that she knows that's the best way to get what yshe wants. And as she became more Internet savvy, the list usually included links to the requested item along with sizes and color preferences. I, for one, am grateful; no more guessing and getting the wrong thing/size/color. There was always enough on the list that I could pick and choose so there was still an element of surprise when she opened the packages.

This year, however, there were only a couple of things on the list. In some ways it's a reflection of the fact that she turned twenty but mostly it's because she wanted money. In fact, it was the first item on the list followed by please, please, please!!!! She wasn't being greedy; she had a purpose in mind. The members of her sorority are spending a week at the beach this summer and she has to pay for her room and expenses.

How could I turn down a request that included was punctuated by multiple exclamation points and a smiley face? The answer is I couldn't.

I didn't, however, want to eliminate the fun of the surprise when she opened her gift so I scoured the Internet for clever packaging ideas and came up with the plan to tape the bills together and make them pop out of a tissue box. Oh, if only money were so readily available in the real world.

The first step was to tape the bills together end to end. I raided my stash and came up with almost a dozen different patterns of washi tape, a repositionable art tape that would hold the money together but be easy to remove. See, you just never know when your scrapbooking supplies are going to come in handy. With my Coke can as an anchor, I set to work stringing the bills together.

The pooled up on the floor on the other side of the kitchen island then I rolled them all up. It's a little tricky as you have to pull a little to keep the roll tight but you can't pull hard on the tape or it comes apart.

Now to make it look like Kleenex. I taped two folded tissues together end to end using packing tape and then taped the bottom of the second one together with the same tape. I found the washi tape wouldn't stick to the tissue alone; it needed a more substantial surface and the packing tape gave it just enough substance. Plus, I needed to narrow the end of the tissue so it matched the dollar bills so they would "dispense" correctly.

I fastened the roll of money to the taped end of the tissue and put it all inside the Kleenex box which I had opened on the side. I was afraid if I just left it loose, it would unravel inside the box so I stuffed some craft paper under the roll, folding another sheet to put between the crumpled paper and the money roll so it would sit on a smooth surface as it unfurled. It wasn't hard to feed the end of the tissue through the opening and then fold the rest back on itself to cover up the money below. It looked just like regular Kleenex when I finished.

It just happened that this was the first package Kayla picked up when we were ready to open gifts, and she was actually happy when she discovered that it appeared to be Kleenex inside the wrapping. Or she was simply being nice. Brad, who was in on the joke, remarked that it was after all cold and flu season and Melissa, who was as much in the dark as Kayla, piped in that it was exactly what Kayla needed as she is always adding Kleenex to the weekly grocery list.

She probably would have set it aside and moved on the the next gift then, making a mental note that her grandmother was getting more weird by the day, had I not suggested that she just pull one of those tissues out and share it with me. She was puzzled at first when a second tissue emerged with the first but the look on her face was priceless when the cold, hard cash began to appear.

And the more she pulled, the more she giggled. It was way more fun to watch her open a box with money in this form than it ever would have been had I just stuck some cash in a regular box and wrapped it.

The gift and it's packaging was a hit. Well, the gift probably would have been a hit anyway as coupled with some cash from her dad she now can fund her week at the beach this summer. But I'd like to think that the few extra minutes it took to tape the bills together and roll them into a Kleenex box will be another good memory of Christmas at our house. And in the end, that's what matters most.

It's A Wonderful Life

Christmas 2014 has come and gone and it was a good one. While it seemed doubtful at times that everything would get done, somehow it did. And in the end, the actual day was more relaxing and less stressful than most years.

The cookies got baked, thanks to a hand from the Big Elf. When it comes to baking, he takes on a little more each year and it really helps. I think he likes tasting most of all.

And the cookies got eaten too, thanks in part to this Little Elf. But then, that's what they're for. My experiment for this year (there's always one) was Dark Chocolate Salted Carmel. Kayla and I thought they were delicious. They're really dark, however...like almost black. Wayne said they looked like they belonged in the barnyard which prompted Brad to proclaim them as Reindeer Poop cookies, a name which is sure to stick. It didn't bother Kayla and me though' we agreed I should make them again next year.

Santa arrived, or maybe it was one of his elves. Brad conned Kayla into helping him with his wrapping and they very cleverly used the scraps to create a bow on one of them. It's awesome having him just a few minutes (instead of hours) away.

And the presents were perfect and much appreciated. We all got a chuckle out of the fact that the gift card we selected for Brad said "Happy Birthday" instead of "Merry Christmas" but I scribbled on the holder that the greeting was directed to Baby Jesus, of course. It will spend just the same.

Sometimes, no matter what they say, the best presents really are under the tree. It really is a wonderful life.

An Accountant And A Designer Walked Into A Craft Room

If it sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, it may be. Read on for a little laugh.

When we were I was picking out carpet, tile and furnishings for our new house 24 years ago, I didn't give much thought to Christmas. By fall, it was apparent all our traditional red and green decorations weren't going to work with our peachy/terra cotta and aqua decor. Hence, a whole new theme for Christmas at our home was born.

I love that the main living areas are filled with Santas, snowmen and angels, mostly in white but with some shades of aqua, terra cotta, peach and metallics thrown in. And snowflakes too. The assortment has grown over the years and even Wayne commented as I put them out this year that we had accumulated some beautiful things and he's right.

There's a certain sameness to the arrangement but I also like to change it  little too so every few years I mix things things up. I've been itching to do something different with the mantle for two years now but never think about it far enough ahead of time to do something about it. This year's no different but now I've got a head start on next year.

Last fall while walking through a local antique store to get to the contract post office in the back, I spied some large wooden snowflakes. The design was pretty simple: Basically the same as the snowflake shape in Photoshop with a couple of extras added on. A Google search turned up these as a starting point but there are lots with more intricate designs to choose from too. I showed them to Wayne and he agreed to help me put one together.

First, let me say that I am spatially-challenged. I am forever asking Wayne Will these leftovers fit in this piece of Tupperware? So when he asked how tall I wanted the snowflake to be, I didn't have a hard and fast answer. I made a guess and he cut one piece. It was too short. I made a second guess and he cut a second piece. It was too long. Yes, I was using a yardstick to come up with those measurements but seeing is believing. It has to feel like the right size when it's on the mantle. Good thing he bought extra raw materials. One last adjustment and we were ready to assemble.

Then we had an argument a discussion about the angles between the three pieces that would form the base of the snowflake. I won that one despite the fact that I escaped college with only three hours of math credits thanks to some timely tranfers between institutions. Obviously the leftover stress from my struggles determining the appropriate size was affecting Wayne's brain or he would have had the same answer I did from the get-go. And kids, don't say you'll never use what you learned in high school geometry...at least some of it on rare occasions.

When it came time to put the pieces together, we didn't exactly have the same game plan. My by-the-numbers partner wanted to precisely mark the middle of each piece. While I often have some of the same tendencies, I was having trouble seeing how a center mark on one piece was going to help when I was covering it up with another. I didn't want it lopsided but this was an art project; it didn't have to be perfect. In the end though, his marks were helpful.

To get the spacing, I asked Wayne to draw a 60 degree angle on some paper so I could cut it out and use as a guide for spacing the three large pieces. He was, after all, the one with the protractor. No matter how I tried to explain to him how I was going to use this piece of paper, he just couldn't envision it. To his credit, however, he drew the angle which I then cut out although much "discussion" about how to employ this paper spacing tool soon followed.

At this point Wayne must have reached his quota of patience for crafting as he left  while I went to town with my wooden pieces, paper spacing guide and hot glue gun. After a couple of coats of white spray paint, here's the result:

It's resting against the entertainment center for this photo but doesn't have a permanent home this Christmas. It needs a little more space than I currently have with the greenery on the mantle now. In the new vision for the mantle that garland is gone.

The giant snowflake turned out just like I wanted even if our paths to get it there weren't on the same wave length. I'm thinking The family that crafts together, stays together adage might not be entirely true.

My Brain Has Too Many Tabs Open

It's the most wonderful time of the year. So the song lyrics go but I keep feeling like they should be singing It's the most busiest time of the year. Yes, I know...that's not a shining example of good grammar but you can get away with it in lyrics. I give you I Can't Get No Satisfaction as a prime example. I Can't Get Any Satisfaction just doesn't cut it, does it.

Actually, my brain feels a little like my computer screen when I'm in the middle of some family history research. Tabs, tabs and more tabs are lined up across the top of the monitor, each demanding attention. This photo of the table in my hang-out room is representative of that exact point.

That red paper at the front right (and on the trimmer and desk) is part of my Christmas cards under construction when I took this photo yesterday. They're done now so I suppose that tab is technically closed but playing with paper and glue made me realize how much I've missed scrapbooking. The make-some-pages tab has been opened and I don't want to close it. And on a related note, I signed up for an online class on my Silhouette machine but only did the first part of the first lesson when our Kansas travels started. Let's open a Silhouette tab too as I'm keen to get back to that.

The pile at the front left is a mostly-assembled scrapbook of my brother's share of our family pictures and that stack on the far end of the piano is the next set of pages to be made. You might think this would all be part of the make-some-pages tab and I suppose technically it is but I see them differently in my mind so there's another tab.

The stack behind the album contains Wayne's pictures and other memorabilia from his childhood. Are you sensing a theme here yet? Wayne's mom had given us a lot of them but we ended up with more after dividing his mom's scrapbooks and cleaning out his dad's apartment. They really need some sort of organization system instead of just dumping them all in another box and sticking them in the closet. In a perfect world they'd be scrapbooked too but I'd settle for just well organized at this point.

Documenting keepsakes is another open tab. I've started, if pulling out that little black album and taking some photos counts. Sigh. The pictures are still on the card in my camera and the project has stalled. I did pull everything I could think of from every closet or drawer it had been tucked into and sorted, labeled and put them all together in one place. It's the put-pictures-with-words part that's lagging.

The stack of Wayne's pictures/stuff hides the mountain of file folders from Wayne's mom's desk...her notes on her and Gene's family history. I think she probably shared it all with me but I still need to go through it to be sure. It's tedious and not nearly as fun as finding something new but I don't want to overlook anything either. Gotta keep that tab open too.

And while we're on genealogy, the stack on the closest end of the piano is some references on my dad's side I need to locate in libraries near and far. It's a connection to a new branch...one of the first white settlers in the Shenandoah Valley and has lots of cool stories associated with it. That tab is definitely staying open as I'm anxious to learn more about these people, one of whom was featured in a previously-aired episode of Who Do You Think You Are? Tim McGraw will be anxious to welcome me, his long-lost cousin...don't you think?

My Christmas decorations are all up but I'm toying with changing the mantle entirely. Somewhere down on the far end of the table is a pattern for a giant wooden snowflake. Wayne has cut all the pieces so it's ready to assemble and paint. And I have a couple more ideas to go with it which also require some assembly/construction. It's insane but I don't want to close that tab either.

Then there's the windows. You can't tell from this photo but the top pane on this window is new and the bottom one isn't. That means the top one is shiny and clear and the bottom one...well, it hasn't been washed in a while, making it look really dirty next to the brand new one. It's driving me crazy but that's a short trip these days. Open a Clean Windows tab and hope the stars align to get that done soon.

And outside that window is a yard needing some attention. I've managed to clear away much of what several nights of below-freezing temperatures left behind but not all of it. Most winters we haven't had that kind of cold at this point so it's not a task I have to fit in before Christmas but not this year. Of course, the way the temperatures have rebounded, new growth may appear before I can get it cut back.

I don't think I'm going to have to worry about how to fill my days anytime soon. I just hope my brain doesn't crash from all the open tabs.

Merry Christmas To Me

Santa has arrived early at the Arnall household this year. Well, at least with my gift anyway. And it didn't even go under the tree...I'm enjoying it already.

"It" in this case would be 22 crystal-clear new window panes which arrived on a sleigh camoflagued to look like a panel van occupied by two very workmanlike elves. They weren't interested in the chimney but they were on all four sides of the house installing their load. An upper window here, a lower one there and even a few top-and-bottoms and side-by-sides. Yes, the world outside is looking exceptionally crisp and beautiful again.

Over time the original windows had lost the seal between the two panes of glass and many had grown hazy or even downright foggy. We've been in this house almost 24 years now so issues like that are beginning to show up. And I'm sure the three or four serious hurricanes we've had in those years also  contributed, although insurance replaced some panes where the seals were obviously damaged after Ivan in 2004. Not only was it becoming unsightly but it wasn't very energy-efficient either. Not any more. Twenty new panes went in a week ago and the final two were installed this morning. The last ones were essentially half-circles so they took longer to make.

The difference is amazing. The loss of clarity was so gradual we really didn't notice it unless a bad pane was right next to a good one. Now that all the new ones are in place, everything looks to bright and clear. It's like the windows had cataracts and now they've had a transplant and can see clearly again.

Obviously, Santa thought I had been extra good this year because he had the window installer fix one of the sliding glass doors too. It's the one that gets used the most. Well, it was until it got so hard to push open or close that we either strained to use it or found an alternate exit. Now it glides like a dream thanks to new rollers. After the installer left, I stood there opening and closing it over and over. You can do it with one finger! Sigh...it's the little things that make me happy.

Thanks, Santa. You sure know how to pick the perfect gift!

Twenty

We hopped in the car last Wednesday and drove up for an early birthday celebration with Kayla. Between school, work, sorority and everything else she has going on, there aren't a lot of openings on her social calendar but she was happy to abandon her chemistry book for a little time with us. I left home without my camera so had to settle for using the phone to record her as prepares to turn twenty.

Twenty.

Every year as she turns older I shake my head and wonder how she could be six or thirteen or whatever the appropriate age would be. It never seems possible but then time seems like a rocket the older you get. I suppose that's the rationale behind the saying that the first twenty years are the longest half of your life. Not that you're only going to live to be forty but that when comparing how long those first twenty years felt in relation to the next forty, fifty, sixty or more, it seems like half a lifetime. After all, that rocket is pretty slow leaving the ground when you're a kid so it seems as if the next birthday-summer vacation-Christmas will never arrive. Funny how that changes after twenty; you can't slow them down.

Birthdays that end in zeroes seem more monumental that others...that whole entering a new decade thing. Kayla seems delighted at the prospect of not being labeled as a teenager anymore and all the negative connotations that go with that. She did, however, proclaim that there was only one "good" birthday left: Turning 21. Grandpa allowed as how she was probably right. I offered that a 65th birthday was worth looking forward to for Medicare and Social Security but her dad argued that the way things were going, neither would likely be around when she attained that age. Sadly, he's probably right also.

We took her out to dinner, had some great conversation and just enjoyed having her all to ourselves for a few hours. It's such fun to see the delightful young woman she's become over these past twenty years, even if I am having a hard time believing they've gone by so quickly. One thing I do know: I'll feel the same way again this time next year.

Walking Companions

I headed out of the neighborhood for my walk today. There are only so many routes I can concoct out of the limited number of streets in our little community so I relieve the boredom by putting in my miles elsewhere once every week or two.

A favorite location is around Spencer Field, a four-square-mile tract the Navy uses to train helicopter pilots. It probably was out in the boonies when it was first built but Pace has sort of grown up around it. It's not far from my house and even closer to the gym so I often walk there after I've done yoga or the strength class. About a year ago the county put sidewalk along the perimeter so it makes a nice place to walk...as long as you don't mind student pilots learning take-offs and landings over your head. Not every day but probably more often than not. And you wouldn't want to take off around the field in marginal weather; there aren't any shortcuts back to the park where you leave your car. The sidewalk goes a mile east, a mile south, a mile west and a mile north. At least that's the order in which I walk it.

Despite the helicopters and traffic on the adjacent road, it's really a pretty peaceful place to walk. The residential neighborhoods on the north and south sides are older so they're filled with large live oak trees that can offer shade, depending on the sun's angle at the time. And there's a buffer of trees the Navy planted years ago, probably to protect those homes from the winds generated by the helicopter blades as they get near ground level. Those trees are mostly mature firs but there's some live oaks mixed in too. The size of that buffer varies. There are places where it's only about two trees wide but others where the trees are close together and span a stretch of 20 yards or so. There are birds and weeds/wildflowers and even the occasional squirrel which I tolerate because it's on someone else's property, not mine.

I was thinking about my walk there two weeks ago when I made my lap around the field this morning. Like today, the sunshine was plentiful then too but my sweatshirt felt pretty good against the crisp air that morning. I was warm in just my T-shirt today.

With two sides behind me, I was well into the third mile as I trekked along the south side that day. I'd been thinking about how few people I'd seen as I made my way around the big square although the sidewalk is never crowded. It seemed the cool weather was keeping everyone inside.

Suddenly I saw motion just ahead. I looked intently down the sidewalk but it was empty. Surely I didn't imagine the movement, did I? Then I saw it again. There in the space between the trees and the fence stood a doe. Her head and ears were up and she was watching me intently. I stopped dead still so as not to frighten her more as she wasn't far away from me at this point.

There's a grassy strip about the width of one of those big commercial mowers that runs just inside the Navy's fence and she'd been enjoying a midmorning snack as the sun warmed her back. Apparently it was so tasty she hadn't heard my footsteps although the rubber soles on nearly-new concrete wouldn't have made a lot of noise. Then again cars had been going up and down the road all along so she must have felt quite safe behind that fence.

We locked eyes for a few minutes before she turned and meandered up the slight grade into the dense trees just a few feet away. She didn't hurry but she didn't tarry either.

Then I saw why. Just a few feet away was a fawn that I hadn't seen at first. I don't know whether the doe was blocking my view of it or whether I was staring so intently at the doe I just didn't see the fawn until she moved away. It was all eyes, ears and legs and oh so cute. Well, there was a tail too which was wagging furiously, as if to say Gee, I'd love to come play with you! Then the foal must have heard the silent message its momma sent because its gangly legs were soon carrying it up that same grade and into the trees beyond. I looked all around to see if there was anyone else who'd been a party to this close encounter with nature but the sidewalk was still empty.

I've seen deer inside the fence in this area before but I've always been in the car when I did. The fence is only about 4' high, an easy height for these graceful jumpers but high enough to keep out predators. And it's a great habitat. Trees for cover, a small marshy area for water and four acres almost entirely covered with grass. There's plenty of non-helicopter time and space for uninterrupted grazing. Man and nature coexisting in the middle of Pace, Florida.

I didn't see the deer on my walk today but you can be sure I was watching for them the entire length of Mile 3. I had been looking for a way to relieve the boredom of my regular routes and I found it. I just didn't expect it to involve deer.

You Know It's A Great Thanksgiving If....

You know it's a great Thanksgiving if everyone who walks through the door raves about the good smells coming through the kitchen. Wayne, who didn't have the benefit of coming in from outside, still proclaimed it one of the best smells ever. He even suggested someone should make a room spray called "Thanksgiving Morning" but I told him that might not sell in August.

You know it's a great Thanksgiving if the cranberry jell jells. It's Wayne's grandmother's recipe so it has a long-standing tradition on the family table and while it usually sets up just fine, I have been known to have cranberry soup. This year it jiggled and wiggled as it came out of the mold onto the plate. I'll confess to a sign of relief.

You know it's a great Thanksgiving if a "turkey selfie" is in order before the carver wields his knife. Those are two of my favorite turkeys right there...and the bird was pretty good too. Don't you wonder what we'll all think of the selfie craze in thirty years though?

You know it's a great Thanksgiving if we're ready to sit down to eat before 12:30p.m. I always aim for noon but it never happens. In fact, it's become something of a family joke although dinner is never hugely late. This year the kids didn't have to rush off to another family gathering so it didn't matter quite so much but I was happy to be "on time"....somewhat, anyway.

You know it's a great Thanksgiving if the majority of diners are asleep on the couch/loveseat/recliner by mid-afternoon. A big turkey dinner will do that. It's almost as much of a tradition as the meal itself.With Brad living here now we all enjoyed a leisurely afternoon, relaxing and catching up on college stories, the new store and what's on tap for December. Turns out it's a lot.

You know it's a great Thanksgiving if the recipe experiment is a success. The Thanksgiving menu is pretty much set in stone. I can't subtract or substitute but I can add and this year my addition was this Dark Chocolate Cranberry Cake. It's dense and fudgy and pretty tasty but rich. I'm not sure it rises to the level of a new tradition but definitely worth making again.

You know it's a great Thanksgiving if by Sunday night there are no left over leftovers. Everyone took a stash with them when they left and Wayne and I have been enjoying a second and third go-round of the rest of the holiday meal. The last of the turkey went in the freezer tonight, destined for a pot of soup on some future cold night. Also in the freezer is a container of stock from the turkey carcass, the base for our annual gumbo night in January or February. That turkey was good to the very end.

Yes, it was a great Thanksgiving. Now on to December.

Let The Preparations Begin

Despite the deluge of ads appearing in my inbox, on my television and among the pages of my newspaper, it's Thanksgiving that's just around the corner, not Christmas. I don't know about you but I can't think about Santa and presents until the turkey and cranberries have had their day.

Well, when you come down to it, it's not really just "a" day...at least not for me. There's too much prepping, cleaning and cooking to all fit into one day so I've started already. Saturday I ticked Clean the refrigerator and Buy Groceries off the Thanksgiving to do list. And obviously, it was in that order although if you lay in enough groceries, I suppose you could cover up the crumbs and spills on the refrigerator shelves. But I'd know they were there.

And I washed the crystal and polished the silver too. It all looks so pretty all shined up so it's totally worth the effort. We're not as formal as that sounds but I do try to make Thanksgiving and Christmas meals a little more special by using the good dishes, etc. After all, what could be more special than dinner with those you love?

Today was all about the dressing as I turned a big loaf of Italian bread into bread crumbs and put them in a low oven to lightly toast and dry out. And that's freshly-baked cornbread in the pan in the background. Neither Wayne nor I grew up eating cornbread dressing with our turkey but at some point after we moved down here I made it one year and it stuck. I guess we're truly Southerners although there's only a modest amount of sausage in ours.

And the parsley is prepped and ready to add to those bread crumbs when the time comes. Usually I plant parsley in a pot in the spring and can just go cut what I need for the dressing. Even though I almost strip the plant bare, it grows back lush and full in time to provide fresh parsley for the gumbo in late January. That's another thing that's worth the effort as it's so much better right from the garden. Not this year though; none got planted last spring but what I found in the produce aisle wasn't bad.

There are tasks on tap for each day this week as we count down to Turkey Day but then I suspect it's the same in plenty of other houses. We do what we can to insure that the day itself goes smoothly and deliciously. Maybe that's why leftovers taste so good...the work's already done. I'm looking forward to them already.

I Got Lost

I just had one simple goal for today: Turn the dining room back into a dining room again. As it turns out, it wasn't so simple after all.

You see, since May the dining room has become the collecting point for a whole lot of we-don't-usually-have-this stuff. Boxes of photographs to sort and divide? Put them in the dining room. Folders of documents to scan and organize? Stack them in the dining room. Our share of keepsakes and miscellaneous family stuff? Stash it in the dining room. In the end the table was covered as well as the seats of the two extra chairs and there was a tidy row of piles and boxes on the floor against two walls. It might have covered more but there is furniture on the third wall and the fourth essentially doesn't exist; it's open to the living room.

It worked because we haven't needed the dining room to function as a dining room. Until now. Thanksgiving is coming and since tradition reigns supreme, we'll be eating our turkey at the dining room table. Besides, the need for sprawl has passed and it's time to find permanent homes for the things that now belong to us. I'd done a little but I needed to finish the job.

Somewhere along the way, however, I got lost. It started innocently enough; I was going to store some of the items in the armoire in the extra bedroom. There were already some family keepsakes in there so it seemed to make sense to add some of the new things to them. Only you know how that goes. I needed to make more room.

Before long I had the bed covered with piles of stuff...things that needed to be put somewhere else, books that could be donated, papers that should either be filed away or thrown away. Wayne stuck his head in at one point and asked if my clean-up campaign was going forward or backward as it seemed the dining room was looking better but the guest bedroom was definitely getting worse.

I flipped through the pages of our wedding book and smiled seeing names of people I haven't thought about in years. I was disciplined enough, however, not to open the cover of one of the old cookbooks that belonged to my mother. I'd have gotten lost in its fragile pages for sure. There handwritten stories, both by me as a child and by our children as well as placques and awards Wayne and I earned in school and in careers.

It's funny the stuff we hang onto, isn't it. Or maybe it's that others hang onto for us as the large envelope of materials from my childhood came from my mother and my grandmother just as the stories and art of our children were gathered by me. There isn't a lot of either but it's enough to remind us of those days long ago.

And I tried too as I rearranged and organized to label and explain. How else will our children know that I made that cross-stitched lap throw for Grandmother Arnall 30 years or so ago if I don't. They don't have to know that I forgot it was in there as my mother-in-law sent it back to me when they closed up Wayne's grandparents' house. Our experiences these past few months have shown me the value of identifying the who-what-when-and-where if at all possible because there will be a time when I'm not here to do it.

I didn't get the dining room completely cleared out but the pile that's left to deal with is small. And I didn't get the armoire completely finished either although guests would have a clear bed to sleep on if we had any. I did, however, enjoy getting lost...even if I never left my house.

New Treasures

My dad is having a bit of a clean-up campaign. With his 90th birthday in the rear view mirror, he's been taking inventory of things in his house that he doesn't use on a regular basis and passing them on to a new home. I could stand a little of that myself.

There are plenty of positives to his efforts to simplify. Obviously, it means he has less to dust, vacuum around and take up space in cabinets and drawers. My brother and niece visited Dad recently and left with my grandmother's dining table, a rocking chair, a set of golf clubs and some saws that had belonged to my grandfather as well as various and sundry other items. They had Jerry's pickup truck packed full for the return trip and Dad said the house felt bigger and lighter with all those items headed to Illinois. Ironically, it's where much of it came from to begin with.

Another plus is that Dad has control over where these "treasures" are going and that is clearly delighting him. It delighted me too when he called to ask if I wanted two cake plates and a few other pieces of glassware, most of which had belonged to my grandmother. I couldn't say "Yes!" quick enough.

When I unpacked my box of treasures, I found these beauties among the styrofoam peanuts. A bright sunny day would have made their beauty show up a bit better than the odd tones in this photograph but you get the idea.

The cake plates and salt cellars are clearly old but don't have any manufacturer information on them. The rectangular salt cellars have a picket fence pattern going all the way around them and I thought that might be unique enough I could find something online. And I did...in fact, not only did I find them, I also stumbled upon a picture of the taller of the two cake plates. Both the picket fence salt cellars and the cake plate are Early American pressed glass and were made in the 1880's.

I shared this information with Dad when I called to let him know the package had arrived safely and to thank him. He was surprised they were that old as he remembers my grandmother using that cake plate on a regular basis. It was fun listening to him describe the cabinet it sat on in the farm they lived in when he was a boy. It was where Grandma kept her treasured pieces and Dad said the cake plate regularly held a homemade angel food cake. He laughed when he said he wasn't allowed to run through the house when the cake was baking but knowing that he's still full of impish behavior, I'm guessing my grandmother had her hands full trying to keep him from doing it. When they moved to town, she stopped making angel food cakes as she didn't have an oversupply of eggs any more.

This is just about the only photo I have of Grandma with Dad when he was a boy. He was probably old enough in this picture not to run through the house. :-)

I love that these things that were special to people in my family now belong to me. An even better treasure is that I have some stories to go with them. Now I just need to figure out where they're going to live in my house. My clean-up campaign is apparently coming sooner than I expected.

Hmmm, Hmmm, Good

I'm doing my best not to whine about the cold weather. In part because I know the vast majority of the country is suffering with it too, most of whom have it a lot worse than we do. And because it's only November. If I start complaining now, just think how tired we'll both be of my griping by the end of February. Still, I didn't move to Florida for freezing temperatures, especially before Thanksgiving.

The only saving grace for today's plunging temperatures was a simmering pot of homemade soup. We eat a lot of soup in chilly weather. In fact, our soup bowls have had a regular night on the dining table for the past couple of weeks. We fudged a bit on the soup-like weather until today but they still were quite tasty.

Tonight's fare was this Hearty Meatball Soup with Spinach which sounds more complicated than it actually is. It's one of Publix's Apron Meals, their signature recipe program based on readily available ingredients and simple cooking techniques. On the weekends they have a kiosk in the store where someone is cooking whatever the featured recipe of the week is and offering samples.

This soup comes together in about thirty minutes although I generally cook the vegetables a little longer than the recipe calls for...and I add more of them too. That's one of the joys of most soups; you can improvise. Don't want to make the meatballs? I think this soup would be great with shredded rotisserie chicken, and I've definitely subbed ground turkey for the ground beef to lighten it up. I'd miss the spinach but you could leave it out if it's not your thing. I even think it would be good with a can of diced fire-roasted tomatoes in it. Just don't leave out the sun-dried tomato pesto; that's where it gets the rich flavor. That and a good-quality chicken stock.

Another soup that tastes like you worked much harder to prepare it than you actually did is this Chicken Tortilla Soup. I've never eaten Max & Erma's version but we enjoy this knock-off. When I made it a few weeks ago, Wayne and I agreed it would be good with a can of black beans in it. I'm always looking for ways to add vegetables, especially it if ups the protein content. And if you're bothered by the Velveeta, substitute a regular cheese and adjust the milk, if necessary.

I'm counting on more seasonal temperatures finding their way back here although the weatherman is predicting a cooler-than-usual winter for our part of the country. As a result, I'm predicting more tummy-warming soup on our menu. It won't be Campbell's but it still will be Hmmm, Hmmm, Good.

Yes, I Have No Ebola

I had to make a swing by my primary care doctor's office last Wednesday. My regular check-up is scheduled for next week and part of the preparation for that is to have blood drawn for routine lab work. It isn't a big deal as the office is only ten minutes down the road and it's small enough there is seldom a wait of more than a few minutes for the lab technician to call your name.

Before I could get to that point, however, the receptionist handed me a clipboard and asked me to fill out the questionnaire that was on it. Strange...I've never had to do that before but being the rule-follower that I am, I dutifully headed to one of the chairs to complete the form.

Did I have a fever? No. Had I developed a rash within the last ten days? No. Had I recently traveled to Africa? No. And on it went. Without ever asking specifically, the gist of the questionnaire was clearly to find out if I had Ebola.

I suppose it's a good thing although the chances of someone bringing Ebola to Pace, Florida, seem pretty slim. We aren't exactly a center for international travel. Better to be safe than sorry though, I suppose; it isn't a disease to be taken lightly. As a practical matter, maybe it will help the staff isolate those patients who might be contagious with the flu as many of the questions on the form would apply to that illness as well. I'm always glad my regular check-ups fall before and after flu season; I'm not keen on hanging out in a waiting room full of sick people.

As it turns out, I didn't need labs. When I went to turn in the questionnaire, the receptionist informed me that my numbers were so good last time that the doctor hadn't ordered any lab work. Good for me! I handed her the form anyway then suggested she could just hold on to it until this week when I'd be back for my appointment. She laughed. I can hold on to it, she said, but you'll have to fill out another one when you come in. No one gets past the reception room door without filling out a form that day. Now I know.

Later than morning I was sitting across the desk from a clerk at the hospital checking in for my annual mammogram. We went through a whole series of questions verifying my date of birth, address and insurance information before she got to these: Did I have a fever? No. Had I developed a rash within the last ten days? No. Had I recently traveled to Africa? No.

Yep...it was the very same series of questions. If I had only known, I could have taken my completed form from the doctor's office with me and turned it in at the hospital. The answers were still the same; I have no Ebola today.

Busy, Busy, Busy

I've composed ten blog entries in my head while walking (I do my best thinking when my brain can free-wheel as the miles go by) but none of them have made it to the keyboard. Instead I've been busier than usual working the election, dealing with contractors giving estimates for some repairs we want to make, running more errands than I can count, getting routine doctor visits taken care of and this:

That would be Newk's, the latest addition to the Pensacola dining scene, located at Cordova Mall. And the supervisor of this store and the second one they'll be opening downtown in the spring is none other than our oldest son, Brad. We're excited it's finally here but not nearly as much as he is.

They started with a building that looked like this. Pretty sad, huh. It had a long and checkered past, mostly as a nightclub of one version or another, but it's sat empty for the past few years. They stripped it down to the four exterior walls and turned this eyesore into something beautiful. It's hard to believe it's the same building.

We had dinner there last night, honored to be among the first through the doors. Last night and the next few are training sessions so the staff can put into the practice what they've been learning for the past few days, all in preparation for opening to the public on Monday. The food is similar to Panera Bread or Jason's Deli but better. Well, we could be a little prejudice but we think so anyway and last night's meal was no exception.

I had great plans to snap some photos of the inside (it's so pretty!) and of my favorite member of the management team but it didn't happen. To start with we were standing next to Brad's best friend from middle/high school and we hadn't seen him in years and years. I think Johnny spent almost as much time at our house growing up as he did at his own so it was really fun to see him again. One long hug just wasn't enough; I had to give him a second one.

And we had extra people with us so I was trying to be sure all went smoothly for them. Then Brad was busy doing what he should be doing, putting out fires (figuratively, not literally) and making sure every guest was having a good experience. So before you know it, we were on the way home and I hadn't taken a single shot. The two pictures you see here were taken by Brad but I think he'll be OK with me "borrowing" them.

We're happy Brad is back in Pensacola although I doubt we'll see much of him for the next few months. Helping the new restaurant find it's groove and run smoothly at the busiest time of year is going to take all his time for a while. We'll know where to find him though...and enjoy a good meal in the process. Maybe I'll remember to take some photos then.