All posts by kathygaillaughingatlife

About kathygaillaughingatlife

Born in Arizona, been living in Pacific Northwest area for 19 years. Writing is therapy; to look at life in perspective... get out of my head and on the page in front of me for a better view. Live with my husband, a son "on the spectrum and two rambunctious Norwegian Elk hound pups.

Tine Thevenin Slept Here

Living on the Spectrum, , , ,

I was ecstatic! I was going to host one of our main speakers at the State La Leche League conference, author Tine Thevenin.

Best known for her book “Family Bed”; Tine gave many a parent, especially the breastfeeding moms, “permission” in the form of well documented research, to sleep with their babies. I have always been grateful to be exposed to this concept early in my parenting. Our baby slept in our bed, happily nursing during the night. Everyone was well rested and content with the arrangement.

One of the most avant-garde concepts since the breastfeeding renaissance that started in the 1960’s, was the idea that it was OK and even advantageous, to have the infant sleep in the same bed as their parents. The subtitle to the book, “an age old concept in child rearing” spoke to the fact that most other cultures, outside the US, routinely had children sleeping with their parents.

My Dad and step-mom trekked from the humid Midwest to the desert. It was a multi-purpose trip. They’d yet to set eyes on our first child and my sister was being married that summer. They went from the “steamer pot, into the oven” since July in either part of the world was not pleasant.  Successive visits were planned during the winter when golf clubs replaced the Osborne portable computer in their luggage.

They admired the lovely nursery I’d created. I had restored some of my own baby furniture. My parents had invested in sturdy maple hardwood pieces.  The chest of drawers had survived not only three children’s use but had seen me through my single days before I was well off enough to purchase a bedroom set.

We had not advertised the fact that our nursery was only used at naptime to many folks outside my circle of La Leche League friends. I certainly didn’t greet my parents at the airport with the announcement that we used “Family Bed”. After a night or two my step- mom wryly commented “That is a great nursery you have set up there. Will the kid ever sleep in that bed?”

I had to admit that “No, to date he has not spent the night in there.” I launched into the Family Bed concept.  I explained why my husband and I had opted for “more sleep through family bonding at nighttime.” She chuckled; “We were so poor, that we didn’t have a crib. All the babies slept with Mom when we were little.” Several of the siblings shared a bed most of their years at home. A single bed was a luxury that they didn’t experience until they’d left home.

As the Area Conference Coordinator for our state La Leche League organization, I had a full plate. I’d given birth to my middle son, in January of that same year. I had foresight to enlist lots of support from our local membership to get organized events moving along. La Leche League has a tenant “Family First”, which means we all took time out to tend to our families as needed and others pitched in to take up the slack.

Operating an a limited budget but determined to pull together a meaningful program for all of the attendees,  our state La Leche League organization relied on assistance from local families to provide lodging for our guest speakers  and attending members, from out of town.  It was an honor and a much cherished memory, to have one of the Founding Mothers stay in one’s home.

This particular year, I was able to have Tine Thevenin as our special guest speaker at our Area Conference. My second child was only 4 months old. Swaddled in my “Rebozo style” cloth baby carrier, he was experiencing the life of the Mexican farmers’ children that inspired the wrap’s use.  Not yet crawling, he was content to be snuggled on my chest. He was toted along to planning meetings, previewing the conference facility, napping in between nursing, without a care.

Our conference went well. We had over 200 attendees, not counting the nursing babies and toddlers that accompanied their moms.  As the afternoon went on, Tine expressed the desire to return to our home for a nap. She was a bit jet lagged from her flight from Minnesota out to Phoenix.  A nap would get her refreshed before speaking at the evening banquet that was the finale of our conference that year.  I was still bustling around the facility and not ready to depart just yet. Being a Toyota owner herself, Tine was comfortable with driving my Tercel back to the house. Equipped with a map and good directions she set off.  I would catch a ride later with another mother who lived close to my home.

The directions worked perfectly but as she made the last turn indicated on the directions and arrived on our street the house number was not noted on the paper.  In the early 1980’s cell phones were a luxury item found in the limousines of the wealthy.  The only optional equipment in my bare bones Tercel was the infant seat.

As a stranger she did not want to disturb neighbors or possibly raise alarm, to ask which home belonged to Kathy. Calm and resourceful she pondered the situation. Looking up she spotted the automatic garage door opener. Slowly she cruised down the street, depressing the button repeatedly. She was at last rewarded by the friendly gesture of a garage door swinging up to welcome her into our garage.

After hearing her story later that evening I apologized profusely for forgetting the most important piece of information on the directions. She burst into laughter saying it was just another adventure in her life.  She then confessed that she’d had a very refreshing cold shower as her ingenuity with the garage opener had failed her in decoding one armed type shower control.

In spite of the minor challenges she appreciated our hospitality immensely. She truly disliked staying in hotels. She loved being able to get up and make a cup of tea, from my well stocked pantry. The porcelain tea cup transformed our home tea service to that of a luxury suite, in her estimation.

Thirty years later, I still treasure my personally autographed copy of Family Bed.

It keeps good company with my dog eared copy of The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding and a copy of Ashley Montague’s books; Touching: The Human Significance of The Skin and Growing Young.mexican rebozo

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Designated Driver?

Living on the Spectrum, ,

Those of us over a “certain age” know the drill for outpatient medical procedures. I say “certain age”, because hitting age fifty is the threshold. There begins the not so subtle pressure from our medical practitioners, for tests to be done. The ominous Colonoscopy and other checkups, require one to be sedated during the process and therefore deemed not capable of operating a motor vehicle. . A “designated driver” must show up when the outpatient staffers are ready to release you from their realm of responsibility.

My recent experience revealed a much scripted process that none of the nurses or staff wished to deviate from. Nor was new information accepted. No messing with their perceived normal routines was tolerated.

“Hello, this is Nurse Nelly and I am callin’ to let you know that Miz Kathy is ready to come home”. Her Eastern Seaboard accent was delightful as she drawled on.

“Who is this?” a bit sharper now, “Do you know a Kathy Passage?” Nurse Nelly paused to listen to the response on the other end of the phone line… “Oh, she’s your Mother?”

By now I am sitting up on the gurney and gesturing to her, to confirm just what number she dialed! It sounds like she has mistakenly reached my home number! Yup, the continuing conversation confirms this:

“Oh! you are Nick Baker? And Kathy is your mother?” Nurse Nelly now resumes the script, oblivious to my frantic waving and verbal request to intervene into this conversation. “Well, as I was saying… Miz Kathy is ready to be picked up from the Surgery Center.” “What!  You can’t drive? Oh, you are blind.”

Finally Nurse Nelly turns around to me, quizzical look on her face, but she does respond to my gesturing and relinquishes the phone. “Hi Nick, yes, it’s Mom.”

“No honey, I am just fine. I am not sure why Nurse Nelly called our home number.”

“Yes, Hubby is going to come and get me from the Surgery Center. He is at work right now, just waiting for the call from Nurse Nelly saying that I can leave.”

“While I have you on the line, could you please tell me Hubby’s cell phone number?” I repeat back aloud the number and watch while the nurse jots this down. ( I have to share with you readers that my son knows this number by heart. He is blind and can’t see the contacts on our phone.)

It is a mystery why the Surgery Center nursing staff had not been successful locating Ray’s cell number. When I arrived several hours earlier this day, my Hubby’s cell number was noted by the admitting team and put into my chart. After asking me who would be in the waiting room, I explained that Hubby worked downtown, literally ten minutes away from the center. I assured the intake worker that he would arrive to drive me back home, as soon as he was called on his cell phone.  “What was that number?” she asked, proceeding to write it on a bright blue Post-It. I actually saw this, I swear.

I was handed the skimpy gown, booties and a bright orange plastic bag in the Pre-Op area of the Surgery Center. I had to relinquish all my clothes and other worldly goods, including my Droid phone to the intake nurse and hopped up onto the gurney.

“Who is in the waiting room to take you home today?” she asked as she consulted paperwork.  I went over the facts, again.  “Hubby will be picking me up today. His cell phone is the phone number to call to arrange my pick up from the Surgery Center!” The nurse rifled through the folder on the table and asked me to give her Hubby’s cell number again. The bright blue Post-it was nowhere in sight.

I sighed and explained that I did not know his cell number by heart. As a special favor, the bright orange bag was returned to my curtained area.  I rummaged through clothing, shoes, socks and other items and found my Droid. I waited for a seeming eternity while the sound effects played and various red designs flashed on the screen. Finally I was able to access the contacts section and read aloud Hubby’s cell phone number. The nurse noted it on the folder. She returned the orange plastic bag back to the locked storage unit where all  patients’ personal belongings were secured.

A medic appeared through the curtains with the first of several treatments to ready me for my procedure. These included a shot into my IV drip, a relaxation drug that he called the “I don’t care” drops. I was fully aware during my procedure, but in a state of narcotic bliss. I truly did not care what the doctors were doing to me! As long as they kept me swaddled with those nice, soft, toasty blankets, I was happy as a clam.

Shift change happened while I was in the Operating Theater. I had a new nurse, named Nellyy. She was from Massachusetts. She brought me a large cup of water, complete with the bendy straw. I gulped it down like a lost pilgrim just entering the Oasis in the midst of the desert.  This was followed by crackers, orange juice and individually wrapped Tillamook cheese slices to help me recover from the pre-operation fast.  When she determined that I was sufficiently  hydrated and nourished she opened the folder and dialed.

Eventually it was sorted out that Hubby was indeed coming to rescue me… but there was more to the “script” that was still running in Nurse Nelly’s head.  Apparently our pickup arrangement deviated from their normal routine. “When your Hubby pulls up to the Out Patient Loading Area, designated by the white paint on the cement curb, I will deliver you, in the wheelchair and help him get you into the car.”

I reminded her, again, that I had actually driven myself to the facility and parked my car in the garage. “We’re simply going to get into the elevator and go down to parking level B.” She  sternly reminded me “You are still not allowed to operate a motor vehicle!”

“No, no, I am not driving home. Hubby is driving us home.”

“Will he bring the car up to the Patient Loading Area?” Nurse Nelly was struggling to stay on script. Her hands gripped the handles of the wheel chair as she looked at me expectantly.

“Nope, I am walking out of here, under my own steam. But thanks for the offer.”

We made our escape! In the car going home, we chuckled at the tenacity of the nurse and the rest of the staff. “No one is going to get away with any deviation to their program, for sure.”

A step will be added to my next encounter with Surgery Center. I will ask them, whilst they are writing with a Sharpie on the appendage or area to be treated or investigated… to write my Hubby’s cell number on my hand!

Even fully alert and not coming out of anesthesia, I cannot remember that number!

 

 

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Puzzled!

Flights of Imagination, , , ,

“We’re Puzzled!” was the title of the recent letter we received.  I have to say that so were Hubby and I a bit confounded by the letter we received!”Hubby is still a member of the Alumni or at least if his membership has lapsed.. no one told the Magazine department which sends out the Alumni Association Magazine and other materials each year.

The latest outreach from my Hubby’s Alma mater is just hilarious!  I guess it would be in bad form to actually mention the institution by name… but let’s just say it is located in a state where the sun shines almost eternally and the place had a well deserved reputation as a party school. The bar was set so low back in the day that students with a C average were welcomed with open arms! If the student had great skills in joint rolling, it definitely increased their acceptance rate at the state University. I do kid, but not too far off the mark here.

The letter goes on to inquire about the lack of membership by Hubby, the alumni of said state University.  The “puzzle” theme is played on throughout the entire front page text, as they extol the benefits of continuing to support the Alumni Association.  Lists are provided to the reader of all the great activities that are supported by their funds and former graduates are encouraged to “make a difference” while enjoying the many benefits that their member avails.

The URL for the institution is peppered throughout the letter as well and the PS: at the end encourages recipients to flip over the page and find a special crossword puzzle that will test their IQ.

The puzzle is titled “Help Bonzo( name of the University’s mascot)solve this crossword puzzle.” And the reader is tipped off to the fact in the next line that if they visit “alumni ___ .edu/puzzle they will find the answers and much, much more!

This puzzle is so in keeping with the past spirit of the campus circa the 1960’s to 1980’s party school era fame.  In fact it looks like Cheech Marin and Tommy Chong may have been on consult for this fine piece of work. It smacks (no pun intended here) of their brand of comedy during their comedy album days! Their work was hilarious. In 1971 self-titled debut album of Cheech & Chong, … Their self titled  album was nominated for Best Comedy Recording at the 14th Grammy Awards.

The level of knowledge need to complete the puzzle is reminiscent of an album cut in which Chong plays Bob, a contestant on Let’s Make A Dope Deal.

(For my younger readers or my slightly “memory challenged” classmates of my age bracket:  this was a game show that asks a stoner contestant named Bob to give a correct answer to the question “What is your name?” Bob is truly challenged and  becomes more confused and anxious as he is unable to answer.  Even with the encouragement of the host, asking him “Come on BOB, what is your name” he still fails to give the correct answer in the time allocated by the clock.)

Back to our puzzle:

Example  Number one across is three letter answer and the clue says” “Also known as the Student Alumni Association” did you guess that the answer is “SAA”?

Ding! Ding! Ding! You are correct! Let’s move on to number five across which asks “What is the name of the school mascot?” Hint: look at the top of this page and read over the title!  Yup! The answer is “BONZO.” Wow, man this is so cool… you have scored two answers already! Want to try for another one?

Successive questions 4 across and 16 down ask the puzzle solver to provide the names of the school colors. Did I mention that this letter is in color? The heading of the letter has a beautiful full color rendition of the University name and logo. Wow so now if the reader is fairly accurate at spelling RED and GOLD… there are two more answers in the bag!

Bonus questions are a bit trickier but if one truly thinks about this it is not too high a level of difficulty. Here is the clue for 12 across: On their 50th anniversary, alumni come back for their _______ reunion!  Hey if you guessed “Fiftieth” you would hear the BUZZER of SHAME!  Like I said a bit of thinking is required.  Here is a clue. Those of you whose grandparents were fairly healthy probably celebrated their 50th anniversary. Do you know the other name for this celebration? Hint: it is a precious metal!

It is a shame that Hallmark no longer publishes those sweet little date calendars! Inside the front cover is a list of “Gifts for Wedding Anniversaries” starting with Number One which is “paper” and browsing the list one can see that the gift for 50th anniversary is “GOLD”. Oops… I almost gave this answer away!

Another answer that requires a bit of outside research asks the solver to give the name of the magazine published by the Alumni Association. This is usually an easy one, unless the reader lives in a household where recycling is taken out on at least a monthly schedule. Our stacks of magazines are piled on the kitchen table for several weeks… maybe a bit longer. So the answer to this one was literally right under our nose!

I truly hope that this puzzle was sent out in jest and not a genuine effort to bring the level required into line with the perception of former graduates abilities! Granted after years of abuse, I am sure that many of the minds are not as sharp as they once perceived they were.

In fairness to this fine institution and it current reputation for scholarship… rumor has it that a “Midwestern” state university has recently captured that somewhat dubious title of “Party School”.

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Happy Valentine’s Day

Living on the Spectrum, PMS (and it's not the medical one), , , ,

I pulled into the driveway and blinked at the glare of the bright light coming from the open garage door. I glanced over to the front door of our home to see my Hubby and our two Norwegian Elkhound pups sitting in the glow of the front entry lights.

Hubby looks up from his smart phone, “Where have you been? You said you were about a minute away when we spoke on the phone and that was a long time ago!”

This was the not so perfect ending to a disastrous day. Most women’s expectations for Valentine’s Day are filled with lovely greeting cards, boxes of chocolates and red roses. Today was the stellar opposite.

On Thursday evening, I’d already been warned not to look for a card the next morning at the breakfast table.  Hubby came home complaining that evening; “There are just not any good cards this year!” He’d stopped at the grocery on his way home; “They had no selection at all!” He remarked that he saw the same guys in the aisle, when he’d circled back around a second time.  “The Hallmark section had the same stupid cards as the regular stationery aisle and none of us were having any luck.”

“Well gee, wait another day and you could have purchased at half price!” I voiced aloud the chagrin that more than one woman has experienced when the man of their dreams doesn’t exactly plan ahead for the biggest card and chocolate holiday of the year!

“And no one could deliver any flowers tomorrow either”. Hubby reported how shocked he’d been, when he’d phoned the local florist.  “They said that the soonest they could deliver an arrangement to our home was Saturday afternoon!”  Clearly other men in our locale had similar luck. The grocery where Hubby was shopping for a card must have been completely sold out of flowers suitable for a Valentine’s Day bouquet.

Valentine’s Day this year was clearly not going to be the swirls and curly accents atop premium truffles nestled in a satin ribbon wrapped box. Nope, not even the cello Red Heart overwrap on a box of Russell Stover’s was likely to appear on Friday morning with my name on it!

Lucky for my Hubby I wash my car frequently! The folks at the Pink Elephant Car Wash are extremely retail savvy and know their customers well. Women who patronize deluxe car wash businesses will undoubtedly browse and purchase from the wonderful selections of gifts and cards displayed in the lobby. On the rare occasion that men visit the car wash, they will be checking Fantasy Football scores on their I-Phones. Just in case the car wash gift center also stocks green pine tree shaped air fresheners and rotate through various “holiday” shapes too. This time of year they featured red hearts scented with vanilla or cinnamon.

Giving idle women opportunity and access to tempting goods is always great retail strategy. What better way to spend the time while waiting in the lobby? By the time the shiny clean and waxed cars with sparkling windows arrive at the other end, I have added to my stash on hand of Birthday Card. In fact I have loads of cute greetings for various holidays and just about any occasion, due to my penchant for a clean car! Hubby did thank me for the pretty card I left by his computer that morning. He finished off the box of 16 truffles by noon the next day too! Unfortunately my planning and execution, delivering on time only highlighted his lack and clearly did not score any points, despite the efforts I’d made.

To say the day had not gone well was the understatement of the year. In an attempt to make up for no card or flowers, Hubby had decided he’d take me to lunch. He was working from home today, so it would be convenient to do lunch. He had phoned our local favorite restaurant only to discover that they were completely booked. “Shocking that so early in the afternoon, on Valentine’s Day they would not have a table for two!”

We’d settled on a quick bowl of Udon soup and the Sushi special at our favorite local spot, Sushi Moto. I managed to coax the pups into the car and promised them an outing to the Off Leash Park if they were well behaved while we had our lunch.  I pushed the button on my Prius and nothing happened!

“What is wrong?”  Hubby has now joined the pups in the rear seat and is peering over at the dash which is now displaying a series of flashing warning lights.  He likes to ride in the back with the pups to reassure them during a car ride and keep them calm.

“This has never happened before” I explain. “It was just fine when I came home last night!”  I am now searching for the little tag that has the phone number of Toyota Care.  Hubby tries in vain to convince the pups to leave the car and get into his Volkswagen Jetta.  Nothing doing… they were promised a trip to the Doggie Park and were not going to be short changed!

I walked into the house to be able to hear the options being presented by the automatic voice answering system on the line that would provide me with “excellent service at Toyota Care today.”  Several selections later I finally was speaking with a real person.  After repeating back the VIN for my Prius, she assured me that someone would be calling me, “within the next hour” to schedule a local tow to the nearest Toyota dealership, where they would of course “provide me with excellent customer care.”

I relayed al of this to Hubby who finally picked up the 50 pounders and lugged them into his back seat. He was not happy to have lunch further delayed by the wait for a call from the local towing company. We agreed that in the essence of getting some food anytime soon, that he would drive over to Sushi Moto and order takeout. The pups were clearly not going to get out of his car willingly, so they went along for the ride.

By the time he returned with Styrofoam cups filled with hot noodles and plastic trays of salmon rolls, I had yet to hear from the folks at the “local” towing company.  But finally as I was slurping the last of my Udon, the phone rang and help was only a few blocks away.

In the midst of all of the car chaos, a DART bus appeared at the curb in front of our home, bearing our son Nick.  Nick is returning from his first of three gigs for Valentines’ Day this year. Nick is totally blind and so blissfully unaware of the presence of the paralyzed Prius parked in the garage.  My vehicle was not actually needed until his last engagement around 7:00pm. With an individual who is “on the spectrum” it is wise to sometimes not share details that will not impact them. Rather than introduce a new worry into his day, I decided not to burden him with the knowledge of the current motor malfunction until we’d determined a cause and an outcome for transporting the needed equipment later that evening.  His ride to the 2:00pm performance was on schedule and hopefully by the time he returned we’d be all set with either a functioning automobile or a loaner from the Toyota dealer, suitable in size to hold his keyboard and sound equipment.

As luck would have it the tow company’s truck arrived at the exact time as Nick’s driver for gig number two. Fortunately we were able to convince Nick that the best use of his time was to quickly get into the driver’s car and get onto his next engagement. We promised to fill him in upon his return home later that afternoon and assured him that this would not cause any problems for him at his last gig.

Toyota did turn around the car repair in record time. I returned home in less than two hours which was amazing for a Friday afternoon, going into Presidents Day holiday weekend! This was a good omen that the day was not a total loss after all.

The Elkhound Pups were still shortchanged on their outing and Hubby volunteered to walk them before dark. He mentioned a quick walk to our town’s center… coincidentally the location of a new local brewery and pub!  I had some errands left to do and while they were on their stroll I had a brilliant idea which might just salvage the day. The brewery only served their various ales, but no food permits were completed just yet. They graciously allowed patrons to bring in food to go along with their quaffs.  I phoned Hubby and when he didn’t answer, left a message that I could drive by our local Pagliacci’s Pizza which now featured “by the slice” servings.  “No longer do we need to wait to get our teeth into gooey cheese and crispy crusts to go with that Porter you are probably slurping down about now,” I said playfully.   I drove on and waited for a callback. After a few more minutes I redialed.

“Where are you?” I asked, wondering if he’d taken a different route that went into the dead zone of no cell signals.  “Did you get my message?  I am almost to the Pizza place.”

“No, I didn’t hear the phone and where are you anyway?  I am at the front door of the house. It’s locked! I don’t have my key.”

“I am literally just around the corner. I was headed to get your car filled with gas, but I can swing by and open the door. I will be there in just a second.”  I make a quick turn back into our neighborhood. As I slowdown in the front of the house, I spied my Hubby sitting on the porch, both pups at his feet.  I waved and hit the garage door button. Seeing the light come on as the door started rolling up, I drove off to fill Hubby’s almost empty tank and complete the last of my errands.

Turns out that Hubby had not actually seen me wave and was oblivious to the noise from the garage door opening. Whatever he was viewing on his Droid-RazorX, had completely captured his attention.

About 40 minutes later I returned to see Hubby still seated at the front door, oblivious to the gaping garage door and the bright lights piercing the darkness. From his seated position at the front door, he could not see the light beaming out from the garage and did not realize that the door had opened.

I was astonished and amazed! He knew from my phone call that I would be there in less than a minute, yet here he sat.  My first reaction was “Oh my gosh! I am so sorry that you are still stranded at the front door!”

Almost an hour had passed. I started to think aloud, never a good idea in this sort of situation… “Why,” I asked Hubby “Did you not call me back to ask where I was?” In a similar situation, I would have been frantic with worry, but he was remarkably calm as a cucumber!  “Were you not worried about me at all?”  This incited guilt and angry comments of denial ensued.  “Whose fault was it that he’d been stuck out front?”

Continuing on my collision course of discord, I pointed the obvious. He’d been so glued to his Droid that he hadn’t walked around to the rear patio and let himself into the house via that unlocked door. In fact he’d surely have noticed the gleaming lights from the garage door which was of course still wide open.

Yikes! This was a doomed day and I was pouring gasoline on the fire and fanning the flames!  Each time I opened my mouth to comment on the situation only increased the air supply to what was becoming a 3 alarm fire.

I took a breath, stopped talking and went into the kitchen to see what I could put together for a quick dinner. Hubby went to the rec room to watch his favorite Friday night program, which started right at 7:00pm. He was a bit anxious about missing the opening monologue, but I soon heard laughter floating up the stairs. After a bit he returned to the kitchen with a container of frozen Spinach Ravioli as a peace offering. He asked if I’d like help with preparation to complete the meal.  I was in the midst of making our favorite Dijon Vinaigrette recipe. I let him off the hook by saying I’d take it from there.

By now our son had returned from gig number three, slightly miffed that he and his performance partner had not been offered any of the special goodies served top residents during their performance at the deluxe residential facility for retirees. He may be blind but his nose is amazing at detecting all the wonderful aromas that swirl around in the air.

I let him know what we were having for our dinner. Vegetarian fare is not his favorite. He chose a leftover entrée containing sausage from the night before instead. He was still worried about his favorite part of any meal…dessert. I let him know that I had saved him a slice of the special cake I’d made earlier in the week. His smile lit up the entire kitchen.  “I love you Mom!”

I am sure glad that one of the men in my life felt kindly toward me on Valentine’s Day!

Readers… how did you fare this year?

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Girl Cars

PMS (and it's not the medical one), Puppy Posts, , , , , ,

Girl Cars vs. Boy Cars

“Girl cars always have great stuff.” This comment came from my youngest son while a passenger in my car after his simple request for a tissue was immediately fulfilled.

“What do you mean by Girl Cars?” I asked, trying to decipher his label. He is the owner and driver of a vehicle too, so I was intrigued by his comment. “Do you mean a particular color or model of car? Or just a car owned by female verses an auto owned and driven by a guy?”

“I mean when girls drive cars, their’s or even someone’s they borrow. Girls always have stuff that you might need while on the road.” He explained: “Girls always have Chap-stick and Kleenex. Girls have something to drink, like  water bottles in their cars.”

I laugh: “The Kleenex box actually has some fresh, unused tissues in it too, right?”

 The back seat of my Hubby’s car typically has so much tissue litter that one cannot see the floor! If we are going to use his vehicle to transport our two Elk hound pups, a major clean up of the back seat has to occur before they are allowed access.

“Well being a Mom myself I can attest to the fact that my car is usually well stocked with emergency items.”  I sigh about the fact that my kids are grown but the old habits still persist.

“Yeah, kind of like a Diaper Bag on wheels!” He snickered.

“These days I would call it a Mobile Emergency Kit.  My childcare days are long gone. Even the grandchildren are passengers these days! They are old enough to drive themselves.

“Not true! Your puppies are your new grand kids!” He chuckled pointing to a small bag of Maggie’s Yummy dog treats nestled in the center console of my Prius. To further drive home the point he opened the glove box and pulled out some of my “extra” plastic bags.

“Hey… Poop Happens!   A good dog owner must anticipate the need for picking up the waste that occurs on walks or at the Off Leash Park.” I am proud of the fact that I have never knowingly left dog shit lurking at the edge of a sidewalk like an organic I.E.D. for waiting to blow on some unsuspecting pedestrian’s foot wear.

“Guilty as charged!” I guess he is right. “The stock is still on hand, only the nature of the merchandise has changed”.

“But not just in Moms’ cars.” He clarifies “Most females have well stocked and clean cars too.”

“When Girl Cars get cleaned, their female owners actually use the vacuum devices at the Car Wash.”

Remembering the one time I actually saw the floor mats in my Hubby’s car in the dating phase of our relationship; “Yeah, guys mostly clean their cars to impress girls on first dates!”

“Or if they have to pick up a female relative up at the airport.” My son chuckles about his Dad trying to convince Grandma that a ride home on the Shuttle would be more convenient. “Yes, the Shuttle saved him major time… by not having to clean the car, not the 2 hour round trip to get her at SeaTac.”

My son continued to lavish praise; “Girls’ cars usually something to eat in the glove box besides a very old and crumbly package of saltines. There is almost always a water bottle in their cars.”

“The Water Bottle is actually full of potable liquid, not some cloudy murk that has probably passed the expiration date?” I laugh out loud. “I’ve seen seeing water in bottles that I would not even use to clean my windshield, let alone drink!  By the way, are you hungry? There is a bag of organic raw almonds in the glove box.”

I remember opening the passenger door on a City Utility work truck to a wave of water bottles and soda cans crashing onto the driveway. Granted this was after a road trip for Hubby’s work in the field.  “I certainly would not want the job of managing the Motor Pool fleet at the City!”

“At least the motor pool has electric vehicles.” I reminisce, “When was the last time you borrowed any guy’s car that had more than a quarter of a tank of gasoline?”

I recall the starving student days of our early marriage when we had little cash. “It was a luxury if we could fill the tank with more than five dollars worth of gasoline at the pump at any given time.”

I certainly have shaken off that practice. “Most women I know would rather spend an extra five minutes to completely fill the tank than go back every few days to partially do the job.”

I could totally relate to a recent conversation. A female friend stated; “I always have to build extra time into the schedule if using my Hubby’s car.”  Inevitably she’d need time for a stop at the gas station before traveling very far!

I have a much bigger list to go over before an outing involving the use of my  Hubby’s car! Well before the scheduled departure time,  I check not only the gas gauge but also tire pressures. I do that little “walk around ” one sees at the Car Rental places, before they turn you loose in their cars.  I glance at the little clear plastic sticker that indicates the date of the last oil change too! Thank God for those stickers! I am sure a woman must have invented these… otherwise how would we ever know? I do draw the line at popping the hood and pulling the oil stick.

I have  been known to stealth his car out of the drive way for a quick spin.  Better to hear those unusual noises, like the squeal of a loose belt or the screech of metal on metal from the brakes, before a trip begins for real!

All of this data suggests a few things that we women could do to “help out” our guys with cars. Gifts could be so simple. Here is my suggestion list for the coming birthdays and holidays.

1)      An Eddie Bauer car kit! These Olive Green canvas bags are totally geeked out with everything that one could ever possibly need in the event of a breakdown! I’ve seen Red Cross Emergency Medical kits that pale in comparison! Another product surely developed by a female! Maybe Eddie’s Mom?

2)      Gift Card from the local car wash! Bonus if they have “vacuum interior” as part of the deal.

3)      Gift Card from the Oil and Lube place! Love those little stickers!

4)      Gift Card from the guys favorite FAST-GAS Station!  (…and that would be the one on their way to work! Right next to the Drive-Thru Coffee kiosk with girls in Bikinis!)

5)      Flashlight / Key chain embossed with the TOWING COMPANY phone number. Bonus if you can get one that is approved by your Auto insurance company!

6)      If you are really feeling generous… spring for a membership to AAA! Remember that AAA covers the member, regardless of whose car they are traveling in… and it might be yours!

Happy Motoring!

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Shopping Lists

Living on the Spectrum, PMS (and it's not the medical one), , ,

Our luncheon companion excused herself yet again.  “My husband is grocery shopping” she sighs rolling her eyes as she left the table with her smart phone held out in front of her face.

The remaining women chuckled and a lively debate started about the recent joke circulating on Face Book; a woman’s tale of her well meaning man, volunteering to do the grocery shopping but utilizing a list that was not current. The punch line as delivered as her hubby strolls out the door answering his wife’s’ query.  “Do you have the grocery list?”

“Oh yes” the husband affirms. He proudly displays a wadded slip of paper from his pocket, “I saved the one from last time.”

Our companion rejoins us, quizzically looking at our animated faces. “What is so funny?”

“Does your hubby have the right list?” We chuckle as we relate the joke in discussion.

“Oh this is even better than the last week’s list story!” She slides her phone across the table to me.  It shows a man’s arm, holding up an orange. He is clearly in a grocery produce department of the grocery store.

“Keep going!” She encourages me to scroll through the recent shots on her phone’s picture gallery.  There are several more photos, each of slightly different types of citrus.

“Now read his text.” She reaches back for her Droid and quickly opens the text screen for all of us to view.  Her hubby is clearly confused about the difference between Navel and Valencia oranges.

“You have to hand it to him, he is eager to get it right.” I dish out some praise for the hubby. “Smart phone photos and text technology has possibly saved many a modern marriage!” chimes in another woman.

A well coiffed silver haired woman in the group laughed aloud. “I wish my husband would get a smart phone!” “I have to decide, based on his verbal descriptions, which items to have him bring home.”

“If I can’t decipher his clues well enough, it’s my fault if he doesn’t bring home the right item.”

I’m proud to say my Hubby is pretty savvy on the grocery shopping trips. He does cook a good percentage of the time and is usually in charge of procuring his ingredients. A cute demo chef with a totally awesome recipe can alter his menu plan, but he is a guy after all.

Our biggest challenges happen when he raids the pantry for one of his dishes. He forgets to let me know that he just used up the last container of tomato paste, emptied the curry powder jar or some other ingredient that I had plans for I another meal or recipe.

We do have a magnetic grocery list pad and pencil too, stuck right on the front of the fridge. Sometimes it gets utilized. I am just as guilty on this omission as he. Actually, the dogs did just abscond with the pencil, which is now in splinters down in their dog run. No matter… there is usually something within reach to scratch down an item on the shopping list if we will just pause a moment and jot it down.

We have a distinct advantage in obtaining all the items we need for our household, if either of us in accompanied by our son, Nick. He may be blind but I will tell you he has a great recall of what is in the pantry. His inventory of the contents of the fridge and both freezers is equally amazing.  He is a bit OCD about making sure that we are ALWAYS in stock on any of the items he eats or uses in any way.

He knows the exact quantity of frozen orange juice cans on the bottom shelf of the freezer downstairs.  He can advise me of the count on the bagels he loves for his favorite breakfast item; smoked salmon and cream cheese on toasted bagels. Want to know how many slices of Tillamook cheddar or Deli style boneless sliced turkey are in the refrigerator’s Tupperware containers, just ask Nick.

Not only are the jars of his favorite sandwich sliced pickles inventoried before any given shopping trip, he usually knows how many slices are remaining in the currently open jar on the top shelf of the  Maytag Plus refrigerator in our kitchen.

We recently faced a perceived emergency on the supply of toilet paper at home. Nick keeps a pretty close count on the individually wrapped rolls we use in our household. He is the one who carries in the bulky packages of the bathroom tissue, distributes and organizes all the rolls in both bathroom cabinets.

He announced one evening “We are out of toilet paper in my bathroom!”

“Truly not a roll left?”  I seemed to remember purchasing this item recently so I ask” Did you look in our bathroom?”

“It is all gone Mom.”

I get up and trod down the stairs to the bathroom on the lower level of our home. This is primarily Nick’s domain. Unless we have guests, he is the main user of this bathroom.

“I see two rolls here which means you still have enough for a few days or maybe even the week, certainly enough to last until tomorrow morning. The store closes very soon so we need to wait to go shopping first thing.”

He reluctantly agrees that tomorrow will be soon enough to shop for replenishment. He cannot argue with the logical fact that the store is closing in 5 minutes.  It is a 15 minute drive, with good traffic, so there is no possible way we can obtain the desired big 40 count container this evening.

As I write this I have to share; I heard rustling behind me and have stopped typing to investigate.

Oh, oh! Someone didn’t get the door completely latched on the powder room just outside my office. I swivel around in my chair just in time to see our two Elk hound puppies absconding with not one or two, but three rolls of the individually wrapped toilet tissue that were stashed on the pretty wire rack that sits in that extra bathroom.

The game is on! Can I catch them before they destroy all three rolls? I manage to get between the dogs and the master bedroom door. If I could not have cut them off, they’d be under the California King bed, out of reach and free to shred all three rolls. Clever pups, they seem to know just how far I can reach under that bed!

“Bad Chew!” I say this sternly and offer several toys that are “Good Chew” items.  I retrieve the rolls, which are only slightly damaged and firmly close the powder room door. Click goes the latch; a” good sound!”

Back to the supply issue at home last week, it is tabled until the next morning.  We get to bed and all is well for the rest of the evening.

Next morning I am awakened by the pups growling at a sound. It is still early enough that I can’t see the alarm without turning on the light and waking my Hubby. He seems to sleep through all but the most violent canine disturbances.  I swear the slightest whimpers can catapult me out of the bed. Must be my mother’s ear or maybe it’s the fact that I have to clean up accidents that might happen if little puppy bladders get beyond their capacity, who knows?

I crack open the door of our bedroom. There is someone in the kitchen! Nick is already up and has begun assembling his breakfast items.  He is determined to get to the COSTCO as soon as possible.  Eating breakfast is all that stands in the way of his ability to restock the supply and feel the comfort of knowing his cupboard is full again.

Sighing, I throw back the covers and swing into morning mode. Our curly tailed Norwegian elk hound pups scamper out into the hall, down the stairs, to dash out into their well fenced dog run via their dogie door.  “Whack, whack” the vinyl flap slaps to and fro as they rebound right back to our bedroom. Our canine alarm clocks hop up onto the bed, waking Hubby with wet kisses and cold noses on any extremity that is poking out of the covers.

With an early start today at least my Hubby will be up and on schedule to catch the bus at his usual stop.  IF he dawdles a bit too long, there is one last park and ride he can hit before the Community Transit bus hits the interstate for the express lane to travel directly downtown.

Monday is “THE” day that Nick restocks his vitamin container. This will use up approximately half an hour, as he carefully and meticulously counts out each of his supplements and installs them in the Daily Dose container he uses every morning.  This allows me a block of time to get going on the Smoothies without dodging my blind son as he navigates to and from the cupboards and precariously close to my work space. It is truly amazing that he manages to not step on pups or run into counters, chairs or the occasional cupboard door that is ajar. We all do our best, pups included, to keep a clear path for Nick.

Finally breakfast is consumed, puppies are fed and Hubby is backing out the drive routed to his usual bus stop. Enough time has elapsed that we will be arriving just about the time that the early wholesale shoppers are admitted to our COSTCO warehouse.  We select a cart, Nick folds up his long red tipped cane and we travel toward the entrance.  Since the main purpose of this trip is obtaining more bathroom tissue, we go straight for the aisle where the household supplies are located.  Facial tissues are also on the list, so this big plastic bundle of 250 ct. boxes is tossed into our cart, along with the paper towels.

Oh rats! I do not see any big bundles of the individually wrapped single rolls of the Kimberly Clark bath tissue. I scan the aisle for COSTCO personnel but to no avail. During “early wholesale member” hours there is not the usual staffing in the warehouse.  I am reluctant to share this news with Nick just yet.  He is rarely persuaded to switch to another brand or package configuration. His need is not only to restock the toilet tissue in his cupboard. There are a certain number of rows of individual packages, stacked to a certain height, that fit just so in his cupboard.

“ Let’s walk down a few rows” I say,  hoping that the game of musical merchandise played by this big volume warehouse means the desired item has just been relocated to a new spot.  The TP gods are not smiling on us today. We locate the new home of all bath tissue products but do not see the desired brand. I finally locate an employee who informs me that this item is now only sold at the COSTCO “Office Supply” location. It seems most of the household type shoppers at this warehouse location did not purchase significant quantities of the individually wrapped products. It is all about the numbers!

Fortunately this other location is only 20 minutes from our home… in the other direction of course! Nick is happy to hear this news and we are back in the car motoring toward the location up north. I feel as though I am on a scavenger hunt, homing in on the final prize.

Nick is still fairly calm and this is good news. If he doesn’t hear an absolute “No” he is a pretty patient guy. Singing is one way to keep his brain occupied while on the road.  This morning we are in conversation about favorite childhood items he enjoyed long ago.  Many family members and friends took the time and effort to give Nick gifts that “made noise”.  These ranged from the well intended gifts of mugs that would play electronic music when lifted from the table surface to the talking Mattel toys like “the Farmer Says” or the “ABC Bee Says”.

Here is a helpful hint for those of you who have received those musical cups. Running them through the full cycle of the dishwasher usually disables them! The clue is the sticker on the bottom with instructions that say “hand wash only”. One can only hear the chirpy electronic version of Happy Birthday or Merry Christmas so many times without screaming. This is especially true in families that already have that quote filled by other behaviors from their special kids.

Nick is fluent in both Spanish and English. I turned his usual recitation of the entire alphabet via the “Bee Says” by asking him “Nick what would this toy sound like if it were a Spanish version?”

He started out on the very first item.” A is for manzana!  Oops! This doesn’t translate.” Nick was momentarily stumped. “Okay, let’s try A for agua” he said beaming with pride.  We spent most of the rest of the trip figuring out what words would fit the alphabet using only Spanish.  He even included the extra letters, like “ll is for llama” that would be found in the Spanish version. This was actually lots of fun and detracted him for worry about the bathroom tissue for the remainder of the trip.

The good news is that our shopping trip ended well. Cupboards are restocked with the necessary paper goods again. If the future tsunami threat ever occurs, our home’s paper supply could probably stop that wave in it tracks and save our community on the Puget Sound.

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The icing on the cake was much thicker when I was a child.

Flights of Imagination, Memories of Mom, , , ,

I was about four years old. There was a beautifully decorated birthday cake sitting on the counter at my Aunt’s home. I was supposed to be down for a nap, with my cousins, to rest up before the party. I was so excited in anticipation of the upcoming party I didn’t fall asleep at all. I slid quietly off the bed and traipsed down the long hallway and into the kitchen. There was the cake.

I just could not resist. With one little, tiny, swipe of my pinkie finger, I was tasting icing. It was wonderful!  OK, well, maybe just another little one and hopefully no one will notice. I am sure you have guessed by now my 4 year old will power was no match for that yummy cake! Boy did I get into trouble! Fortunately my Aunt was able to repair the damage and the cake was as beautiful as before.

My Aunt was a great dessert and candy maker too.  I lived for her vanilla caramels at the holidays. The recipe was basically in pounds! A pound of butter, a pound of brown sugar… and more, but I am sworn to secrecy on revealing the entire recipe. I made my first batch when I was pregnant with my oldest son. I developed a very elaborate system to hopefully slow myself down and not eat the entire batch in a short time. I laboriously cut and double wrapped every single caramel with waxed paper. Next I put the pieces into not one but two Ziploc bags and placed in a cupboard. My rule was I could only eat one piece at a time and had to take them out individually and reseal both bags each time I ate one!  I remember tipping the scales with a weight gain of 40 pounds and those caramels helped me get there, I’m sure!

My Aunt’s particular ice cream recipe, for the hand cranked treat that was always a special part of every family birthday celebration on my dad’s side of the family, was a well guarded one. Even as an adult I do not believe I ever obtained that one.  I remember the caramel taste profile. I believe it had some canned milk added that made it extra creamy and just a tad smoother than my Mom’s mix.  I do remember how happy we was when it was this Aunt’s turn to provide the mix for freezing. Here is the closest recipe I have found:

HOMEMADE ICE CREAM
1 qt. milk
1 c. sugar
6 eggs
2 c. Milnot
2 pts. half & half
2 c. sugar
4 tbsp. vanilla

 

Beat eggs and sugar 3-4 minutes. Add milk. Cook until hot. Cool. Add Milnot, half & half, 2 cups sugar and vanilla. Put in gallon of ice cream freezer. Freeze.

To offset the expense of ingredients needed to produce ice cream for the whole tribe, each family in attendance contributed additional batches of “mix” for the freezers or toppings.

At a different birthday party, my Mom elected to bring peanuts for our family’s part. Times were tight and the purchase of expensive canned peanuts was a splurge in the grocery budget. It was decided that the entire can could not be taken to the party, so a portion was doled out into a suitable serving dish, sitting on the counter next to the kitchen window.

I observed the preparation of these precious treats.  I waited until the supply was unattended and decided to get a taste of the rare snack.  When I reached up to get a peanut, I noticed that insects had discovered our treat for the party as well. A tiny stream of red ants was going to and from the bowl and out a hole in the kitchen window screen. I ran to report the ant’s invasion to my mother. She was horrified. Already in a bit of trouble with Dad over this extra expense, and knowing that there were no funds to replace these Peanuts with more from the grocery, she made a decision.  Very carefully she sifted through all of the peanuts in the bowl, removing every last ant. I was sworn to secrecy and promised to not reveal to any family members, especially my Dad, of this little deception.

When the ice cream was served and family members worked their way through the various jars of chocolate and caramel syrups, the sprinkles and of course those peanuts.  I stood by keenly watching in anticipation of a scream of discovery that additional ingredients were discovered in that bowl of nuts. When this did not happen, I finally blurted out “Gee I am so glad that none of those ants got in the ice cream toppings.” This let the proverbial cat out of the bag. My red faced mother grimaced as she explained to everyone what had transpired prior to their arrival at the party. She had a very stern look for me too. I was definitely in trouble. I knew that when we returned home, punishment awaited me, from both my parents.

The best part of every family birthday party was cranking the ice cream, either in a back yard or during the winter month birthdays, in the basement of the host  family’s home.   We youngsters could start cranking when the chilled ice cream mixture was first put into the cans and paddles set for churning. As the cream mixtures turned to more solid form, the men in the family all took turns, putting their muscle to the task required to complete the process. Think about that extra high pitch that my modern CuisineArt ™ electric Ice Cream maker makes as it nears the end of a cycle. That sound would be similar to the emanations from the men as they did those last few cranks!

4-grandma-hand-crank-ice-cream

Removing the paddles to let the ice cream “cure” was the best part. Any kids who happened to be hanging around in the kitchen were handed spoons and lined up for a turn to clean off the ice cream that clung to those wooden paddles when removed from the can. It was more the consistency of soft serve frozen custard, not hard like the store bought ice cream. We’d line up with small bowls and spoons drooling in anticipation for a few rapidly melting dollops.  Probably the only time ever I remember getting to have dessert first. I chuckle at this memory when I see the Pacific Dessert bumper stickers on cars. They read “Life is Uncertain… Eat Dessert first”.

Eventually my grand dad purchased an electric ice cream freezer. He had to endure a lot of kidding from his sons and other men in family, but he said it was too hard on his back to bend and crank! This and many other changes occurred as I grew up. I eventually married and had ice cream freezers to crank and birthday cakes to ice for my own children’s birthdays.

Grandparents age and die. Sadly, sometimes little cousins do also, way before they should. My Aunt had to endure the ache created by her youngest child, leaving this earth before she was even in Kindergarten. The cake I mangled that afternoon may have been one of the last my Aunt had made before her young daughter died.

I imagine that the icing, on any cake, was never thick enough for my Aunt ,ever again.

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Puppy Periodical?

Puppy Posts, ,

It is confession time… we let our puppies sleep on the bed, both of them. In fact we encourage them to come up and cuddle with us. They have joyfully engaged in this activity for quite some time too. They are starting to grow up a bit. Soon they will be one year old. Maybe that is the equivalent of teenage in dog years?

All of a sudden our boy dog had decided that he’d rather be under the bed, not on top where we can pet him and he can interact with us. His little sister still claims her spot, squarely in the middle where she can stretch out and poke either or both of us simultaneously, with her warm little paws.  Each evening, we coax and call but sadly, we were not able to induce him up onto the bed. My Hubby is troubled by this perceived snub, but I said “what can he be doing down there anyway?”

Our Puppy Manners trainers both stated that dogs are “den animals” and staying in crates actually was comforting to them. We’d both snorted with laughter when she was not looking. If she could see the cavernous holes our pups have been digging in the back yard, Ms. Puppy Manners would be shocked! I have literally gone out and seen nothing but the curly tip of my 50 pound Elk hound boy’s tail sticking up from a recent excavation project. Our female has burrowed so far under the deck on the lower yard; I thought she’d somehow managed to escape over the fence!  Only after hearing her brother’s worried yelps as he paced back and forth, did she poke her little nose out from her lair under the deck.

“He’s probably down there with a flash light and some issues of Playboy.” Hubby seemed to know what teen boys would engage in when they were feeling a need for some privacy and this translated well to our adolescent canine.

I laughed aloud! I was amused and then even more intrigued.  “What would those magazines be called?” I challenged him to come up with some magazine names to fit the scenario.

“Puppy Porno? No, too easy and a bit trite” he said ” How about Bad Dog?”  I just giggled… I could see we were not going to go to sleep any time soon!

“Or here is one with a double entendre: Doggie Style!” We were on a roll. Laughing with hilarity he said ” How about Haunch! … or Rub My Belly (till my leg starts twitching) as the byline”.  I scrambled out of bed to find my trusty writers notebook and a pen. Some of these were gems and I didn’t want to drift off to sleep without committing them to paper.

“Would In Heat be too tasteless?” Or “Come”? I was rolling on the floor, sobbing with at this point..”How about BITCHES IN HEAT?” I gasped. “His little sister could be the centerfold”. Our female Elk Hound, like most of her sister pooches, loves to lie on her back, displaying her crotch to the whole world! She had developed a tan line this summer; she’d exposed her tummy so often. We joke that she wants to be a Nurse when she grows up. She tends to home in on any of our wounds and licks them until they are properly healed, in her opinion anyway. It is the only treatment she subscribes to. A vision popped into my head of “Nurse Elkie” the featured Bitch of the Month in one of her brother’s magazines.  The quote under her photo spread would be “Hi I’m Elkie.  I’d like to lick you all over!” Here is our Hottie, all wrapped up and ready to be your holiday hound!

IMG_20131225_132915_655

OK, no more big bowls of chocolate chip espresso gelato before bed time! This magazine naming collaborative was going “to the dogs” if you’ll pardon the pun.

Both of us are huge fans of Mel Brooks classic “Young Frankenstein. Hubby recalled the “Voof!” comment made by Inga. This truly would be a great title too, we both agreed.

So you won’t have to leave this site to go and look it up…here is the context:

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: For the experiment to be a success, all of the body parts must be enlarged.

Inga: In other vords: his veins, his feet, his hands, and his organs vould all have to be increased in size.

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Exactly.

Inga: He vould have an enormous schwanzstucker.

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: That goes without saying.

Inga: Voof!

Readers, if you are still on the blog after all of this crazy and tasteless commentary.. feel free to add your own suggestions for the magazine name!

I am going to try and get some sleep.

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Frost Filled with Opportunity

Flights of Imagination, , ,

 

Frost whitewashing the cars created a fresh pallet for an imaginative artist to create some whimsical creatures. Thanks to Bristol AfterDark, www.afterdark.co, for posting this picture and providing inspiration!FrostOnCars

This photo plays into a “theme” from a recent writers gathering.  Topic starter phrase for our timed writing exercise was:  FROST WHITEWASHING THE CARS….

Frost whitewashing the cars levels the visual playing field. A white blanket creates a sort of anonymous cloak, covering the color of the vehicles especially.

Color is such an integral part of what the eye perceives in an object, cars are no exception. A red Corvette; that bright color almost screams “fast, speedy, hot, and sexy” to categorize this sporty vehicle. In fact a car’s red color is often heard as the “excuse” for a speeding ticket, issued because the cop noticed the red color more than a grey or white vehicle.  We are supposed to commiserate with the unfortunate recipient, rather that ignore the fact that many owners of sports cars like the Corvette Stingray, like to drive a bit faster and maybe take a few risks.

Taking color out of the equation is like removing expectations or possibly even prejudice about the abilities of an item’s performance or behavior.

Imagine that Corvette, or any sporty racing vehicle for that matter, painted a Mary Kay Pink!  A “Pepto -Bismol®” hued hotrod would be hooted at and the car’s owner could risk humiliation for the audacity to even drive up such a vehicle to the starting line of a race. The car styled with the same sleek aerodynamic lines and the same powerful engine under the hood as its bright flame colored sister would pale in comparison. It would not be the odds on favorite to win or even place in this competition.

The photo above shows what can be dreamed up when the colors are taken away. What treasure can be found?  In looking a bit deeper, scratching the surface a bit to see what is under the surface.  By digging under the frosted white exterior these impromptu artists created an opportunity to share humor with their whimsical display.

How different the world would be if one morning we all work up to a frost that masked each of our  exteriors, so that the work of knowing our fellow man involved digging a bit deeper , not judging  what we “see” on the surface.

A family joke is that our son, who is blind and works with many musicians made a hilarious mistake about the ethnicity on two of his friends.  The recording technician with short clipped speech, our son “assumed” to be a Caucasian person, like himself.  The tall skinny bowed bass player, who spoke softly in jive talk and used words that he heard from many of his black friends, was of course not African American at all.

Upon realizing his error he blurted out “I guess I truly am color blind as well as not being able to see!”

We tend to “eat with our eyes” and “judge books by their covers”.

Could we try “dining in the dark”?  There is a new restaurant in Seattle area called Seattle Blind Cafe.  www. theblindcafe.com/seattle-blind-café. It encourages diners to use their“other senses” to decide if that  unknown morsel is truly pleasing to our pallet.

Take a risk; open a book that has lost its jacket and to read for content,without expectation. Many a used book store or the local library’s used book sale has literary treasure on sale for $1 a volume.

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Vivid imagination…my entertainment!

Flights of Imagination, Memories of Mom, , ,

As I rounded the corner I saw an ominous sign- a black dress on a hanger in the back window of an unfamiliar vehicle.  I looked up to the deck at the back of the house; a fluffy down comforter was hanging over the railing.  This was an odd time of year, I thought, to be airing out the bedding.

I have a vivid imagination. I love to tell stories, to anyone who will listen. If another set of ears is not available, I will entertain myself with a possible tale. I take a single clue and weave an entire story around that one little bit. A sound I hear or the sight of an object that seems a bit unusual will pique my imagination and off I go. The trajectory of that flight of fancy soars into the blue for miles.  Return to Earth happens when the reality of facts, unknown to me at the take off, pull me back into its atmosphere.

My latest story was sparked by the observation of a vegetable garden in obvious need of tending. Vegetables that I’d observed being planted and tended all spring and summer, were begging to be harvested!  I had my eye on this patch of ground for several months while walking my Norwegian elkhound.  He was a bit older and our walks were more leisurely strolls with many pauses to sniff and for me to take in the scene.  Norwegians are scent hounds. They relish every opportunity to engage their olfactory equipment, to the detriment of either one of us getting any real exercise.

That spring I strolled down that particular street, past that house on many occasions. I’d seen an elderly woman, grey hair pulled back into a bun, crouched on her knees, working in the soil of her garden.  If I spoke in greeting she’d nod and then be back to her work.

Each time I passed that corner, I would check the progress of the plantings, seeing seedlings start push through the earth.  On occasion the old woman would be bent over the rows, pulling out a weed or two that threatened to take away nourishment from the tender new plants was so intent that she did not see me or respond to my greetings.

Nor did she express any interest in my canine companion, which was rare since Norwegian Elkhounds usually garner lost of attention as we walk.  “What kind of dog is that?” is a very common question. Many a person will fondly reminisce; “Our family owned a Norwegian Elkhound when I was a kid. I loved that dog”. This comment usually followed by lots of petting and a wagging tail accompanied by joyful yips from our dog. My husband and I jokingly wonder why so many adults have such great memories but seem to have no interest in owning a Norwegian Elkhounds at the present time.

As the growing season progressed, I was  able to distinguish the feather tops of carrots, green straight tips of new onions, tendrils of what would be snap peas climbing up the stakes she’d put into the ground. A frustrated gardener myself, due to lack of space to plant on our own small property, I envied her the variety produce that I supposed she would be harvesting later in the summer.

Now on my latest walk, I saw abundance! A garden full of the fruit of the old woman’s labors appeared untouched since my last visit. Peas ready to be picked.  Rows of little baby lettuce and other greens crowded together and needing thinning out so that mature plants would have the room and nutrients needed.

What was wrong here? Looking around I saw no one at the house, or in the yard. Several cars were parked along the edge of the yard, not vehicles that I recognized either. The usual vehicles were in the driveway.  I remembered especially the Prius, since I owned a similar vintage. Mine was Salsa red; their Prius was the Cobalt blue. Maybe the old woman truly was ill, or worse had died! Maybe, the black dress hanging in the car was worn at  her funeral service!  The bedding was being air as a prelude to being packed away, never again to warm the older woman on a cold night.

What could have happened to the old woman to bring about her demise so suddenly?   Certainly nothing in her manor on the occasions I’d seen her out in the garden indicated poor health.     I had admired her agility at her older age, to be able to stay down on her knees, bent into the work, without seeming to be uncomfortable at all. I envied her this too, along with the abundant space available to till and plant! I have bad knees and if I did have the luxury of soil to be planted, I’d need that to be in raised beds, preferably hip height.

No one in the household seemed to be aware of ripe, ready to pick vegetables.  Should I offer to help out?  Intrude into the routine of caregivers busy with the tasks to help this sick woman?  A family who may be in the midst of grieving the loss of this old woman might welcome the assistance of a prepared meal arriving at the door. Receiving freshly harvested raw vegetables, needing to be cleaned and prepared might not be welcomed at all.

During a recent time of grief in my own life, I relished the distraction of preparing food for my family. A long standing family tradition, Pork and Sauerkraut served on New Year’s Eve, just after midnight, had morphed into a New Year’s Day event, but still was well attended by everyone in the clan. The most recent gathering was for my own mother’s memorial service. Though she died in the late fall, the majority of the family had already made plans for the usual New Year’s Day feast and so our memorial for Mom was scheduled to coincide.

I considered harvesting the biggest of the peas, some of the larger greens, leaving them at the front porch with a note. What should I say in my note?  I had not yet confirmed any of the possibilities that my imagination supposed. Could I knock at the door?  Maybe later without my canine companion I’d return and catch someone coming or going from the house. I decided this was a less intrusive course of action.  I certainly was not prepared to do any harvesting at that very moment anyway… the dog was whining, anxious to continue our walk. I went off, looking back over my shoulder, to see if more evidence would present itself to help me solve the riddle of the untended garden.

Back at home common sense prevailed over my impulse to harvest.  I convinced myself that any intrusion into this situation would be unwelcome. I did not actually know this family. We certainly were not on speaking terms beyond the friendly hello and nod when I passed by admiring the garden on my walks.

The next day my courage returned.  I went back up the block to the brick red Master Craft home. Reader, I did not mention this before, but this house was one of the old style homes probably build back at the heyday of the catalog homes. There were several in our community. I enjoyed seeing this one in such wonderful condition.

Seated on the front porch steps was a woman dressed in modest running gear.  She was a very fit person, several years younger than I.  Her body benefitted from regular vigorous exercise.

“Hi there, I am an envious neighbor who wishes she had as much success as you do with your garden plot.” She looked up at me but did not comment, just continued to lace her athletic running shoes.

“I am curious about the older woman I’ve seen on many occasions working out here in the yard, is she doing well? I notice that lettuce is beginning to bolt and the peas will become a bit tough if they grow much larger. They need to be picked soon.”  “I offer my assistance if that would be welcome. Or you are here today do the harvesting already?”

She chuckled, “The woman you saw is my Mom. She doesn’t live here but has enjoyed helping out in my garden. We’ve been very lazy of late. My husband and I need to get out there and cut some lettuce at the next opportunity.”

Still uncertain about the older woman I pressed on. I sheepishly explained without giving too much detail of my fantasy story; “I’d assumed your mother was the owner of the home, given its age especially.  I’d supposed that the lack of harvest had to do with her inability to complete the task and I would be happy to help out.”

“No, my Mom is just fine”. The younger woman, obviously the owner of this home, was looking at me a bit more closely; I thought to myself maybe even a bit suspiciously. Maybe she wondered that I paid too much attention to her garden!  She stood and I felt I was being dismissed. “When you walked up, I was preparing to go for a run. I need to get going now.  Thank you for your concern about my Mom and your interest in my garden.”

“We usually have more produce than we can use and often put out baskets on the curb to share with others. Please feel free to help yourself when the occasions arise.”  There was no more conversation or opportunity for me to learn more about the family.

I started to think about the fluffy goose down quilt that covered my king-sized bed and decided upon my return to home that I would air it out a bit.  It was a nice sunny day with a gentle breeze, perfect to do the job.

More strolls later in the season revealed the generosity of this errant gardener. I delighted in the occasional offerings in baskets of greens and even the occasional bouquets of flowers.  My old canine companion succumbed to the arthritis plaguing his rear legs. Most days I loaded him into the car and we drove to the local beach with a flat level boardwalk that better suited his gait than the hilly terrain of our residential neighborhood. Our neighborhood strolls curtailed, so was the opportunity to see and possibly chat with the older woman again.

I never discovered who owned the black dress hanging in that strange car. Perhaps a visitor who’d later be attending a formal gathering and needed a change of attire?  The bedding hanging over the railing was another mystery to remain unsolved. Perhaps this would be fodder for a future mystery novel.

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