What are you making for dinner?

Reservations! I've always loved this old joke, because I truly hate to cook. If anything takes longer to make than it does it eat, I most likely won't be making it. As a kid, my mom served us the typical meat, potatoes, and vegetable dinner, and although I had my favorites, the canned beans were uninspired. Our family didn't have pizza for dinner until I was in high school.  Until reaching college, I never realized how deprived my taste buds were.
I have adapted most of Mom's recipes to appeal more to my own family's tastes, and vegetables are now fresh or frozen....which means I eat a lot more of them!  Mom's homemade potato salad, minus the onions and celery seed, is requested by my kids and even my daughter's boyfriend.  It wil always be known as Gram's Potato Salad.
Most of what I make now has an Italian flare, learned basically through trial and error, although I did discover what a creamy addition ricotta cheese can be in pasta dishes. I learned that from my SWEDISH mother-in-law.  I quite honestly have no recipes from Denmark or Sweden. She embraced being American, and otherwise cooked to please her Italian husband. 
The rest of my culinary triumphs came from recipes that claimed to be ready in 20 minutes or less. That's my kind of food! As it turns out it is my daughter's kind of food as well.  After her first year of dorm life at college, she excitedly moved into an apartment, but the one drawback to being grown up was the cooking.  I sent her off that year packed with her Gram's old cookware, plates, and silverware, along with a small book of recipes that even she couldn't mess up.

She found it hysterical that her entire repetoire of recipes numbered less than a dozen, and despite explicit directions, she still called home everytime she attempted to cook.  In spite of herself, some of her meals were quite good, although she didn't like cooking enough to do it often. Thankfully though, she had one roomie who would feed her on occassion, and her other unfed nights became take out or something simple. (Cereal?!)

Now that she has another hungry person to feed, with an appetite like no one we know, she has grown into the art of cooking, and experiements a bit beyond my tried and true recipes. That's the way it should be. We take what we are taught, incorporate our own likes and dislikes, and create something new based on the old. It is much like this with traditions, customs, and parenting, in addition to cooking.  We all learn from each other and pass on what we know from loved ones, and of course from family.
A warm country hug to all,
Lisa <3

Parking Gestapo

My time is limited for visiting with my ailing mother.  Circumstances have changed dramatically since she was in her own home. At that time I had a key, and could come unannounced, staying over if need be. The nursing home still advertises a facility where loved ones can visit at any time...day or night.  The web site, nor any printed information, don't seem to have (but perhaps should) the fine print that gives exclusions to this offer. 
Arriving at my usual time to see Mom recently, I was flagged down in the parking lot before I even had an opportunity to look for a parking space. Lowering my window, the receptionist-turned-parking-gestapo barked at me, "You can't double park!"  I wasn't even aware all the spaces were filled at that point, and felt almost violated by the brusque treatment.  Thankfully, another visitor was departing as I was biting my tongue, holding in the response I would have liked to share. Suuuuureee I can come ANYTIME....as long as there's parking! In a discussion with the facility administrator just a short week before this incident, I was instructed to come see him if there was no parking available. Apparently he forgot to mention I'd have to come see him about there being no parking when there WAS parking. Ridiculous right?
After parking, I headed for the main entrance, biting back a giggle at the receptionist being wind-blown and aggravated. There was a lot of that going around that day.  I am certain her job description does not include parking attendant, and her treatment of visitors was tempered by this fact. It was also only about 32 degrees outside that day.
Once inside, breathing a sigh of relief, I was able to greet Mom, grab her a snack, and we headed to our usual hangout in the sunroom. Or so I thought. The door was closed, but opened as if by magic as I approached to reveal a meeting in full swing.  The sunroom is advertised as an amenity for residents, but on that day was being used for training sessions. I was told it would be free the next hour, so I bit my tongue again....a little harder this time....to wait it out.
Unfortunately, the information I had been given was again incorrect. A second hour of training sessions were to start.  At this point I felt compelled to file a grievance.  I am truly not an unreasonable person.  I definitely don't like to make waves.  Over the past 5 years, though, I have learned the true lesson of the squeaky wheel, and went ahead with my complaint.  Mom and I had only an abbreviated visit as there was nowhere to sit quietly with her. This made me more sad than angry, and feeling emotional, I fled the building before tears overtook me.
A few days later I was approached by the unit director with the training staff in tow.  I received an apology and the promise that future training sessions would not be held in the residents common areas.  I appreciated this gesture, but feel the need to insure it is followed in the months and years to come.
Petty? Perhaps.  When there are individuals who cannot speak for themselves, someone needs to speak up. And for Mom I would do anything, because family is everything.
By the way, turns out there was no parking due to the ill planned, timed, and improperly located training sessions. Imagine that.
A warm country hug to all,
Lisa <3

I Still Do

Thirty years ago today I was on spring break from my first teaching job.  It was also the week before my wedding, which had initially been planned for summer of that year.  Teaching at the same school as my husband, a couple states away from home, we decided to move the wedding up to our spring break. I had a week off for the final list of things to do, and a honeymoon week following the mid-break ceremony.  Perfectly laid plan.
From the date of our engagement in August of the previous year, plan time amounted to only seven months, and was being done long distance, mostly by my mom.  In retrospect, I am amazed we were able to pull things together so fast, and so well.  While time was not on our side, the fact that I was no "bridezilla" was. I would travel three hours home for weekends spent dress shopping, flower selecting, and reception hall hunting.  Once I had THE DRESS, the rest was easy.  My fairly simple tastes made selection of invitations easy and flowers even easier.  A reception to be held in the ballroom of a local racquet club was also a piece of cake....which they provided with the sit down dinner for almost 200. 
There were no real snags except the missing song for our first dance, for which we easily substituted another equally romantic and meaningful tune.  The most wonderful memory I have from the day of my wedding was the feeling of calm, and everything being right with the world as I waited for the evening ceremony. I was a very happy bride.
Thirty years later I still am. I still "do".  I find it uncanny at the timing of my husband discovering a yellowed slip of paper among his mother's things yesterday, much like I did recently.

His mother and I were not what I consider to be close while she was alive, but I loved her and wished I had the words to comfort, to connect, or to just talk sometimes during her life ending battle with cancer.  I am sure she knew my depth of caring, but it makes me pause with regret to this day.  Before John and I married, she and I never talked about marriage, and she never shared with me any advice or thoughts on the nuptials. Now, thirty years later, my husband handed me this just discovered top ten list, written in his mom's own handwriting.
"The Ten Most Important Things in a Marriage".  Love, laughter, talk, involvement, friendships, integrity, tolerance, adaptability, sex, sharing.  All true, so true.  I can't help but wonder at the circumstances causing her to pen the list. Was it something she had shared with my late sister-in-law perhaps, or a moment of wisdom she had hoped to share with me or my husband? We will never know for sure, but the fact that it has surfaced means it will give future generations the benefit of her insight and power of perseverance with a man she loved with all her heart... when he wasn't driving her crazy. I am grateful to have this heartfelt, handwritten advice to pass onto my own daughter, together with my own recipe for a good marriage, before she weds the love of her life one day. 
A warm country hug to all,
Lisa <3

Forever Young

I spent the afternoon with the most amazing woman I have had the pleasure to call MOM.  She is now 82 years young, and to celebrate we had a quiet time decorating her once-Christmas tree for spring. It is now a colorful piece of art, with colored eggs, pip berry rings, grapevine hearts, and bows added to the lights. I used to laugh at people who hung plastic eggs on trees. The joke is on me now, since Mom's little tree is festooned with the same brightly colored eggs.  The nursing home had threatened to take down her tree since it was no longer Christmas.  It is now seasonally correct, however, and Mom can continue to enjoy the twinkling lights when she lays down each night.  I am thankful she has such small pleasures.
Before going to see Mom today, I purchased my first real piece of art from a former student at our local high school.  It was intended to be a gift for Mom's birthday, but I am not yet ready to part with it. The piece evokes such strong emotion in me, that, much to the young girl's chagrin, I couldn't hold back the tears when I first held it in my hands.  The artist was not someone I knew, but from the first time I saw her creation in a school showcase, I was brought to tears by the powerful message it relayed. I have never been brought to tears by a piece of art.
The picture is beautifully done in pencil, which accentuates the aged features and deeply lined faces of the central figures. They are an old, distinguished looking, and obviously in love couple. The gentleman is affectionately holding, and kissing, the hand of his true love. Superimposed, and appearing to escape from their memories, are childhood versions of the same two old souls.  The young faces, so innocent and playful, are at the same time separate, and yet part of the two old people.   A picture is said to be worth a thousand words. As much as I love to write, I find that I am at a loss to fully explain the impact of this piece of art on my heart and mind.

Though young in years, the artist must have an "old soul" to see so clearly what everyone else misses. I wish her years of creative, passionate, and heart touching art work.  I don't think she has yet realized the depth of her gift, and I am honored to be the first patron of one of her pieces. I have an original Lauren Williams.

A warm country hug to all,
Lisa <3

The Cutting Edge

I never remember my mother having a wood cutting board. Of course that doesn't mean she didn't have or use one, just that it has joined the black hole of memory details that seem to escape me at times. My in-laws, on the other hand, had several boards of different sizes that they pulled out to cut and chop various veggies and fruits, many of which I had never had before. One of my favorites they introduced me to was fennel. With the crunch of celery and a hint of anise in it's sweet taste, it was an instant hit.
Recently, my favorite cutting board...given to me by my in-laws no less, is showing signs of age. The wear and tear of decades of family picnics, holidays, and week night meals has scarred the maple.  It is also developing a crack, just off center, that threatens to split each time I mince an onion. There is so much character in the old cutting boards, that I cannot toss them away, or relegate them to the wood stove as my husband is so eager to do. Instead, I have found a new purpose for the old boards.

One round board, that I distinctly remember my father-in-law using to prepare the end of the meal salads he was so fond of, recently landed in my craft room, secretly saved from the wood pile by the stove.  I have always wanted a wall decorated with old game boards in my family room, but was abhorred by the prices being charged.  Thus began my quest to turn old cutting boards into usable game boards that are both  functional and decorative. Not to mention it's fun to find and paint them.
My first creation took only the drying time of the paint to make.  It is simple, but colorful, and inspired me to contemplate designs for future restorations.  I have seen many collections of old cutting boards displayed, well, as cutting boards.  Watching my pieces evolve into game boards has been wonderfully pleasing.  Checkerboards are my current go-to pattern, but my goal is to find a board both big enough ,and with enough character, to create a Parcheesi game board. This was my favorite game as a kid, and I promise I really WILL play it if I can just pull it off the wall! ( That's for you Katie!)
Re-purposing something that would end up in a landfill or adding a few BTU's to your house is well worth the time.
A warm country hug to all,
Lisa <3

G'Day Mate

The other day I spent a few minutes trying to figure out more of the available apps and such on this blog site. In looking at my "audience", I discovered I have had people from as far away as Sweden and Australia view my blog. Wow! Then I remembered one of my daughter's best friends is studying abroad this semester... way down under.

Being in the southern hemisphere, the Aussies are enjoying their summer-into-fall season, as we rush spring on the heels of the last snowstorm.  I am truly looking forward to hearing stories of the kanga and roo variety, as well as see pics of the pandas (koalas?), and nearby reefs. So Natalie, get to work on that and keep us all updated! What we have all lost in your absence, will bring us views of the world we may never have the chance to see. Consider yourself blessed to have this opportunity.

Only once in my life have I left this country, and that was on my honeymoon to the Bahamas. It was a wonderful trip, and I have no wish to replace it with another memory.  I thoroughly enjoy the idea of traipsing off to explore new places, but in reality would rather see them through a good book or movie, while curled up in a chair at the beach, or by the pool or a warm fire. There is something to be said for living vicariously. No jet lag, language barrier, 4 hours in an airport, customs searches, or breaking the bank. 

Here's to the adventurous souls and brave at heart who, after exploring new places, find that coming home is just as exciting as taking off for new places.  When you return, Nat, we will see you at Kate's and you can show us how to throw a shrimp on the barbie and celebrate Aussie style.  You are missed.

A warm country hug to all (continents),

Lisa <3

Tapestry of my Life

Whenever I rode my bike down to my best friend Debbie's house as a kid, her mom invariably answered the door, yelled, "Debbie!", then returned to whatever chore was at hand.  There were delicious days in February or March when she made donuts on Fasnacht Day, or days the aromas of homemade spaghetti sauce wafted through the entire house. Just thinking of her cooking skills makes me wonder when Fasnacht Day falls this year!
Invariably, though, she was seated in their family room working on her current project, a masterpiece in the form of a quilt. All the beds in their house had them, and I fell in love with the colors, patterns, and homey feel of the bedding she created. They were amazing. 
Since that time I was given my first quilt, one made from the remnants of wardrobes worn by the Mennonite family who owned our farm before us. It covered my bed through high school, and went to college with me, where it was carefully folded at the end of my bed.  After college my love and appreciation of quilts continued as I purchased factory made replicas, that didn't have the heart and soul of the handmade ones Debbie's mom created. She was an artist.
I had the great fortune to have a very special family move in next to us when my children were small. They became our best friends. One of the greatest gifts given to me by my friend Susan was the gift of quilting. She taught me the basics, took me to her favorite quilt supply stores, and had me envisioning original patterns I wanted to create for the beds of my own children.
My not-so-nimble fingers worked until they ached stitching fabric scraps into colorful quilts, made with blood, sweat, and tears....literally.  I believe there is a small blood stain on my daughter's quilt where the needle pricked my finger. As they have grown, the quilts have been moved from beds to quilt racks, to closets, depending on the current color scheme of their respective bedrooms. Now that I have artistic control of their rooms once again, the quilts have resurfaced. It bothers me not the least that they are not currently in use.  I know that, as the years go by and my hands can no longer create these works of beauty, that my children each have their own special quilt. Made by Mum, and stitched with love to survive generations of use.

I have been contemplating taking up my needle and thread again, as I have come across unfinished blocks and half done pieces that beckon to me.  On display in my family room are three of four blocks that cry out to be joined together. For now, they will need to yell a little louder though, because I like the effect they have as unfinished pieces.

Up close and personal. Design stitched by another quilter, and given to me in a quilt block exchange. Four of us made four blocks each, keeping one of our own and exchanging the others, thanks to my quilt mentor Susan.

The block at the right was my design and handiwork.           
SOMEDAY they will all be united, but for today,
I will enjoy the uniqueness of each individual square.

A warm country hug to all,
Lisa <3