On Thin Ice

With the winter chill in the air and the lake completely frozen it is no wonder that so many people love to drive across it's slick shiny surface.  Having seen trucks, cars, and atvs sail across the ice I finally had enough of watching and decided it was time for some doing of my own.

As we loaded the dogs into the car and I got behind the wheel to drive us to the spot we like to hike around inspiration struck and instead of turning the wheel and heading down the driveway into the road I banked a hard right hitting the gas pedal as I sailed through the yard.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw my Sunshine reach up and the grab the oh s$#t handle, but I studiosly ingnored him as I increased the speed and our car jumped up and over the embankment and onto the ice.  The adreniline was pumping as I skidded along twisting, turning, and breaking.

"You don't know how thick the ice is here" my Sunshine cautioned.  "Don't forget we have dogs in the car."  I let out a manic laugh and did a serious of figure eights before I throttled the gas once more and powered back up over the embankment to plow through the yard and Dukes of Hazard it onto the driveway.

Glancing back at the ice I could see the tracks the crazy ride we had taken had produced.  I can see why people love to go ice fishing.  Well not for the fishing, the sitting and waiting, or the catching but for the thrill of speeding across the ice full throttle never knowing if the next few feet will plunge you into the icy depths of the frozen lake.

Ice driving will not become my new hobby.  My Sunshine returned from work the next day after our thrill ride and reported that he had heard about two men who were driving across the ice and broke through.  The two men had managed to escape unharmed, but the truck had been abandoned to rust in it's icy tomb.

Despite the danger I still vow that every year at least once I will plow through the yard jump the embankment and fly free across the ice pedal to the metal blood pumping.  Next year I think I'll take my Mom for the ride of her life.  I'll just lure her into the car by telling her we're going shopping now that will be a ride to remember.

To Market, To Market

A year ago our daughter and her two year old child came to live with us in the Midwest since her husband was stationed in Afghanistan.  Oh, did I mention that she was pregnant with twins.  She lived with us while she had the twins.  Tina is a firm believer in only buying organic groceries.  I can’t tell the reader how many times she would say “Oh My God if you can only buy one organic item it must be potatoes.”  “OMG if you can only buy one organic item it must be ketchup.”  “OMG if you can only buy one organic item it must be apples.”

Last weekend I went to the grocery store.  A simple thing to do that should not have taken much time; however, it took me forever!  I wanted to buy apples but the organic apples were now mushy.  The apples laden with chemicals were hard and crisp as the fall day they were picked.  Why is that?  I had the same experience with cucumbers.  The organic cucumbers were now soft and wimpy while the others were firm and nice.  Why is that?  I do know that last summer I had a cucumber in my refrigerator about 4 days old and one that had just been picked from my tiny garden and mine rotted must faster.  So how old is the non organic produce in the store?  What have they done to make it last so long and seem so fresh?  I left the store with half the items on my list not purchased.

I am very excited to plant our first fruits and vegetables with Amy and her Sunshine this summer.  It will be great to have all organic produce at our finger tips since the reader can see that I too have gone the way of Tina with only organic food.  I only hope that Amy is as excited as I am.  If she does not think this is a great way to get organic produce I will just have Tina come for a visit.  After a few hours with Tina’s organic mantra Amy will see the light, I hope.

A Sticky Situation

It is maple season here in Vermont and operations big and small all over the state are harvesting their maple syrup.  Spigots are attached to trees and long tubular lines slash through the landscape ready to send the fresh sap to the sugar house where it will boil down to syrup. 

Since moving here my Sunshine and I have become conisours of everything maple.  Pancakes are a regular Saturday morning staple in our house and we love nothing more but to adorn them with the sweet brown goodness of true maple syrup.

There is only one hitch in our maple syrup worship and that is the price.  A nice bottle of real maple syrup can run upwards of twenty dollars.  The syrup is well worth the money but for those of us on a budget it can seem like a needless luxury to purchase a twenty dollar bottle of this liquid gold.

So in keeping with our new pioneer spirit and embracing the culture around us we have decided to tap the maple trees on our property and begin our own maple syrup operation.  We aren't planning on anything big time just a few spigots draining into some metal buckets and a lot of boiling.

We figure if it worked for people back in Laura Ingells times it can work for us; although we will be using modern conveniences like a stove to boil the syrup and I absolutely refuse to wear my hair in two braids.  How hard can this whole maple thing really be just tap sap and boil?  What could possibly go wrong?

Fuacamole

Every Sunday night my Sunshine and I enjoy a nice meal together.  Since we enjoy a meal together well every night of the week and I am the main cook there are times when I struggle to create new and exciting dishes.  Tonight as I leafed through a cookbook trying to find something that would add pizazz to our Sunday night routine, inspiration struck.

I would make Mexican food and since we did not have any avocados for traditional guacamole I would invent fuacamole.  Now I am sure this is not a new invention and there are others who have dared to walk the path of fuacamole creation.  I only hope their results were better than mine.

As I grabbed a pack of frozen peas from the freezer I dreamed of the low fat creation I was embarking on imagining leagues of hungry eaters munching down my fuacamole with chips unaware that the whipped green dip they indulged in was actually peas.

The hum of my food processor whirled as I blended peas, spices, jalapenos, and garlic trying to add just the right touch to my culinary masterpiece.  The consistency seemed good even if the radioactive  green color betrayed a bright contrast to your average guacamole, but this was not average guacamole this was fuacamole.

The time for dinner came and as my Sunshine and I dished up steaming plates of fajitas with all the fixings I urged him to try my fuacamole.  With a slight grimace he dropped a large dollop on his plate.  Being brave and sure that culinary delights beyond compare just waited to dazzle my tongue in the form of fuacamole I heaped a large helping onto my fajita.

The first bite told me that fuacamole does not even compare to guacamole.  It is not even the black sheep of the guacamole family.  Fuacamole is far from a party in your mouth.  There is nothing even remotely fole about fuacamole it just tastes like whirled up peas with all the spices the diced tomato,onion, and jalapeno swallowed up inside it's ultra green depths.

I think my Sunshine said it best.  After dinner as I lamented on the total fail of my fuacamole he remarked.  "Fuacamole has it's place if your ship wrecked on a dessert island with a fierce craving for guacamole and all your taste buds have been burned off then fuacamole would be great." 

Well perhaps instead of selling cake pops my mom and I can stand on the docks this summer selling bags of fuacamole to departing boats.  Who knows maybe fuacamole will be a trend that sweeps the nation after all!

American Made

I have been working to get ready for my big move.  One of things I have been doing is looking at my clothes and trying to determine if I need any items for New England.  I had decided that I will be wearing coats for 3 of the 4 seasons.  Since I do not have many coats and the ones I do have are old and need to be discarded, I thought I would purchase some new coats.  Easy enough to do since this is the time of year for great sales.  Not so fast, that last time I talked to Amy she discussed the importance of not purchasing items made in China due to labor practices and chemicals used in production.  Our family is a firm believer of boycotting items or stores that do not maintain ethical practices.  Amy had read about the many unethical practices used by China to produce goods sold in America.  I agreed with her decision to not purchase any items made in China.

One of the big box stores was having a sale on all women's coats.  All coats were being sold for 20 dollars.  Now I, like Amy, love a bargain so my husband and I set out for the store so we could partake in the great deals.  When I got to the women's section, I first looked for a stylish coat.  I found a cute and stylish coat but Amy's words rang out "We are not buying items made in China"!  I began to read the label on my perfect coat selection.   "Made in China" was on the label.  I put the coat back on the rack and began reading all the labels.  When my husband found me in the women's section he was shocked to see me holding a lime green puffer coat.  "You're not buying that coat are you?"  No, I stated I am reading the label to determine where it was made.  I was amazed he would think I would purchase lime green puffer coat.  I could just envision myself coming down the ski mountain in lime green.  Everyone would know when I was at the bottom of the mountain.

After reading the label of every coat in the women's section, I discovered that not one coat was made in America.  When I told my husband that we were not purchasing items made in China, he began is long lecture about a global world and that we are forever connected yada yada yada.  I grabbed the stylish coat, purchased it and left the store with my husband still lecturing about the state of our economy and our global connection.  My husband has his Ph.D. in  business so I have learned not engage in his lectures or they will go on for hours.

When we returned home, I began reading all the labels on all my coats.  All were made in China or Vietnam.  How do we buy American if all or most of our clothes are made in China?  I began to picture myself a year from now in a wool sweater that Amy knitted.  Oh, that is a scary mind movie especially since Amy has no idea how to knit!  I can't knit, sew or doing anything that requires creativity.  It could be a very granola year at Heir Head Manor with everyone wearing homemade clothing and none us knowing how to do anything.  Maybe I should start the boycott after I have purchased all the needed items.  That sounds like a wise plan.  I am going shopping tomorrow.

I Wonder.......

As the time draws near for my mother's move into Heir Head Manor I ponder several things.  Through the years as our lives grow and change how will my mom and I's relationship form.  When we are both in the more senior times of our lives and still living at Heir Head Manor what kind of existence will we share?

One theory I have is that we are going to be very similar to Dorothy and Sophia from the Golden Girls.  Even though I do not tower above my mother in stature we have certain other distinctions which make us an unlikely mother daughter pair.  Also I can just imagine my mother blurting out all kinds of random sassy things to people once she is old.

She already plans to ride the ski bus that comes around and rounds up the oldsters to drop them off at the mountain.  Somehow I imagine my mother becoming part of the rowdy crowd of older folks who start their cocktail hour early and end late.

I know I won't have any problems with my father he will just crank up the heat to ninety degrees and hang out on the couch draped in an afghan watching the military channel.  I know it will be a blessing that my mom will stay active in her older years, but as I imagine the car revving out of the driveway for a hot roding trip to town in which she can barely see over the wheel I can't help but wonder..........? 

Hanging with the Crowd

This week marks the annual winter carnival festivities for the small town in which Heir Head Manor is located.  Last Friday I was zooming home late from work eager to get dinner started when a huge glow out on the lake caught my eye.  It was a roaring bonfire made from stack upon stack of Christmas trees that people had dried out and saved to pile up and burn to cinders while they consumed huge bowls of chili under a cold starry night sky.

The next day's festivities kicked off with ice hockey in a space they had cleared out on the lake and a golf tournament.  My Sunshine and I really wanted to pay the entrance fee and join the golfers zooming around the lake on skates trying to hit their balls into the holes marked with flags, but alas to enter the tournament you needed your own set of golf clubs something we do not possess.

This weekend is the pancake breakfast and bicycle race across the ice.  My mother keeps insisting that I enter the race.  Since the temperature is likely to be similar this weekend to what it was last weekend I do not relish the thought of trying to race across the ice wearing my snow pants and riding an old fashioned cruiser bicycle in baby blue with a scarf burka style across my face.

Nothing spells crash, burn, and permanent brain damage to me like taking a bike out on the ice.  Leave it to my mother to push and cajole the idea despite the risk of serious injury.  "You just have to do that" she begged "just go it will be fun."

Next year I will make sure to enter my mother in the race and as she flies across the ice on an old fashioned cruiser Jessica Fletcher style basket and all I can just hear her screams.   For now I am content to just watch and work towards getting to know a few of the locals. 

Who knows maybe by next year I will have made it on to the planning committee for the festival and I can add my own event.  Something like ice skating yoga with steaming mugs of Starbucks at the end, or cake pop races try and make it to the end of the course and back before your cake pop slides down the stick.

This weekend I'll just be happy to get a few hello's from some friendly faces as I watch the daredevils brave enough to speed across the ice on two wheels and a prayer.  Knowing that next year I'll be right in the thick of it joining the local tradition of hundreds of people eating large quantities of beans around a roaring fire, but at least the firemen are standing by.

Memories

With the news that Whitney Houston had died came a flood of memories.  Our children were young when I began listening to Whitney's music.  Her music was fun and upbeat.  Great music for a mother of 3 who is trying to make sure all three children attended each of their extra curricular events.

Amy was a ballerina.  She had to go to classes twice a week and it was too far to drive so I would wait for her at the studio.  Ben was into every sport they allowed him to play and Tina was a gymnast.  The days were so hectic that when I came home from teaching second grade I didn't even get out of the car.  I would honk the horn and one of the chidren would come out with their bag ready to go.  Some days two children came out ready to go and that was a challenge to get both children to their different events at the same time.  Since I spent many hours waiting for children to be finished with their lessons I often sat in the car grading papers and listening to the radio.  Of course Whitney Houston was always on since she was very popular.  Her death brought back memories of her songs and me waiting for children.  Motherhood is all about waiting. 
As I move into this new adventure of my life, I wonder what music will mark this stage?  Since we will be living together, will the music that Amy likes influence the music I listen to?  Possibly but not necessarily.  Amy loves the old style like Dean Martin, Billie Holiday and I am more of the Mary J. style.  Our music choice may be different but Heir Head Manor will be filled with music that will create memories.

The Fat of the Land

One of my goals while living here at Heir Head Manor is to become more Eco conscious and build a network that is self sustaining.  As I have already discussed in previous blogs one of the ways we intend to do this is by starting a large garden where we will be able to harvest our own fruits and vegetables.

Since moving here and becoming part of a culture where people live off the land, raising their own animals to butcher and eat I have come to a new mind set.  It is not enough for me to bring my reusable bags to the grocery store or have my own garden.  I have decided to go completely local in what I eat, wear, and do.

As I told my mother tonight.  I have decided to learn to knit as part of my contribution to becoming more Eco friendly so that I can make my own clothes.  My mother seemed unimpressed and skeptical of my proclamations.  (Especially since in other recent blogs she has painted me as the Imelda Marcos of Vermont I really don't own nearly as many shoes as she claims.)

In between her laughter and a garbled story about some childhood trauma of being forced to wear a home knitted ski jacket; which I personally think sounds charming, she wished me luck on my knitting scheme.  Now this is not some hair brained idea I have pulled out of thin air research and thought has gone into this new pursuit.

I have located a group that hosts several knitting jamborees per year with all the yarn hand spun and dyed on site.  Granted the group does look a little older and greyer than the crowd I would normally hang with but I am sure that after doing a few online knitting tutorials I will fit right in.

Who knows perhaps with a little practice and a few knitting jamborees with my new medicare gal pals I too can be skiing down the mountain this time next year in my own hand fangled knit wear ski suit.  It might not be an exact fit or have the right stitch, but at least I will be doing my part to cut down on the carbon footprint of shipping, sweatshops, and planetary destruction that so many of our consumeristic ways produce.

I am sure that after watching the Eco path I intend to tread my mother will be all to eager to help compost our way to a better world.  After six months here she will be sporting a home hair cut, with an all natural dye job at the local squash festival wearing my knit creations and then she will truly know she has arrived.

The Rest of the Story

Paul Harvey had a radio show where he would give his listeners a behind the scenes look into a short story.  Mr. Harvey titled this program "The Rest of the Story:.  Amy's blog of All Work and No Way needs to have the rest of the story told.  While it is true that Amy's Sunshine and I were frantically working to build the closet there was a good reason to be frantic.
Amy has not disclosed the amount or extent of her wardrobe or shoes.  Oh yes, it is huge.  Her Sunshine had to build three rows of shoe racks that each measured 12 feet in length.  That is 36 feet of shoe racks!  When I saw all the shoes on the racks I was like a kid in a candy story because Amy and I wear the same size.  I spent hours trying on all kinds of different shoes.  How fun it was to have so many shoes to wear.

 Now Amy dresses very stylish so of course she has many different outfits.  She even has a market purse.  What is a market purse you ask?  I asked her the same question.  It is a purse that you only use when you go to the farmer's market.  I know the reader is thinking well sure a purse big enough to hold fruits and vegetables, how clever!  No that is not a market purse.  The market purse is only big enought for a small wallet.  Fruits and vegetables go into a bag!  The market purse is not used when going to the grocery store that requires yet another purse.  Oh, so that is why there are so many purses.


As you can see if her shoes and purses are extensive, then you can only imagine the amount of clothes she possesses.  In her defense, she only purchases clothes that are discounted.  However, if one goes to the discount stores everyday, clothes and shoes will add up not to mention purses.  Amy's Sunshine only wanted to create a closet that would hold her extensive wardrobe in a tidy manner so I was only lending a helping hand to this project.  What is a mother to do if it is not to help build a gigantic closet that will hold an exteme amout of ever so cute ensembles.  It may be true that hyper activity is no stranger to me yet I know my lively personality will make living at Heir Head Manor oh so project filled.

All Work and No Way

Last night as my mother and I were talking she related how thrilled she was that in only a few short months we would be sharing each day together.  "We have so many projects to do" she thrilled.  "I just can't wait till I move up there and we can get started."

My voice said "uh huh uh huh" but inwardly I groaned.  You see my mother and my Sunshine are of the same mindset.  There are some days I look at him as he dithers to and fro straightening this doing that saying "come on, come on let's go" that I think dear God I am dating my mother.  The two of them have way to much in common in the work ethic area for comfort. 

They love to wake up early on the weekends and get straight to work on whatever project or task has been set for the day.  I can't tell you how many times after a night of sleep I have trudged downstairs to find them both awake and arguing some point about a home remodeling project when all I want is a steaming mug of coffee.

My mother was here right after my Sunshine and I moved to Heir Head Manor and after driving for ten hours carting boxes, bins, and furniture out of the U-haul and up the stairs to our room I was spent.  Moving had been an ongoing project that had occupied my whole life the entire month before the U-haul even arrived.

I tried to hide my irritation as my mother and my Sunshine buzzed around moving this, unpacking that, measuring, and hammering to get things in just the right spots.  Loud conversations ensued between the two of them on just the right way to build the shelves for the closet and where to hang the bars for the hanging clothes.

Typical of my mother she had a lot of opinions despite little experience in carpentry and after many harried talks and trips up the stairs and down the stairs she and my Sunshine finally agreed on well whatever the heck they were discussing.  You see I tend to tune them out when they have these talks, it's a valuable skill I learned in church.

So last night when my mother was gushing about her excitement for all our future projects; visions of loud conversations, unlimited ideas, and endless hours of we could do this or we should do that danced in my head.  Looks like while she and my Sunshine hash out just where and how to construct those deck railings I'll be hiding in the shed with a flashlight, a box of cookies, and a good book. 

Let them Eat Pops!

One of the many joys of having grandchildren is getting to spoil them on their birthdays.  In my family two of my granddaughters share the same January date for their birthday.  This year I decided to do something special and send them each an order of hand made cake pops for their birthdays.

My daughter was thrilled with the idea of receiving cake pops to celebrate her own daughters birthday.  She just had a few requests all organic products, no store bought ingredients, and a variety of flavors to suit any palate.

Sounds simple enough, right?  Since my daughter had made all the initial requests I decided that I would send my son the exact same kind of cake pop bouquet for his daughter's birthday as well.  Having gathered all the ingredients over the weekend I rushed home one day after work to make the pops.

Amy had complained incessantly about the time consuming quality of making cake pops, but I had previously blown her off, because she tends to complain about everything.  (i.e. her complaints about blogging)  Needless to say before I knew it I was up to my elbows in batter, frosting, and candy melts, mushing and smushing and rolling to get just the right shape before I shoved in the sticks.

With my husband manning the packaging and mummifying each box with tape until they could survive a world war we finished the cake pops in just under four hours.  At this rate we would have to charge five hundred dollars per bouquet of cake pops just to justify all the time and effort, but since these were for my two special granddaughters I didn't mind the work.

After the birthdays were done and the all organic, homemade, plethora of flavor cake pops were consumed I got a call from my son.  He has successfully built his own business and has watched the crafting of my and Amy's business venture with interest.  

"The cake pops were great Mom" he said.  "I just have a few suggestions, the chocolate ones were a little doughy and when you bit them well they tended to slide right of the stick.  The maple ones were good but the candy melts were really glopped on them.  Now I am not criticizing just trying to give constructive comments to help."

"Uh huh" I muttered.  "Well thanks for the input I will fill out a suggestion sheet with your comments right away."  Great I thought once we had gotten off the phone critiques from my own son.  I can only imagine the flood of complaints that would follow the advent of paying customers. 

I think maybe Amy and I should just cater our business to kids.  I like the words of my three year old granddaughter best.  Upon receiving her cake pops she screamed "yeah pop cakes I love them", and to the rest I say let them eat cake, pops that is!

Your Wish Is My Command

I must admit I have been having a little bit of a blog block in these past few days.  In short my life has just been so low key and boring I couldn't dredge up the simplest of things to write about, until today.  After a nice hike through a local natural conservation area with my Sunshine I arrived home, relaxed and realigned with the world and all of nature to see a missed call on the home phone.

Scrolling through the log I saw that the missed call was my mother and immediately called her back.  The phone call started off normal although I did notice an unusually loud din in the background, but I figured she must be out doing errands at a noisy shopping center.  After telling me that one of my relatives who was going through treatment for cancer is now cancer free, she informed me that she was at the lake with her girlfriends.

My mother and her friends at the lake for a husband free weekend always spells trouble, before I knew it my mother was relating how they had all read the blog and had found it extremely humorous.  Boisterous voices chimed in from the background and I began to wonder just what these ladies had been up to all afternoon. 

Suddenly my mother handed the phone off to one of her friends who informed me that they had read through all the posts and thought I had captured the essence of my mother to perfection.  Having lived with her for the past well I decline to state how many years I know the ins and outs of her personality. 

"Your mom says you should do all the posts on the blog since you're so good at it" her friend laughed into the phone.
"She would say that" I blustered "and once I finished she would call and say, that was a nice post I just have a few suggestions about your grammar and well it could be a little funnier" I countered.
"That was hysterical" screeched my mom's friend you even sound like her.

The phone clicked and suddenly the group en mass was on the line.  "Do the impression of her come on" my mom's friend urged.  I froze it's one thing to do the impression of my mom behind her back complete with the right eye fluttering roll that she does when she's really mad.  The kind of mad where the veins bulge out on her neck, her face turns red, and her right eye turns in its socket like a Ferris wheel at the fair. 

It's another thing to do an impression of her when she is on the line.  "Come on Aim I thought you were an actress my mom" chirped.  Tension crackled down the line and only one word can describe how I felt, AWKWARD!  I felt like a five year old at a party trotted out to entertain the crowd.  "I just can't do an impression of you to your face" I stammered "it only works behind your back."

"Great you just keep doing it behind my back" my mom said and with relief gushing through my body we got off the phone so that they could start what I suspect will be a very long journey to Margaritaville.  Now I am no prude, well OK so I kind of am, but I loosen up and have some fun now and then.  However the ruckus my mom and her friends cause is like Golden Girls Gone Wild.

It seems like when she moves to Heir Head Manor in June a few ground rules might have to be laid before this wild girl bunch travels up for one of their husband free melanges.  Like lights out by midnight, one alcoholic beverage per person per day, and most of all when the curtain to my room is closed that means stay out.  Yes mom especially you.

Back In High School

While eating lunch in the faculty lounge, one teacher asked me if I was moving to New England when I retired.  I told that I was.  She paused and politely told me that I must work on my pronounciation of words if I wanted to be accepted.  I was a little surprised by her words of wisdom but since she was born in the New England I knew she had a good understanding of the region.  "How do I change my pronounciation?'  She began to list all the words that must be pronounced differently before I move.  Feeling a little overwhelmed I began to laugh.

Moving seems to be hard enough without worrying about how I speak.  I decided I was too old to worry about being accepted, after all I am not in high school anymore.  When I started to laugh she looked a little surprised so I told her that everyone will know instantly I am not from the region.  I talk to loundly,  I laugh to loudly.  I speak my mind always.  I am not a person who worries about being accepted. 

When I called Amy to talk to her about being accepted, she told me to forget trying.  She has been trying for several months to make friends but to no avail.  I then decided that Amy and I will have to be friends!  There is no other way!  Oh well, Amy and I will be far to busy with our cake pop business to worry about friends.  Well maybe we won't even be able to have a business since everyone will know we are outsiders!  Snowy days, stuck in a house and no friends.  Ugh, high school all over again!