Decades

Decades.
I have found a way to review my life in a way that doesn’t all run together and overwhelm me. The whole thing is a blur of bittersweet memories until I break it down into decades. I can’t find the exact quote that the present seems to stay the same, but when you look back, everything has changed.

My earliest memories are of first grade in Russellville, Arkansas around 1954. When I focus on that time, I can remember quite clearly my house, my school, my pets, my special friends. I remember a fire escape on the two-story school building. You held onto a bar and slid down a metal tube and the big boys were there to catch you at the bottom. One day a girl wore her sister’s blue tulle prom dress as a costume and we were all dazzled. I wonder if I knew about Cinderella? I remember singing in Brownies, “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.”
I started second grade in Edmond, Oklahoma in another chapter of my life.

The sixties brought middle school, a beloved church group, my father’s death and another new chapter. By the end of that decade, I had graduated high school and suffered my first heartbreak.

As I sit here this morning by a sunny window with a hot cup of coffee and my little dog in my lap, I thumb through the decades of my life and see the threads that weren’t always visible at the time. I am avoiding the nightmare news today. A new decade is beginning and the promises of change are everywhere. I am happy and grateful for the past. I look forward to the future ... dinner with friends, seeing the new version of “Little Women”, the changing lives of my children and grandchildren. (The next election, pray God.)

I am old now and at peace with my passing even though I do fear the actual event of my death. My only real regret is not to be able to know the future. The future of mankind, space travel, the lives of my grandchildren and my unborn great-grandchildren. I regret I didn’t go to Europe when I had the chance. Oh, and I deeply regret the times I was cruel and thoughtless. In the middle of the night I remember those times and say I am sorry but it is too late.

I like to imagine a vacation - a time vacation. I would go back almost 100 years to my mother’s childhood in the mountains of North Carolina and my father’s on a farm in Oklahoma. I would visit my favorite moments growing up and go to the Sonic for lunch in high school in my ratty 57 chevy with my friends and the car radio playing “Tracks of My Tears” for some reason. I would relive each precious kiss and the wonderful feeling of being in love even when it didn’t last.  I would hold and rock my babies and grand babies. I would relive most of my Christmas Eve’s and cook Thanksgiving dinner with my mom. I would drive around with my grandkids in the car listening to our favorite CD’s. I would hug my husband again. Then I would like to look ahead 100 years and see how we all turned out. Would we still be alive? Would we have found peace at last? I like to think so. And that, as Forrest Gump once said, “is all I have to say about that.” 🙂 Peace out.

Dream #999

I am back to document an awesome dream before it is gone from my memory. Whether it is from old age, medication, or advancing dementia, I sink into bizarre and vivid dreams every night. They are so real and detailed that my ordinary waking life comes as a shock most mornings, tinged with both relief and regret. Things have changed since 2012 when I last posted. My husband has died; my grandchildren are growing up (the oldest just graduated high school); I sold my house, and moved to a beautiful apartment with a view of a lake. I spend a lot of time in my recliner with my dog on my lap and a cup of coffee in my hand. It is peaceful here. My son says it is not haunted like my old house- haunted with memories. Instead, in this new and neutral atmosphere, my imagination goes wild.

The dream is already fading but I remember finding a door in the garage that led to another whole house. The “back” house was different though. It had dirt floors and bare wooden studs and rafters. There was a kind of shabby chic dining room to the left with strangely detailed teal sea glass accessories. I found a rustic kitchen, two kitchens in fact. Meanwhile, I was roasting meat for a dinner party with, I think, my Aunt Nellie’s advice. She was in the background but I am pretty sure she was there.

My husband got home first. He was not amused when I rushed to tell him what I had found. In fact, he was annoyed that I presented him with these problems when he just got home (typical of my ex-husband.) When my daughter got there, we explored some more.We found a two story area which connected to someone else’s nice screened porch. Best of all, we found an arched stained-glass door which opened unto an unused side street. I began to think we could open a pub there.

Company began to arrive for dinner and I was showing off my discoveries. We wondered how we had never seen that door before and if the property sale included the hidden part of the building. There was much more, but imagine as I tried to finish serving dinner, I suddenly woke to a little dog jumping on the bed in my quiet, peaceful apartment. Part of me wanted to go back.

Brown and Serve

     Brown and Serve rolls remind me of Thanksgiving and of my mother. She prided herself on her roast turkey and homemade stuffing and she always served Brown and Serve rolls. She would take the whole pan of brown little rolls out of the oven, so hot they burned your finger tips, and she would split them and insert a slab of real butter in each roll before she brought them to the table.

     Once my cousin's girlfriend came to Thanksgiving dinner. She picked up a roll and said, with much surprise, "It's buttered!" She picked up another and said, "It's buttered!" She started laughing so hard as she inspected each roll that she peed herself right there in the kitchen.

     I wasn't there for that occasion, but I heard about it. It became a family story since my cousin married the girl. I haven't seen them in many years, but I have to believe that this story still comes up every year. I know it crosses my mind every time I eat Brown and Serve rolls.

     Many years after my father died, my mother got remarried to a long time bachelor who had been in the Navy. It didn't last, though. I should have known when she made a magnificent turkey dinner for him on their first Thanksgiving and he came in the kitchen 1/2 hour before the dinner was ready and made himself a ham sandwich.

     Happy Thanksgiving!

New fall mug from the Dollar Store. I sure hope we get a fall this year.

Fascinating Ghost Story from old England

 

 The Treasurer's House, York - from Mike Perry's website

 Roman soldier - from Mike Perry's website

It must have been 8 or 10 years ago when my friend Alan told me a story. Several friends, including Alan and his wife, were sitting around my living room drinking wine and listening to a CD of bawdy English drinking songs when Alan started talking. It seems that his father was a master plumber. He was working in the basement of an old building - Alan thinks he said it was a pub. He was digging a trench for a drain pipe when his shovel hit stone. His assistant, Harry, was up on a ladder near by. Alan's father claimed he heard a trumpet and turned around to see a troop of Roman soldiers marching through the basement. He stood in wonder as they marched right through him as well. The strange thing was that he could only see the soldiers from the knees up. It turned out that an old Roman road ran through the basement a couple of feet below the dirt floor. The soldiers were apparently marching on the old Roman road. Alan's father told the story his whole life and Alan told the story to all of us in the living room that night.
 
Skip forward to today for the rest of the story. Alan was doing some research on the internet when he stumbled across the exact same story as told by Harry, the assistant. Here is a link to a website 67 Not Out - coincidence, synchronicity and other mysteries of life ..... by Mike Perry and a picture of the building which is now an historic site. Apparently, Alan's father and his assistant were not the only ones to see the Roman soldiers over the years. Alan has found some other information including a video on You Tube.

Here is what Alan wrote when he sent me the link:

“Harry” is the plumbers apprentice working with my dad at the time.

I remember my dad telling me that “the kid” (the apprentice Harry) “fell off his ladder and took of up the stairs like a bat out of hell” .

Although he doesn’t mention more Roman soldiers carrying one of those Roman flag-pole things  -  he probably didn’t see that part as he was too busy falling off the ladder .

Strangely enough, the date on Mike Perry's post is June 4, 2012. Just yesterday. Check out Mike's posting for today in which he mentions the Transit of Venus which occurred today.

The Joy of Sandwiches

 
Sandwiches were not a special treat when I was growing up. I remember bologna, white bread, and yellow mustard, but only for lunch. Sometimes we had hamburgers. There must have been an occasional grilled cheese but even that was a quick fix instead of a REAL supper. So, I felt somewhat dismayed when my husband started requesting sandwiches for supper.

He came from a sandwich family. I learned from him to make a  trip to the deli for baked ham, turkey, rare roast beef, corned beef, and provolone cheese. We had to have onion rolls, rye bread, coleslaw, grainy mustard, and horseradish sauce.

For a quick trip to the beach, don't make a fuss. Just stack some sliced lunch meat on plain bread with a little mustard. And when you stop for beer, sodas, and ice, grab some Pringles potato chips. It is amazing how appetizing those plain old sandwiches taste after a day on the water.

For a family celebration, such as Easter, spread all the deli meat, bread, and cheeses on a picnic table with condiments, lettuce, tomato, deviled eggs, pickles, homemade potato salad, some sliced watermelon and a beautiful cake.

For a late night snack or for breakfast the next day, try an onion bagel with spicy mustard, deli meat, and cheese, heated up in a toaster oven. .

Sometimes I crave sandwiches -- from plain old bologna or tuna salad on white bread to a homemade Reuben on toasted rye with sauerkraut, hot mustard, corned beef, and melted cheese. I had that craving this weekend and my husband and I have had a series of sandwiches all weekend long. It's ham for him with provolone, spicy mustard, and tomato on rye. For me, it is rare roast beef on an onion roll with tomato, cheese and horseradish sauce. I have some sliced watermelon in the fridge.

I am thinking of all the sandwiches I love. Meat loaf with ketchup on white bread, French dip roast beef with au jus, Shrimp salad on croissants, hot dogs over a camp fire in a soft hot dog bun, Philly Cheese Steak with onions and peppers, home grilled hamburgers piled high with lettuce, pickles, and tomato. Oh, don't forget BLT's or just a tomato sandwich with toasted bread and lots of mayonnaise. (No Miracle Whip for me!) Just wanted to share my sandwich craving with whoever is reading this. Happy Summer!

Mom's Cooking

photo from mylifetime.com

I love the show Mom's Cooking on Lifetime TV. It is so quirky. It is interesting to see the traditions that different families come up with and the family relationships. The host, Joe Corsano, is funny and respectful to the moms. Sometimes I see a recipe that I want to remember and make again and again. Sometimes I want to say, "No! That is not the right way to do it!" 

Here is a recipe I am anxious to try. I have always seen these Oregon Blackberries in the store and wanted to do something with them. My grandmother used to put up blackberries back in Oklahoma. This is an easy and delicious sounding recipe and the perfect way to use the new cast iron skillet that I got for myself at Christmas.

Blackberry Cobbler

• 1 stick butter
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 cup whole milk
• 1 cup self-rising flour
• 1 1/2 cans blackberries
• 2 cans blackberry juice
• Note: I need to watch the video again, but I think she just used 2 cans of blackberries and the juice from the berries. That is what I plan to use.

1. Mix flour and sugar until well-blended. Pour in 1 cup cold milk and mix to make batter.
2. Heat skillet on medium high, then melt butter.
3. Pour batter into cast-iron skillet.
4. Pour blackberries and juice into middle of pan; do not stir.
5. Bake for 40 minutes at 425 degrees.

I'll let you know how it comes out!