Slice of Life Sunday - In the Beginning…my first cooking experience.

May 11, 2008 at 3:07 pm (Slice of Life Sunday)
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Slice of Life Sunday is a meme dedicated to preserving the accounts of events cut out of the lives of average people just like you and me from all over the world. And like having ice cream with your pie, there is more to this meme than meets the eye - it’s a meme a` la mode . I hope you will join me and share a Slice of your Life.

 

In the Beginning . . . my first cooking experience

 

I will readily admit that I am barely an average cook. Oh, I have my dishes in which I not only excel in making, but also enjoy making. I seem to have more success using the oven part of a stove as opposed to the top burner area. Thus, I like baking the good foods of pies, cakes and cookies. I make a very good meat loaf and an excellent pot roast. If it can be baked, I am the woman for the job. I believe the reason I have excelled in baking is due to my first time cooking, which was a real half-baked experience!

 

I was one of three daughters, Toupey, Cricket, and Joy-Joy, all just a little over a year apart in age. I do believe our mother was a visionary in family planning, at least in that our ages played a very important part in scheduling household duties. My older sister was taught how to cook at an early age. After fifty years, Toupey is still a very good cook. To the best of my memory, I believe she was in charge of cooking the evening family meal since she was nine years old. She would come home from school and start supper, which was always, and I mean always, served with all family members sitting at the table (not in front of a television) at 4:30pm sharp. As dysfunctional as my family has been, I must say our dad insisted we all ate dinner together at the table. And Toupey never disappointed us. Regardless of what the budget was and what food ingredients had been purchased, she was very good at making a dinner we all looked forward to eating. I was banned from the kitchen. On the other hand, Joy-Joy, was assigned to dish duty. Our mother must have thought this was enough of a punishment, and this was Joy-Joy’s only household chore. My being relieved of kitchen duty was not due to any mistake I may have made in trying to learn how to cook, but more due to the assignment of chores.

 

My job, also from a very early age, was housecleaning. I un-expectantly walked in on my ex-mother-in-law talking to my ex-sister-in-law one day and overheard these half-baked words of praise, “Well, Cricket may not be much of a cook, but she knows how to clean!”  I must confess she was correct in her assessment of my homemaking skills. I was, and am, very good at polishing and making things shine. I was also taught from a very early age how to do laundry, including ironing, so stains and wrinkles beware. However, needless to say, at the age of sixteen I was not prepared to be the chief cook in a marriage.

 

I was married on a Saturday evening. Our honeymoon consisted of one night in a motel in a neighboring town. On Sunday afternoon, we returned to my parent’s home to pick up my things, our wedding gifts and enjoy a good last supper. On Monday morning, my husband went off to work and I was left alone to figure out how to be a wife. I began doing what I knew best – cleaning the two-bedroom mobile home from top to bottom. We were very fortunate in receiving many wedding gifts and were given everything we needed to set up housekeeping. I had so much fun that first day opening boxes and putting everything away. I was done by 2pm and was feeling pretty proud of myself. We had planned to buy groceries after John got off work, but I wanted to surprise him and have dinner on the table when he got home.

 

I walked the couple of blocks to the local grocery and spent almost an hour reading the back of boxes trying to figure out what to buy that I would be able to fix. I finally decided upon a box of spaghetti that had a can of sauce with meat that only needed to be heated. I remember my sister always made her own sauce and it took a lot of ingredients and time, not to mention know-how. I felt confident I would be able to make this spaghetti and also purchased a cake mix along with a box of icing. A loaf of bread and a few other items and I was prepared to make my first meal. I was so excited about my surprise dinner, I almost skipped the blocks back to our trailer despite the weight of the bags.

 

It was just after 3pm when I turned the oven on to bake the cake. I may not have known much about cooking, but I am an organizer by nature and I quickly determined the timeline needed to have dinner ready by 5pm, the estimated time of arrival of my husband. I carefully read the directions on the cake mix box and had the two layers ready for the oven when it was heated to the instructed temperature. I then read the instructions on the spaghetti and got the needed pans, one for the water to cook the spaghetti noodles and one for heating the sauce. I turned the water on to heat at precisely the right time and waited for it to boil. I soon learned the adage, a watched pot never boils. I finally tired of watching for the water to boil and decided to read the instructions on the icing for the cake. Sure enough, I no sooner stopped watching he pot and it started to boil! I put the noodles in and “occasionally stirred” them. My cake was done, as verified by a fork poked in the center – I remembered this trick from the many years of watching my grandmother bake. I set the pans on a towel to cool and began making the icing. At 4:30, I turned the heat on low under the pan of sauce. I set the table with our new dishes and made a centerpiece from a glass of water with flowers I had picked from the hill behind our house. I taste-tested one of the spaghetti noodles and turned the heat down to low. I iced the cake and placed it on the table. At 4:50pm, John pulled in the drive, ten minutes ahead of schedule. I quickly stirred the sauce into the noodles and was just about to pour the spaghetti into the waiting bowl on the table when John walked in.

 

He greeted me with, “Hi wife!” and big hug. “What do you have here?”

 

 “Surprise!” I exclaimed. “I wanted to have dinner ready when you got home so I walked downtown and got what I needed.” I poured the spaghetti into the bowl and we both stood and looked at it for what seemed like forever.

 

John, who in the early days of our marriage was quite loving and sensitive to my needs, finally said, “Hmmm, I don’t think I have ever had thin sauce on spaghetti before. I like trying something new though. That cake sure looks good. I can hardly wait for dessert!” With that, we sat down and ate my first home-cooked meal – spaghetti from a box, and if that wasn’t bad enough, I forgot to drain the noodles before adding the sauce. But, the dessert was great! Oh, and the cake was good too . . . an hour later. We were newlyweds – need I say more?

2 Comments

Happy Mother’s Day Everyone

May 11, 2008 at 11:07 am (Cricket Chirps)
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SOME THOUGHTS ON MOTHERHOOD

Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back to normal after you’ve had a baby… that somebody doesn’t know that once you’re a mother, “normal” is history.

Somebody said you learn how to be a mother by instinct… that somebody never took a three-year-old shopping.

Somebody said being a mother is boring… that somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver’s permit.

Somebody said if you’re a “good” mother, your child will “turn out good”… that somebody thinks a child comes with directions and a guarantee.

Somebody said “good” mothers never raise their voices… that somebody never came out the back door just in time to see her child hit a golf ball through the neighbor’s kitchen window.

Somebody said you don’t need an education to be a mother… that somebody never helped a fourth grader with his math.

Somebody said you can’t love the fifth child as much as you love the first… that somebody doesn’t have five children.

Somebody said a mother can find all the answers to her child-rearing questions in the books… that somebody never had a child stuff beans up his nose or in his ears.

Somebody said the hardest part of being a mother is labor and delivery… that somebody never watched her “baby” get on the bus for the first day of kindergarten… or on a plane headed for military “boot camp.”

Somebody said a mother can do her job with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back… that somebody never organized seven giggling Brownies to sell cookies.

Somebody said a mother can stop worrying after her child gets married… that somebody doesn’t know that marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to a mother’s heartstrings.

Somebody said a mother’s job is done when her last child leaves home… that somebody never had grandchildren.

Somebody said your mother knows you love her, so you don’t need to tell her… that somebody isn’t a mother.

 

A Mother’s a job is like her love - it never ends.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY… to every Mother on every day of the year!

 

2 Comments

Friday’s 40-or-less Photo Challenge

May 10, 2008 at 8:13 pm (Cricket Chirps, Uncategorized)
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Inspired by what you see and how you interpret the picture, write:

  • - A 40-or-less-word caption
  • - A 40-or-less-word title
  • - A 40-or-less-word post
  • - A 40-or-less-word poem
  • - 40 or less syllables of either!

Short…sweet…and hopefully a lot of fun!

 

The view is so much better above the clouds!

3 Comments

Wordless Wednesday

May 7, 2008 at 7:17 am (Wordless Wednesday)
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8 Comments

Slice of Life Sunday - My Sisters

May 6, 2008 at 12:08 am (Slice of Life Sunday)
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SOL Participant 2

Slice of Life Sunday is a meme dedicated to preserving the accounts of events cut out of the lives of average people just like you and me from all over the world. And like having ice cream with your pie, there is more to this meme than meets the eye - it’s a meme a` la mode .

I have received such joy from all the slice of life stories written by friends I have made here in blogsville. I have also become inspried to write more of my own. I would like to share the following Slice of Life based on the prompt: My Sister(s)
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Sisters is probably the most competitive relationship within the family, but once the sisters are grown, it becomes the strongest relationship.  ~Margaret Mead

 

 

I read this quote many years ago and my first thought was how much I wished it were true for me and my two sisters. I am the middle girl of three sisters, each born 15 months after the other. We were followed several years later by two brothers. Our oldest brother David died of pneumonia when he was only three months old. I have no memory of David except for stories told by our mother and his grave stone at the cemetery which I put flowers on every year for Memorial Day. I also have limited memories of my brother Rick growing up, but then I left home due to an unplanned marriage at age 16, he was 11. I do however have many memories of the turbulent relationship between us girls, both as children and as adults.

 

My older sister, Toupey (family nickname, of course) was the first grandchild born on my mother’s side of the family, and the first blond-haired grandbaby on my dad’s. She was a healthy nine pound baby born with a head full of blond ringlets and the biggest blue eyes, a definite contender for a picture perfect “Ivory Baby”. She enjoyed 15 months of being the apple of everyone’s eye before I came along and stole some of her spotlight. From day one, we were as opposite as two sisters could be. I was very small, just barely over 5 pounds at birth. I too had a head full of hair, but I was definitely a Myers baby with the traditional dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. She had been loud-spoken since the day she was born and I was the quiet one. The family joke has been how Toupey didn’t like me the first time she saw me. She even kicked/pushed me off the couch with her feet when I was only 3 or 4 weeks old. I was cramping her style and she was claiming her territory. My Aunt Idie told me several years ago she always worried about me when I was little due to my sister’s jealousy. She believes the only thing that saved me was our younger sister was born, who Toupey liked even less than me. Joy-Joy (ahh yes, family nickname) was a sickly child despite being a healthy eight pounds at birth. She demanded much of our mother’s attention due to one illness after another. I have been told I didn’t appear to mind this, but Toupey was livid. So much so, she was accused, although never actually proved, of causing several accidents in which Joy-Joy received numerous bruises, cuts and scraps. And this was before Joy-Joy was even five years old. Of course, our relationships never got better, only worse.

 

As I look back on our childhood, I can see where our mother purposely  increased the level of natural sister competition to a battle for her approval.  Her favorite motivational theme was, “Why can’t you do this as well as Toupey?” “Cricket does this so much better, why can’t you get this right like she does?” “Joy-Joy can do this, I can’t believe you two are older and can’t!” The foundation of our mother’s child rearing skills was one of promoting competition to gain her love.

 

The competition between Toupey and I only increased when she failed kindergarten and we ended up going through school together, many years in the same classroom due to the smallness of the school. I bowed out of the competition for mother’s approval when Toupey and I were in the fifth grade. We brought our report cards home and I eagerly displayed my all A’s before dinner. My dad looked at the card and said, “Yep, what I figured it would be.” My mother barely glanced at the card and gave no response. My sister withheld her report card until forced to produce it. She had all D’s and one C. The C had been a D the term before. Our mother made such a major issue out of that C, about how wonderful it was that Toupey had raised her grade. She was so happy about that C, she went to the kitchen and baked a cake to celebrate the occasion. That was a turning point for me. I couldn’t get a simple “good job” for all A’s but my sister earned a cake for one C. I did not eat a piece of the cake. I was full, not from dinner, but full of rage at being treated like a red-headed step-child. And I was done - done with competing for our mother’s attention and her love. I don’t think she even noticed, but then she had my older sister and my younger sister at each other’s throats, literally, trying to win her approval.

 

The habits of childhood carried into adulthood. Both of my sisters vied for our mother’s attention and love everyday up until the day she died. I remained aloof, and was accused of thinking I was better than everyone because I kept my distance. To this day, my sisters have no understanding of my actions. I did not think I was better than them. I simply chose to loose the competition and forfeit the prize. 

3 Comments

Friday 40 or less Photo Challenge

May 3, 2008 at 11:06 pm (Cricket Chirps, Uncategorized)
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I first saw this new meme at Red Pens & Diapers. This is the first edition of Pensieve’s latest writing challenge. The premise of the meme is she takes a photo and urges her readers to write 40 something or less words about the picture. Syllables? Words? It’s up to us. Check out her site for more 40 or Less submissions. I loved the picture so I decided to play along this week. Of course I am a day late.

 

YES! There is life after winter!

4 Comments

Friday Feast

May 1, 2008 at 8:54 pm (Friday Feast, Uncategorized)
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Appetizer

What was your favorite cartoon when you were a child? I remember watching the Mickey Mouse Club - I guess that was not exactly a cartoon.

Soup

Pretend you are about to get a new pet.  Which animal would you pick, and what would you name it? I have a dog name Penny and if I were to get another pet it would most likely be a bird. I think Mr. Peepers sounds good.

Salad

On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how much do you enjoy getting all dressed up for a special occasion? Considering it would be a special occassion, probably a 9.

Main Course

What kind of music do you listen to while you drive? I alternate between country and oldies rock & roll.

Dessert

When was the last time you bought a clock?  And in which room did you put it? I bought my dad an old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock for his bedroom - it’s what he wanted, old habits die hard I guess.

12 Comments

Slice of Life Sunday: Gone but Not Forgotten

April 30, 2008 at 12:11 am (Slice of Life Sunday)
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SOL Participant 2

Slice of Life Sunday is a meme dedicated to preserving the accounts of events cut out of the lives of average people just like you and me from all over the world. And like having ice cream with your pie, there is more to this meme than meets the eye - it’s a meme a` la mode .

 

I have received such joy from all the slice of life stories written by friends I have made here in blogsville. I have also become inspried to write more of my own. I would like to share the following Slice of Life based on the prompt: Family Heirloom.
Gone But Not Forgotten

I find myself watching less and less of television each year. I think the invasion of the “reality television” was the turning point for this TV couch potato. I do enjoy a good movie and of course the do-it-yourself home improvement and landscaping shows. I am also fascinated by the Antique Road Show. Having collected a few antiques over the years, bargain pieces found at garage sales, flea markets and auctions, I so love to watch someone be surprised to learn that an item purchased for a few dollars many years ago because it caught their eye is now worth thousands. My absolute favorite is when someone brings a family heirloom passed down through the generations “just to see what it is worth.” I know it sounds silly, but I find myself waiting, and hoping, to hear the magical words after being informed of a very high value, “That’s nice, but I wouldn’t sell this for any amount of money. There is too much sentimental value that money can’t buy.” I believe placing sentimental value above monetary value is as real as it gets.

 

I have one such sentimental item that has been in our family for over 100 years but was only recently discovered. It had been packed away for more than thirty years, long ago forgotten, and probably not worth more than a twenty-dollar bill today. But to me, it is priceless. It is my grandmother’s washboard.

 

Like most farm women of my grandmother’s day, Gramma Lily was a stranger to modern conveniences. She bore thirteen children over a period of twelve years – all single births. All food served at the family table was raised on the farm and cooked on a wood-burning stove. My father remembers her making six loaves of bread every morning, seven days a week. She made her own butter and her own noodles. Gramma Lily canned all her fruit, vegetables and most of their meat. They did have a smokehouse, which was primarily used for the hams, venison and groundhogs. A cellar would be stocked with potatoes and apples. She made soap from wood ashes and fat left over from butchering hogs and cattle. This soap was used for bathing in a tub in the kitchen, with each sibling taking their turn before the water got too cold or too dirty. Of course the water had to be carried in from the well and heated on the stove, after the wood had been cut to build the fire to heat the water. When I think of everything my grandmother had to do to just feed and bath her family, and granted child labor was definitely in great supply and readily utilized, it just boggles my mind that in the midst of all this, she also had laundry day using a single washboard and a tub for a family of fifteen.

 

For a brief time after making its discovery, I had Gramma Lilly’s washboard displayed on the wall above my washer and dryer. The washboard was actually a hand-me-down from her mother. It clearly shows the wear from all the blue jeans, coveralls and flannel shirts being scrubbed clean with the lye soap she made. I have a very vivid memory of helping gramma scrub grampa’s coveralls on that washboard, then labor over wringing the water out by hand – first twisting them one way and then the other while I held one end – and then hang them on the clothesline to dry. I remember how red her hands were that day and how wrinkled they were years later. I am sure the two were related.

 

I now have gramma’s washboard hidden away. I have two sisters who seem to have forgotten the phrase finder’s keepers. To be honest, if I truly believed either of them had more of a sentimental value of the washboard than I do, I would gladly give it to them. But I have seen both of them sell, at garage sales no less, pieces that “they absolutely had to have for sentimental reasons” after the passing of various members of our family. For me, the memory value of those pieces far outweighed any monetary value they received and quickly spent.

Gramma Lilly’s washboard will forever be mine. I believe memories are the reality of a time gone by, and to sell a memory is like selling a piece of your soul.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

7 Comments

Slice of Life Sunday: Laugh & the World Laughs with You

April 27, 2008 at 3:05 am (Slice of Life Sunday)
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SOL Participant 2

Slice of Life Sunday is a meme dedicated to preserving the accounts of events cut out of the lives of average people just like you and me from all over the world. And like having ice cream with your pie, there is more to this meme than meets the eye - it’s a meme a` la mode .

I have received such joy from all the slice of life stories written by friends I have made here in blogsville. I have also become inspried to write more of my own. This is a fun slice to serve!

 “A person starts to live when he can live outside of himself.”

                                                                                                               -Albert Einstein

 

If I could make a living at volunteering I would. During the last thirty years, I have been involved in many projects and organizations, have served on several committees and boards, and have made both large and small differences for my community. I truly love being a part of making something good happen for the benefit of many. Some claim volunteering is an act of altruism, or an unselfish concern for the welfare of others. And to a point, this is true of my desire to “help.” I will be honest and admit that I receive such an amazing sense of satisfaction when I am involved in a project, that it seems like I am not whole if I am not involved in something. As I think back on all the events and projects I have helped with, I can not help but laugh when I remember my very first community service project that could have easily been my last.

 

My first husband and I purchased a rundown, two-story farmhouse on the edge of a very small town in rural Holmes County, Ohio in 1977. Shortly after we moved in, a neighbor who lived in the adjoining new housing development came to visit. Linda brought a plate of cookies and we spent the afternoon tearing five layers of wallpaper off a bedroom wall. We clicked instantly and became best buddies and pals. Three months later our family enjoyed our first Killbuck Early American Days, the local festival that was held over Labor Day weekend. Linda was the chairperson of several events and I became intrigued watching how much fun everyone had participating in the events. Linda introduced me to Lucille, the festival president, who immediately recognized new blood for the committee. Throughout the next nine months, both Linda and Lucille encouraged, begged and pleaded for me to join the festival committee. I had never participated in anything like that before and did not feel I was competent to be a “Committee Chairperson.” But, between the two veterans, they convinced me to accept the position of Costume Contest Chairperson for the upcoming festival, primarily due to Lucille assuring me I would not have to get up on stage and talk in front of a crowd.

 

My duties were actually very minimal, especially looking at other things I have done since. I had to make posters and place them in several businesses throughout the town announcing the contest with the categories and prizes that could be won. I also had to do an interview for the local newspaper telling about the contest – and since Linda was our town’s news correspondent for the newspaper, I felt very comfortable with what would have been a nightmare for me since I was quite shy back in those days. By the time the festival rolled around, I was feeling good about my decision to “get involved and give back to the community.” I was so excited and confident about my ability to handle this project that made a long, early American-style calico-print dress for my community service debut.

 

I began to get butterflies an hour or so before the time of my contest. I worried that no one would show up in costume and I would look foolish in my long, old-fashioned dress. But, I worried for nothing as many people came dressed to win a prize. I organized everyone into proper categories and had each group lined up and ready to go by my designated time. And true to her word, Lucille emceed the contest. She called each category name and I helped the entrants up the steps to the stage so they could parade across in front of the judges. I had so much fun helping everyone. I fixed hair ribbons and fluffed petticoats. I almost cried when one little girl who had been so nervous to go on stage won first place in her category. Her smile made everything I had gone through to put the contest on all worth while. I was feeling pretty good about myself when the winners of the last category of costumed men were announced. My job was done and I had done a good job. Yes, I was feeling good - that is until I heard Lucille speak into the microphone . . .

 

“I can not recall having so many participate in our costume contest. This has been a banner year and there is a good reason for it. We have a new chairperson this year and she has been excellent at getting the word out. Evelyn, come on up here so everyone can give a big round of applause for all your hard work!”

 

I was behind the stage and I froze when I heard her words. What was she thinking? I couldn’t go up on that stage – in front of all those people. Again she called my name to come up. “She’s a little shy folks, lets give her some encouragement!” and began to clap her hands.

 

Oh, my God! Was this woman crazy? Now she is telling everyone I am shy. About that time Linda appeared out of nowhere. “You will have to at least go out front and wave to the crowd because she won’t stop until you do.” Well now was a fine to tell me this, I thought. But I knew she was right. I might as well get it over with.

 

I walked to the side of the stage and waved to the audience as Linda had suggested. I was more than a little embarrassed when the clapping got louder, but I waved anyways and mouthed a “thank you” to the crowd. But that was not going to be good enough for Lucille. No, no, no, no. Not good enough at all! “There she is folks!” she cheered into the microphone. I just knew everyone could hear her a mile away at the baseball tournament. “Now, you come on up here. Everyone needs to get a good look at the little girl who pulled off such a fine costume contest. And folks, I want to tell you, she even made herself a dress just for the occasion! You come on up here – I’ll have to come down and get you if you don’t!” And the crowd cheered. And my blood pressure rose. I could feel my face burning, but I knew I had no choice. I was going to have to go up on that stage.

 

With weak knees and trembling hands, I started up the steps.  I gathered the fullness of the material of my long dress along with its petticoat in my left hand and held onto the banister with my right. As I made my way up the steps, I heard Lucille telling everyone about what a fine job my husband and I had done in fixing up the “Clark place.” She went on to talk about my “smart little girl” and my son with “dimples the size of caverns!” I knew I had to hurry because at the rate she was going, she was sure to share the fact that I had embarrassingly passed gas when I entered her house the day before. I finally reached the top of the stairs and as I stepped out onto the stage I released the material of my dress so it would hang properly. “Now, isn’t she the prettiest little thing you ever saw in your life!” she quipped as she held her hand out for me to come closer to her and the microphone. I took a step towards her, and right there in front of the entire world – I tripped on my dress and fell flat on my face.

 

A hush came over the crowd and everything moved in slow motion for what seemed liked an eternity. Even Lucille was so stunned she could not speak. Then a little boy sitting in the first row began to giggle, then he laughed, and soon he was laughing so hard he was I tears. And little by little, a few others in the crowd began to laugh. To this day I break out in hysterical laughter remembering how I pulled myself up off the stage floor, held my petticoat and dress material all bunched up in my left hand, and walked over to the microphone and calmly stated, “My grandmother always taught me that when I fall down I need to pull myself up by my bootstraps and go on. Does anyone have a bootstrap I could borrow to tie this dang dress up?” Now everyone was laughing and clapping and I realized I could laugh at myself, which I did. And, as the saying goes, the rest is history.    

3 Comments

Friday Feast

April 25, 2008 at 11:14 pm (Friday Feast)
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Appetizer

Name something you would categorize as weird. I think it is weird that someone would spend millions of dollars to “hopefully” get a position that pays $200,000 a year and at best they will have the job for eight years. Of course, I should think about it is not “their” millions of dollars

Soup

What color was the last piece of food you ate? Dad and I went to dinner this evening to a buffet. I was too full to eat dessert, so the last bite I had would have been a stewed tomato, thus the color was red.

Salad

On a scale of 1-10 with 10 being highest, how much do you enjoy being alone? I am rarely alone, so I would have to say a 6.

Main Course

Fill in the blank: I will ___have to really consider long and hard who I will______ vote for __President_________ in __November_____.

Dessert

Describe your sleeping habits. I have very poor sleeping habits. I stay up too late for having to get up by 6am to get ready for work. Sometimes I am up at 2am and only get about 3 1/2 hours sleep.

 

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