My Love Hate relationship with Facebook

Everyone was doing it. I heard so many stories about the fantastic features of Facebook, I began to believe the hype. Bloggers were abandoning their blogs for the convenience of it. They were throwing away their marvelous stories to keep up with people they once knew, barely knew, thought they knew or regretted they knew. Heck, some of them they never knew. What's worse some of these new old friends knew things best left forgotten. Quite a few of them were losing their jobs, finding out that free speech isn't quite as free if you are out there talking trash about your employers worker bees. So why, I wanted to know, was everyone so lady gaga over this site. Okay, admitting my folly, I fell into the pool along with the rest, hoping I wouldn't drown, dog paddling like hell just trying to keep my head above water.




After signing up on Facebook, at the urging of blogging friends and family, I had over 90 friends the first day. Mac came along and looked at my screen and asked when I had signed up. "Today, " I admitted "And I haven't even done a lot with it yet." He shook his head and asking of no one in particular, " and how do you get 90 friends in one day of doing not a lot?" I had to admit I didn't know. I mean, yes, I knew a goodly number of these people that I had friended. Most of course were people who read my blog. Some were family. Others were friends of friends who because I knew their friend thought they might like to be my friend. Yes, I was confused too.



Of friends on Facebook, the most unforgiving are family. They will "unfriend" you the moment you disagree with anything they say about anyone also in your family. They are allowed to call your sister (their mother) any number of foul things, and if you try in the least to raise a hand of discipline, (via Facebook wall postings) Bob's your Uncle, you're unfriended! Many of my younger family members apparently missed out on the "airing your dirty laundry" lesson given by my Grandmother, Nancy Douglas. She always preached to us that if we made mistakes in life, they were a family matter and not to be aired in public like so much dirty laundry. Well, I have noticed a lot of dirty laundry wafting in the Facebook breezes. And I wish they would stop it. I have signed off the site twice now, and feeling the urge to sign off once more. I just have one bone to pick with a certain someone about they way they are talking about someone I happen to love dearly. If they don't like it, they can unfriend me. Please.

Where is that lying little rodent hiding now?

Well I'm over my first flu illness in more years than I care to count.  Something went wrong  after I retired. My body started working against me.  Where before I was like super woman, never getting sick, injuries healing  in record time , working  twelve hour shifts then coming home to work four more inside and out without batting an eye,  to this.   (I can hear Peggy Lee singing "I am woman, W O M A N" in the background.)  I refuse to let the weather changes make an invalid or a hostage of my spirit, whatever it may do to my body.  While my body may cringe at the thought of rain, my spirit knows we need to break the drought that has taken hold of our state.  We've started the planting and come wind (OMG the wind!) hell or high water, we're going to get some veggies out of this ground!  The peas have popped up, the garlic is doing well and the tomato plants are showing off their little green leaves .   I have a feeling that lying little rodent Pauxatauny Phil may be a liar, but we have a heater in the green house, so raspberry to you dear Phil. 

This has been the coldest and roughest winter in many of our memories, I'm sure.  We had more snow than usual, so much in fact that the only state left snowless was Hawaii.  I normally love snow.  But I love the magical snow, you know, here today gone tomorrow.  Not this here today gone next month stuff with which we've been damned   blessed.   Our peach trees, plum trees and pear trees are all blooming, the apple tree is holding tight buds, and we've had 32 degree temps three days this week.  Luckily the low temps don't last long, so I think we may be alright.  I can only hope and pray that we stay above 32 til Spring finally arrives for real.  It's a scary thought, but that Mayan Calendar thing might be on to something!

And the flu has gone all Egypt on my ass

I'm sick.  Funny, I got the flu shot when everyone was haranguing me over its benefits.  Yet, here I am.  Temp this morning 101.  Better than the last three days orf 103, but still.  I'm sick.  Mac spent a night in the hospital for rapid (excess of 180) heartbeat again.  We spent two full days and a night there with the sick and afflicted all around us.  He took his flu shot, too.  He's not sick.  Yet.  However our son Wallace and I are.  Sick that is.  We have Mac mostly straightened out and on blood thinners (he's doing lovenox right now, or at least I give him the injections twice a day for a week.  I crawl off my death bed and warn him I'm to weak to chase him down.  He hates needles.  He sees I'm sick.  He behaves. 

I'm sick.  I'm sure I got it at the hospital and wonder to whom I would complain about it.  It appears I have no recourse but to lie on the couch and attempt to recover.  Today is not as bad as Friday was.  Friday night was awful.  I spent more time in the bathroom than in bed for two days.   I did everything at a crawl.  Still do.  It's taken me 2 hours to write this. 

Yes, the flu has gone all Egypt on my ass, I'll be glad when the revolution is over.

Temper Temper!

The header is my new one for the winter.  This is what it looked like for nearly 2 weeks.  There was ten inches of snow then three or four inches of ice on top of that and when I looked out the back door I knew we weren't going anywhere.  Not anytime soon.  Or as my Bubbles (Violet Loxley) would say, if the snow is shiny, it will hurt your hiney. 

So we've sort of been stuck in here together for days, getting on each others nerves.  War broke out once or twice, but luckily older son was iced in with us and acted as referee.  It could have gotten bad, but at least we never lost power.  That in itself was a blessing from heaven.  We had to go rake snow off the satellite a couple of times but other than that, we kept each other entertained with tales of who had cabin fever to the nth degree, me or him. 

Funny how much I love snow.  I mean I love our kind of snow, the here today gone tomorrow kind of snow.  Then we got Jersey Snow.  The snow that is here today and here tomorrow and still here in April.  Yes, I've lived through snow where Evil Sister and I had to hack a path from her back door to mine so we could play hours of Scrabble.  That was called keeping ourselves sane.  And the kids never missed a day of school.  The snow was half way up the picture window and they had school.  Chesterfield County in 1987 had 1 inch and the school was closed for days.  The boys really hated that.  A lot.

So here we are, with Jersey Snow, and high winds on top of that.  Mac had a colonoscopy scheduled for last Friday, but we couldn't get out to get the solution and tab he had to take.  So, it's was rescheduled for tomorrow.

I looked forward to getting out of here on my own Monday.  I dressed in my best wool slacks with my cashmere sweater, the beautiful shawl my sister Toni gave me and my fur hat.  I looked pretty good,  if I  do say so myself ,it made my spirits hum.  Put on my lipstick, grabbed my bag and hit the porch.  Slid three feet to the gate, looking to be sure no one saw me, straighted my hat and walked gingerly to the truck.  I was in such good humor! 

Now, we have had one insurance company for years, Tricare...most of the meds are mail order, but we get things like this from CVS and have never ever had a  problem.  I waltzed into CVS Pharmacy, handed over the prescription and went to wander around the store while they filled it.  I heard someone calling my name, and got over to the counter as quickly as I could.  The lady behind the counter told me that the insurance company had declined to pay because we had other insurance.  I asked what DOB she had used.  It was the right one.  I asked if it was Tricare.  It was.  She said she would call them to see what might be the problem.

So, she gets someone on the line and begins to explain that the prescription was being turned down for payment and that the customer claimed no other insurance.  She was nodding and rolling her eyes and she looked at me and asked if I would like to talk to her.  I narrowed my eyes and held out my hand for the phone.

"Now, just what seems to be the problem here?"  I asked her. 
"Well, " she says, "it appears that you have another insurance that should cover this,  madam, and you should use that one before trying to make  the government pay."

Remember the little girl in The Exorcist, the one whose head spun around and she began to spit green soup?  Well, no, I didn't do all of that, but I did choose my words carefully.  "Now, you listen to me, I don't know where you are, but I can assure you that where ever you are, my husband spent a lot of time keeping you safe.  It's a pity that a man can put thirty years in the Navy and then you make a statement like that!  My husband's time in service has more than paid for any medication or medical treatment that this government, such as it is, provides.  We only have the insurance that we have had for the past 21 years the one that you are trying to represent.  I suggest you fix this error and quickly. And DON'T CALL ME MADAM!"  I handed the phone back to the lady behind the Pharmacy counter.  She was smiling from ear to ear.  She kept saying "yes, yes, of course.  No the customer is still here, we'll take care of it right now."

She hung up as I was straightening my hat again and looked out at me and told me that they had taken the red flag off the account and the order would be filled.  Then she started laughing outright.

"Mrs. McBride, I don't know when I've enjoyed a conversation with an insurance company more.  And might I say, you looked quite elegant up there on your high horse!"  I started to laugh with her, and told her I might need some help getting down from it to insure I didn't do myself an injury.  I don't know when I've enjoyed losing my temper more!

 

The Pie Chart

As I know a lot of you are aware, I recently celebrated a birthday (on the 7th as it happens).  When I got up that morning I felt rested and energetic enough to take the wild tail girlie (a mix of some ungodly breeds of dogs who are apparently site hounds and Heinz 57 doesn't even begin to cover it) for a walk in the early morning dew.  I felt 20 something.  I may walk with a limp, but my spirit is free of any such affliction.   So we walked down through the woods and up the other side and she picked up the scents of rabbits and squirrels, deer and maybe a lynx or two...and dragged me through brambles and wild berry bushes, around pines and between two cedars growing together.  When I finally made it back to the front porch, I was a bit winded but other than that in fine fettle.  But I felt about 30 something. I unhooked Chase's leash (she is aptly named, believe me) when we got inside and gave her the expected treat.  Faux bacon is her treat of choice barring a little  ginger mailman with dog safe ingredients baked inside.  I looked over at the Keurig and drooled.  My very favorite Christmas present, it offers me any blend of wonderful coffees, Doughnut Shop, Kona, Black Silk, French Vanilla...you name it.  So I went over to this little gem and putting my cup beneath it's spout, lifted the coffee tub holder and placed my coffee of choice in the slotted area.  Black Silk by Folgers.  Oh my.  Pulled down the handle and saw the red flashing light which read "add water".  Cursed the last person to make a cup and not check the water reservoir, and then drew up water from the Brita filter contraption that is attached to my faucet.  By this time I had run swiftly through my 30's and the 40's were almost in my rear view  mirror.  It was only 7:30 in the morning.  I brewed myself a cup of coffee without offering anyone else a cup, sat on the sofa with one leg tucked under me and watched the news of the morning and night before all the while  letting  that cup of coffee wash 10 years off my attitude.   Ah, pleasure, just pure coffee addiction pleasure.

I had decided that this was the birthday I would ignore.  After all, no one but me much ever remembered it anyway.  I decided years ago that it was no big deal that Mac could never remember when my birthday was or even when our Anniversary falls, so deciding that since I'd already hit the big 60, no need to worry about such trite things as birthdays anymore.  Then the Face book greetings started pouring in and I discovered that I really did care after all.  It was pleasing to see all those lovely comments, even from people who have known me 30+ years.  And a few who have known me 50+ whom I thought I'd   offended years ago had found my face book page and made mention of the day. When I saw all that, I felt 20 again.  Okay, so the afternoon approached quickly and we were trying to decide whether to run out to Roger's Smokehouse Restaurant for dinner or wait and take in breakfast with him the next morning.  I chose breakfast, because the 50's had slipped by me somehow and I was really too tired to think about doing much more than grabbing a hot bath and flannel Jammie's and warm socks and reading the book (The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters) I'd started just after Christmas. 
  

It was while I was preparing a quick supper of grits eggs and toast that it happened.  I had taken down the grit pot (all Southern cooks know that once you have found the perfect grit pot, nothing but grits ever gets cooked in it) and put the water on to boil.  I started looking for the lid to it (or led as I remember my Great Grandmother calling it).  I looked on the counter, no lid.  I looked in the pantry, no lid.  I knew I'd just had the dingdanged thing so where could it have gone?  I spent a good thirty minutes looking for the blamed thing. My mother always said that I was so high strung I could  thread a sewing machine needle with it running. I let things get to me sometimes.   Finally I just  turned off the water and we had turkey sandwiches for supper.  It really bothered me that I had misplaced the lid, and now I felt my 60+ years.  After supper I went over to the kitchen table and picked up the book I'd been reading.  And there it lay in shameless glory, the lid to the grit pot.  Right then I remembered the cute thing  that a friend had sent to me as a birthday joke  and realized the truth of it.  I spend way to much time these days looking for things that are always in the last place I look when I am no longer looking.  Being highstrung may have few advantages, but at least I can laugh at myself when the search is over!

Of Cabbages and Kings and Hospital Things

Okay, you all know Mac and how into his gardening he is, right?  You know we're early risers and out and about checking on the collards, broccoli, cauliflower and cabbages.  We even pulled  a collard on Sunday and ate him right up with squash and field peas and cornbread.  Unless you're from the South you probably don't know collards from succotash, but it's very similar to kale.  Just better.  So Mac planted these lovely plants from seed in August and babied and pampered them and we've watched them grow into these lovely huge leafy beasties.  I was out there wandering amongst the beasties and choosing the one to "kill" for Thanksgiving.  Mac, who is King of the garden, caught me fondling the large leafy beauty that was going to grace my cook pot.  I had told him that since we'd had two frosts, I saw no reason to wait for Thanksgiving to have our first taste of heaven.  I'd cook this lovely right up and we'd freeze what was left for Thanksgiving dinner.  He fell for it hook line and garden shears. 

Yesterday Mac did nothing of his normal routine.  He got up early, sure.  But he didn't go out to check the garden or the trees, he didn't shuck corn for the guinea hens.  He said he didn't feel all that well and wrapped up in fleece blanket, lay back in his chair.  I took his temperature, it was 97.4.  He didn't have much of an appetite, in fact ate nothing all day, just nibbled.  He had one cup of coffee and the rest of the day drank lemonade.  I was concerned about him but whenever I asked how he was, he would only say that he felt some better.  At 9:30 he announced he thought he would go to bed.  At 10, I followed.  At 2 a.m. I felt him get up and sit on the edge of the bed.  I asked him if he was okay.  He asked for his nitro spray and I got it for him.  By 2:30 a.m. I had called 911 and gotten an ambulance on the way.  When he had gotten up to get a drink, he collapsed into unconsciousness on the living room floor.  I could not bring him around as hard as I tried.  After 911 I called for my son Wallace to come help me.  He finally came around but had no idea what had happened to him.  Wallace let the squad members in and within a few minutes they were on the way to the hospital with him.  Wallace, seeing I was in no shape to drive took over those duties. We made it to the ER seconds behind the ambulance.  While on the road he had been given two medications to bring his heart rate down from the 200+ beats per minute.  Having gotten him converted, he was awake and fully responsive by the time they let us back with him.  But suddenly, while the nurse was checking his vitals, he went into a full blown seizure that I knew was serious because she lost her calm and began yelling "I need help in here guys, send me a Doctor stat".  His face was grey, his eyes were wide open with pleading and his entire body was stretched out as if some unseen forces were trying to pull him apart.  To say that Wallace and I were now in a state of panic is an understatement.  I was  begging God to help and telling Mac at the same time, we're here we're here. 

Okay, this is where we were on November 18th,  2010.  Funny, it doesn't seem to have been that long ago.  I was sitting by his hospital bed after several harrowing hours in the ER and found I couldn't concentrate enough on anything but him.  Wallace  had brought me my laptop after he made a flying visit to the house to bring me clothes other than my night clothes.  I sat in the world's most uncomfortable recliner, laptop in front of me and determined to make some sense of the past few hours.  I failed miserably.  He moved, I stopped.  He groaned, I stopped.  He called my name, I froze.  So, putting the usually comforting laptop away and any idea of expressing my feelings about what was going on, I concentrated on his condition.  The Cardiologist came in and expressed complete puzzlement over what might have occurred but offered any manner of tests that might offer an answer.  By this time the children and grandchild and minister had arrived and Mac was converting to his John Wayne persona.  "I'm fine, nothing going on here, I have work to get back to, leave me alone blah blah blah".  The blah blah blah is where I quit listening to him and turned to the doctor and asked about the importance of having yet another catherazation even when he had passed a stress test with flying colors not three months previously.  "If he were a family member of mine, he wouldn't leave here without it" pretty much sewed it up for me.  Meanwhile, Mac was busy pulling the stitches out of my resolve.  Finally I looked at the drawn faces around me, my older son in particular (he had been in the ER with me at the time of the unexplained seizure and near death experience, after all.  "I need some help here, guys, " I demanded of them.  Wallace looked at his father, his face pale his voice determined.  "Dad, you don't understand, I thought we were watching you die."  That did it.  Mac simply laid back and gave in to our demands.

Where we stand now.  The catherazion found a previously thought closed graft wide open and flowing blood like a champ.  Why his heart rate went to over 200 we may never know, but he has had one episode of rapid heart rate since we returned home.  He will have to wear a heart monitor for several weeks to keep track of any episodes we aren't aware of.  The mystery may never be solved.  But here's the thing...I have been hesitant to write of this episode because so many of my friends have experienced some devastating events that make mine pale in comparison.  I have said so many prayers for them and their loved ones in the past few months, that I had put God on speed dial.  I think in particular of Anya who recently lost a similar battle for her dear husband's life.  I think I was suffering from survivor's guilt.  I didn't want to share and yet I needed to share.  I didn't want my friends who have been through such similar things and had a quite different outcome to think I was insensitive to their recent losses.  But, here I am, 2011 and making another resolve to get out there and visit my friends and continue to keep on keeping on.  After all, that's what life is all about, isn't it?

And Dudley Comes Home to Roost

One day this past summer I was awakened by the sounds of a rooster crowing.  Okay, so living in the country as we do, we often heard this rooster crowing of a morning, but this time it sounded as if it were actually under our window singing its head off.  It was a happy rooster, happy to have a voice, happy to flap it's wings, happy to be alive.  As we discovered  later that same day , it's gladness was the latter more than the former.  Our neighbors, Tara and Sam (he's Greek, so can't pronounce the last name much less spell it,  therefore I won't trouble you with the minor details) have a farm complete with horses and cows, chickens and at one time even a goat, etc...and once they had plenty of barnyard cats too,  but seems they've all migrated our way.  So, as I've rambled way off the subject here,we'll get back to the rooster crowing beneath my window.  Well, since he was sitting on the porch railing greeting the sun and the new day with a fervor I've hardly ever heard before, I had to get up and pull back the curtain to check.  And yes, there he was.  A beauty of a rooster, all luscious reds and bark browns, blacks of several different depths and he had an attitude.  Later that day we discovered that he also had a number of tail feathers missing from his considerable plume.  I asked Tara that evening if she was missing a member of their  menagerie.  Seems she was missing quite a few.  Her doberman had gotten loose and gone on a chicken killing spree that defies description.  The rooster of the flock was lucky to escape with the few tail feathers he had left attached to his backside.  He had made a hasty departure through the woods to seek asylum(looney bin?) with us.  I'm not sure if he figured the myriad cats were a protection from  or a distraction for the dog.  But he made it safely here, and here he stays.

Now, I know having a rooster in residence  isn't much of a big deal for a lot of people.  It's not much of a big deal for us either since luckily we have plenty of corn and seed on hand to feed the squirrels guineas and song birds.  But the oddest thing of all is the rooster much prefers cat food.  And he prefers to eat the cat food out of the cat food dishes.  And he prefers to eat it with the cats.  The first time I saw Dudley (as we have since named him) eating with the cats I could only stand and watch.  That he tolerated the cats was not what amazed me.  That they tolerated him as a dinner companion rather than dinner...now that really got my attention.  The first time he raced me to the food dish (starting at a dead run from 1/2 an acre away, he beat me handily) made me laugh out loud.  I've never seen a rooster running with cats before.  Away from them, yes, with them no.  This has been going on for months now.  I think it's safe to say that Tara and Sam no longer have a rooster.  Their Guineas (hens) claimed us as family at roughly the same time.  The guineas only capture Dudley's attention once in a while at which time he will condescend to eat a morsal or two of corn with them.  But mostly, he likes the cats. 

Now that fall is upon us Dudley goes to roost on the porch railing at around 5 pm each evening.  He prefers it if we will kindly  not be banging in out of the front door from 5 on.  He needs his rest.  He begins his sympony to dawn somewhere roughly between 3 am and 0dark30.   I've asked Craig, our neighbor on the other side to stop referencing dumplings whenever he sees Dudley.  It's giving him a complex.

The Banana Split Cake

Last time I was here we were on our way to Magnolia Alabama for a family reunion.  Mac drove long enough to remember how much he hates Atlanta traffic and happily gave the wheel to Michael, who drives amazingly well for a baby son.  When we reached Selma, Alabama I was so glad to be out of a moving vehicle, no matter who was driving, that I could have kissed the pavement.  We were there for the Sealy family reunion and very nearly held it at the motel.  I think our family had booked the entire bottom floor.  It was like a gigantic slumber party, what with walking up and down the halls visiting brothers sisters nieces and nephews, snacking on every imaginable thing that the snack food conglomerates throw at you, plus this one thing that niece Sherry had brought along.  She called it a Banana Split Cake.  She had made and brought three of them.  They were residing in the refrigerator of her motel room and she promised everyone a piece of it even before the Sunday reunion dinner.  Mind you, these dishes of heavenly promise measured 13x9 inches long and promised to make our dreams come true.  It seems that cake was the topic of conversation every time I saw any of them.  Turns out it's a Paula Deen recipe and I knew right away it was going to be winner.  Unfortunately it was not a winner that I would be able to share in.  Just looking at it had me in danger of going into a month long sugar coma.  Sherry began to tell me exactly how it was made and I lost consciousness somewhere around the two cups of confectioners sugar and the two sticks of butter.  Yes, I said two sticks of butter.  (I did mention it's a Paula Deen recipe?)
So late on Saturday night after Mac had had his third or maybe fourth helping of this incredible cake, I had to warn them that they were in danger of having nothing left for the family reunion dinner.  One pan had been consumed and the mob in the corridor were eyeing the refrigerator thru the doorway.  I didn't hold out much hope for it's survival.  I was right.  But then I frequently am.

So we made it home from the reunion which was wonderful.  Seeing family members we hadn't seen in years was worth the long trip.  Aunt Jeanne looked like a movie star, it was hard to believe she is in her late 70's.  Such a great lady and so welcoming and warm to her family.

So when we got home I talked to SIL Betty and she sent me the recipe for the marvel of a cake.  I knew I'd probably make it for Thanksgiving but also knew that I'd not be able to taste it, the diabetes would prevent even a smidgen.  I tucked it away for another day.

Saturday I went to the grocers and as I was going down the baking aisle came across a new product.  It was a sugar free confectioners sugar by Ideal (tr).  I read it several times before I could believe my eyes.  But yes, sure enough there it was.  They even had a sugar free brown sugar.  I dug my cell phone out of my purse and called home to get Mac to look up the recipe so I could be sure I had everything I needed.  I made the Banana Split Cake on Sunday, after Church.  I prepared a bowl of it for afters that night.  Angels sang.  We wept with joy.  No, really, we wept with joy...okay so we didn't weep but we were happy.  I'm including the recipe and for those of you who don't care if they go into a sugar coma, just substitute the real thing for all the sugar free stuff.  But you won't be sorry if you prepare it exactly as I say.  Angels will sing.  Weeping will be simulated.  You will be happy diners, I promise!

BANANA  SPLIT CAKE




Banana Split Cake



Crust:

1 1/2 sticks butter

2 cups graham cracker crumbs



Filling:

2 eggs (I used pasteurized eggs since they are raw)

2 sticks butter
2 cups Ideal Sugar Free Confectioners sugar

4 or 5 bananas, ripe and sliced

1 large can crushed pineapple (sugar free), well drained

2 cartons sugar free Kool Whip

Chopped nuts

Chopped cherries



To make crust: Melt butter; mix with crumbs. Press into a 13 x 9 x 2 inch baking pan. Bake in 350 degree oven for 1about 15 minutes and let cool.



To make filling: Beat the eggs, margarine and powdered (confectioners) sugar together, beating no less than 15 minutes. Filling must be light and fluffy.Spread over crust.  Place sliced bananas over filling, then spoon pineapple over bananas.  Cover all with Kool Whip, add chopped cherries (maraschino) and sprinkle with chopped walnuts or pecans.  Refrigerate til ready to eat.

Birthdays and Anniversaries, they're the thing!

So, birthdays and anniversaries seem to be the norm for us this fall.  I haven't written about Evil Sister or Good Sister in a long time.  Not that Evil Sister isn't any less sassy or Good Sister any less, well, Good...it's just that ES hasn't put any forks through deserving husbands hands lately and GS hasn't had any particularly spooky morgue encounters.  They are always worthy of my attention and my computer skills and today both of them are on my mind.  Well, lets see where we start.  Evil Sister, I wish you and Poor Brother a very happy and blessed 42 Anniversary!  It seems like either yesterday or a century ago, doesn't it?  How did we manage to stay married to the same and only men all these years?  (Mac and I celebrate our 42 on the 15th of this month).  I believe it may be the upbringing of stern Grandmothers (how often did we hear "you made your bed, now lie in it?) who counseled that marriage was sacred and not to be taken lightly.  Well, you didn't take it lightly and the two of you had your share of ups and downs but far more ups , which may be the answer to life.  I hope that the two of you spend the day doing exactly what you want to do, be it celebrating or nothing at all.  Congratulations to two very dear and beloved friends. 

Good Sister was being born about the time we were getting married, and she celebrates her birthday today.  GS has had such a turn around in her life these days.  Finally in a romance that might just make the grade on the turn around , she has stars in her eyes for the first time in a long time.   Even though it is a long distance romance, they see each other as often as their jobs allow and travel permits.  Today she will be spending her birthday with us.  Well, after work and appointments.  I'll be baking her a cake (or brownies...) making a barbecue dinner that she will love and she can relax for a bit since she won't be on call as Coroner this weekend.  So, I raise a glass to two of the most important women in my life...Cheers!!!

Birthday Boys Celebrate in Style

The 1900's are behind us now.  Even my darling Arianna, who was born in 1999 is a century away, it seems,  So how does a father born in 1916 and a son born in 1971 feel about birthdays these days?  Well, apparently they feel pretty darned good!  As a gift to two of the most important men in my life, we had a party of sorts at the Smokehouse restaurant.  Wanting to thank one of the best cooks in the state for preparing this feast, I looked for (owner) Roger Knight, but he was no where to be found.  I had decided that no way could I compete with the spread that Roger lays out on a four day basis, that and the fact that he has a crew to do the clean up.  All we had to do was eat and leave.  Oh, and pay the tab,  No problem,  Son Wallace had spent Saturday at the USMC Mud Run in Columbia, South Carolina with three teammates,  They completed the run, which was all that really interested them.  Apparently 14000 people had shown up for the event and being mowed down by speed was not a problem, either,  The mud took care of that .  Now  Daddy celebrated the day by sleeping in rather than go into the office, mud not being his thing, he elected to stay out of it,    You might find this odd but for the fact that he  turned 95 years old, still practices medicine and attends to patients on a daily basis,  Even Sundays,  While we were in the Smokehouse, at least three patients spied him there and corralling him, congratulated him on his longevity,  To their credit not one of them offered up symptoms for diagnosis while in his presence, 

So naps and mud runs aside, our day yesterday was filled with laughter and memories and I wouldn't trade one second of it for the world,  Somehow, I don't think they would either!

The Fear of Canning

Yes, I've been missing in action yet again.  It seems the summer just drags on and even though this is technically the last day of it, we're still in the nineties.  There's been no rain for us in six weeks, but we drag the hose dutifully to the beds and water thoroughly so we get the lovely butter beans, green beans and squash even this late.  The collards are planted and promise to do well if the guineas don't kill them first. 

This morning we picked butter beans and greenbeans and they will be delicious on our plates for supper.  Mac planted six more tomato plants on August 24th in the growtainers and we have tomatoes on them already.  Do you think he'll mind if I say I am heartily sick of canning tomatoes? 

They've gotten so tall that he's having to extend the rings to accommodate their rapid growth. 

Thursday  is the first day of fall.  This Sunday past I came home from church and started canning the peaches (a bushel of them) and finished the pears.  I know that this winter we will be so happy that the pantry if loaded with all the bounty from the garden but I will tell you this: I have yet to use the pressure canner this year. 

Our family grew up with Aunt's and Great Aunt's as well as Grandparents lending a hand in the rearing of myriad children in the family circle.  They had their own methods of correction and reward, instruction and playtime.  One of the Aunt's spent most of the summer canning garden goods, chicken and dumplings, meats and the like.  Her favorite was Spaghetti Sauce.  For most of the garden goods she used the cold pack canner but for anything containing meats or fish she used the pressure canner.  As young as 5 I knew that the sudden screech and the soft explosion meant Aunt Dale was canning Spaghetti Sauce.  And that the pressure gauge had passed into the red line.  The boy cousins would spend half a day cleaning the ceiling at least three times each summer,  Then, one summer Aunt Dale had an idea.  She would pay one of us a nickel if we sat in a chair in front of the range and kept an eye on the pressure gauge.  We were to yell out if it began to rise from the amount of pressure the canner book indicated.  She would run in and turn down the burner the canner was on.  We dared not leave it a second to long, and if we did we ran out the kitchen door onto the screen porch screaming for help as we ran.  We really wanted that nickel, so we were mostly eagle eyed.  Aunt Dale had to many other things going on to watch it herself which is why she had so many catastrophes in the kitchen. 

When I became the proud owner of my very own pressure canner, it was in my possession for 2years before I got up the nerve to use it.  I had read the instruction booklet at least fifty times.  Maybe more.  I would tell myself that the next day would be canning day and then chicken out and use the cold pack canner instead.  But one day, the first day of my vacation, I took the plunge.  I got out the canner, the jars, the book and decided that I would can the bushel of pears that I had been gifted with by a neighbor.  I peeled, I  seeded, I added citric acid to avoid browning, then I prepared the jars.  They had to be hot, so I also had the cold pack canner out to heat them and placed the jar caps and lids in a small pan of boiling water.  I located the jar lifter and set to work.  I used apple juice as the canning solution in the jars to avoid sugar.  I packed the hot jars in the canner, added the water, adjusted the lids and put the top on the canner.  7 jars rested snugly within.  After placing the pressure gauge atop the canner,   I turned on the burner and put my chair in front of the range so I could take up my post. I had offered the requisite nickel to my sons to do this, but had no takers.  They simply laughed and walked away.  Mac came in and seeing me sitting in the chair asked me what on earth I was doing.  "Avoiding disaster, " I replied,  "Our ceiling isn't as high as Aunt Dale's was, I'm afraid the whole affair would go through the roof!"  So, if you should ever walk into the kitchen and see me sitting in a chair in front of the stove, you'll know what I'm doing.  And believe me when I tell you that this winter it will have been worth every worrisome moment of it.  And I'll pay myself a nickel for the privilege.
    

Now if someone will just move the cat from my face...

I remember coming in the other day and sitting down at the computer and posting on my blog for the first time in a long time.  I was taking a break from food preservation chores and enjoying every second of my time away from the stove/freezer/dehydrator...you know, the tools of the trade for Little Susie Homemaker.  I went to bed after catching up with about half my friends on-line.  I was so upset to hear about their losses and tragedies, but then there were those who had triumphs and victories in life and that cheered me back up again.  So, that was on Saturday.  I had canned 7 quarts of pears and knew that I would do no more until the coming weekend.  I remember going to Church on Sunday and greeting friends, adding Anya and Wilfred to our prayer list http://anya-kareltje.blogspot.com/ because her situation is so desperate at this time. (I urge you all to go read up on her situation and pray for them.)

But then came Sunday night.  I had a slight cough and my head began to feel as though it were stuffed with jello.  I've heard people say it is like cotton wool, but no, Jello is definitely what it seems to be.  I stretched out on the sofa and put a pillow beneath my head and under my knees while waiting for the person who might bring me a cold compress for my head and a warm drink for my hands.   When no such creature appeared to take care of my aches and snuffles, I got up and got the damned cold compress and made myself a cup of hot tea with honey and cinnamon. Grouchy was going to be the theme of the day. I also fetched a roll of paper towels, this was no job for Kleenex.   I sat, legs pulled beneath me, holding the cup gripped in two aching hands and sipped.  I placed the cold compress on my neck and immediately took it off while I developed a chill.   I remembered my little cross stitch sign I had done from an old Erma Bombeck quote:  Why do my family get to have flu in bed while I have it at the kitchen sink?   I dimly wondered what had ever happened to my lovely little cross stitch piece.   I cursed the garden that robbed me of Mac's tender care...damn garden.

So, I am not sure exactly how sick I should tell you I am.  I do know that I came to at least once  with one cat on my stomach and another wrapped around my neck.  I sort of whimpered and Mac came and moved JJ off my throat and went to move Hound, the cat from hell,  where she now lay possessively across my chest.  That was a mistake.  He quickly pulled his hand back while it was still attached to his arm and left me to my misery, Hound my only guardian.  Someone, the hot tea fairy maybe, brought me a cup of tea and wanted to know what was for supper.  The glare in their direction sent them scuttling backward.  That was Monday.  Tuesday I was up at the stove trying to fix Mac a hamburger when older son asked if I wanted him to do it.  "You sort of look like you might dive head first into that frying pan, " he warned me.  Turning over burning dinner duties to him I stumbled back to the sofa and the remote control.

Then  came Wednesday.  Still with a hacking cough, head more like warm tapioca  than Jello, I'm not making the mistake of taking my temperature .  I took it on Tuesday to find it was 101 and immediately felt 101% worse.  Won't do that again.  I tell Mac and older son if anyone calls to check on me to tell them I'm sitting up and taking a bit of broth. While I really don't feel much like phone talking,  oddly enough blogging relaxes me.  But I see that I've probably been up long enough, when everything I've just posted suddenly disappears from the screen.  Damn Windows 7.  Damn garden.  Damn Tea  Fairy.  But I hear that somewhere there is a Toddy Fairy.  So I'm wishing for a Toddy Fairy, and hoping she'll make it a double.  

I haven't been in for a while.  Actually for a very long while and for this I heartily apologize.  Do you remember back in March or April when I told you that Mac had planted 148 tomato plants?  Well, do you?  Do you remember me mentioning  the peas and cucumbers, the melons and lettuce, the whole gamut of garden goodies including peppers of all description and varieties that my own Jolly Green Giant had placed in the soil so lovingly?  Well?

This is an Armenian Melon...best cucumber ever7 jars of pears! one of five shelves of tomatoes peppersOh, this is JJ, you'll hear about him lateranother view of this fabulous cucumber!dehydrated potatoes, tomatoes and eggplant...more potatoes for winter wonders!dehydrated coconut.  I feel a cake coming on...

   Oh, and how about the potatoes, the okra and the eggplant, I'm sure you remember that, don't you?  Okay so now your memories are jogged and you'll readily forgive me for not stopping by to see you (and Lord how I've missed you all...I have lots of reading to catch up on and catch up I will!)  I haven't even mentioned the peaches and the pears that have found their way into my freezer and canning pot, not to mention the blueberries (they outdid themselves, too)   Today I put up 7 quarts of pears and next weekend will find me doing the self same thing.  My pear tree, though small, runneth over.  And hey, did you know that pears do not ripen on the tree, that you have to pick them and let them sit in a nice basket for about a week (sometimes more) before they develop that lovely pear flavor and sweetness?  So today Mac picked me a bushel of pears and by next Saturday it will be time to break out the canner and the Mason jars yet again.  So here is what I have done for the past two months...canned 50 jars of tomatoes, frozen 50 quarts of them, eaten a fair number of them as Sink Sandwiches...you know what a Sink Sandwich is, right?  It's a big old 'mater sliced thickly and  laid out like the Sunday goose on a well mayonnaise- slathered piece of light bread (read loaf bread)  plenty of salt and pepper and topped with another piece of light bread (just a smear of mayo this time) and then you assume the position...push up your sleeves, stand over the sink and dive in, letting the juice run down your arms and drip into the sink while you make shivery noises with your eyes closed.  I have dehydrated potatoes, tomatoes and eggplant.  I have fried eggplant and frozen them individually on a tray to bag and use this winter for Eggplant Parmesan.  I have dehydrated  and made beef jerky, dehydrated coconut and bananas (none of them came from the garden, more's the pity), dehydrated peppers (cubanellas, bell, jalapeno,) made pepper sauce with cayenne peppers and when I tell you that my pantry is full, I kid you not.  I have made pepper relish and cabbage chowchow, picked and put up greenbeans and peas.  And I still have to call Phoebe and see how her tomatoes did this summer.  I also am not kidding when I tell you that Mac has planted me six more tomato plants for a late crop, spinach and collards, speckled butterbeans and green beans and more of these marvelous Armenian Melons (the biggest cucumber you will ever see in your life!)  I can't wait for Winter!  I'm running on empty here, I may  need a nap.

Welcome to Orchard Cottage

Yes, I say WELCOME~and I do hope that you will be able to visit us this summer!  Here in Jefferson the sun has been shining, the rain has been falling and the weeds have been popping their wee heads out of rich earth teasing me away from the computer to do mass destruction on their numbers~Because we had such a miserably cold winter, (and we haven't had one that cold in a few years,)  now we have wonderful fruit like these Granny Smith apple dripping from the limbs of a very old tree.

We tried the topsy turvy tomato set up last year but find that we much prefer our own variation on the theme...we took a hanging planter and drilled a one inch hole in the bottom, lined it with newspaper, made an X thru the paper to insert the tomato plant root and then covered the root with a good potting mix and planted a basil plant at the top of the planter.  So, we have this great looking basil plant on top and a grape tomato hanging beneath.  We now have four of these planters, one with basil, one with sage, one with stevia and finally one with greek oregano.  I love this idea...Mac is a genius!

In one of the raised beds you'll see our large tomato plants.  Also growing on the fence are string beans and cucumbers.  We've already begun consuming the cucumbers...I peel and slice them and keep them in olive oil and vinegar...yummy! 

  The peach trees (we have a dozen of them that Mac grew from seed) are all bearing fruit this summer.  We look forward to going out to the orchard and pulling a tree ripened peach from our very own trees!  Most of the trees are now four years old, but even the younger ones are providing fruit!  Isn't that amazing?

And this is one of the 180  tomato plants in the garden...it promises to be a bumper year for the many different varieties we have growing in the garden.  This one is called 1884 because that's when it's seed was first discovered.  We have Mortgage Lifter, German Head, German Queen, Guatemala , a Russian tomato called Silvery Fir and of course the many grape type tomatos for salads.  Looks like I'm going to be busy canning and freezing this summer when it comes time to lay the garden by!

 

The plum trees once again do not disappoint.  The wild plums are plentiful, too.  I've decided to try my hand at a mixture of red plum and wild plum for jelly.  I haven't made jelly in years...Joanne (our neighbor) is such a master of jelly making that I feel intimidated!  But I'm going to give it a try.

The pear trees are no slackers either, people!  We've decided to thin them out so that the limbs don't have to be propped up to support their weight.  I'd rather have a bushel of great pears than hundreds of dullards and broken limbs to boot!  Wouldn't you?

The pond is not safe from our planting endevours, either...here you will see it surrounded by plants, tomato, cucumber and flowers like my hibiscus and the New Guinea Impatiens...the bees are quite happy to be included in the fray!

Meanwhile, down in the garden the squash have decided to do us proud...and there will be enough to can this year.  This will certainly taste good in the cold winter months... like opening a can of sunshine on a cold wintry night.

I'm so happy with the fig trees this year.  They apparently enjoyed the cold winter, too.  The tree on the other side of the house looks just as good as these two.  These trees are now five years old, they are brown turkey fig trees and make the most delicious figs...from which I will be making Fig preserves this summer.

The blueberry bed is doing better than we had hoped for.  The drought last year took its toll, but they have recovered nicely, with Mac's tender loving care and heroic efforts of watering and fertilizing.  We'll have quite a few lovely fruits to enjoy and yes, to freeze and can.

And this is view of the garden that Mac built.  His love of God's earth shows in the holes in the knees of his jeans and the deep red skin on his neck where his head is bent to toil in the sun.

But still, he can take a breather, go sit in the edge of the woods and eat blueberries to revive himself for a bit...they call it a respite...a simple word for an awesome event.

Help I'm lost in the garden and can't find my way to the computer

It's happened.  I knew it would...I'm simply surprised that  I'm surprised...the garden holds me in thrall and wraps me in vines of cucumbery rapture topped with tomato dreams.  I took a simple walk through the freshly turned garden dirt and once I had hit my knees to pull the crabby little weed that had dared desecrate that pristine soil , it was to late to turn back.  Way to late.  Now there grows 104 tomato plants, 32 cucumber vines, 6 watermelon plants (Charleston Grey how I love thee) and some little seedless wonders will be ready to go in today.  There is squash both yellow and white and I have dared to request 2 zucchini plants and Mac has graciously obliged me.  I do know that I will be begging people to take their fruit off my hands before it's over, but I simply can't help myself.  And now, no matter how I scream that I need to visit with my blogging friends, the veil of spring wonder will not release me. 

The flowers alone take up hours as I plant and deadhead, weed and wander.  My Whimsey Woods dream is finally coming together and I've had the joy of sharing it with friends recently.  My pal Phoebe from the library in Wadesboro (North Carolina) came out with friends last week and I was able to share that dream with them.  As we strolled through the woods I pointed out the whimsical and the magical that hid down among the oak roots and high up in the pine boughs.  There are angels and fairies, comical bee pilots and the sweet little church (birdhouse) in the wildwood.  There is the Hotel rising high up the bold pine, with a taxi cab to let out a patron to enter the Empty Arms Hotel..I recently added a little red school house since the birds must have a safe place to learn and eat, .there is the frog shaped open bath for squirrel and bird alike..,the ground level pool for the opossum and raccoon that I know wander the woods at nightfall.  All are welcome, no matter what their parentage might be. There can be no room for prejudice in this perfect world I have created.   Phoebe and friends took home with them loads of tomato plants, heads of fresh lettuce from the garden and adopted a number of canna lilies looking for a new home.  I heard from her the following day and she tells me that others want to come visit our gardens and the Whimsey Woods.   That's one of the best compliments  I have ever had!

So, forgive me for being away so long.  I can't promise I will be back tomorrow or even the day after.  But I want to take this time to wish all the mothers out there a wonderful day andtomorrow and remind you not to  forget to take Monday as a day of recovery.  Now, off to check on all of you I can before I get tempted back to the gardens!