I've Been Dreaming About Food Lately

In these last months of 2013, I've awoken with dreams in my head of different foods that I crave for the rest of the day. The only solution to getting them out of my mind is to let myself eat that food. The reason this becomes such a dramatic decision in my life, is that my husband and I have been "watching our weight" for over six years, counting calories and points.....sometimes losing. But for the last 6 months or so I've been watching my weight and my waistline increase. Therefore, denying myself baked goods has been a habit that I've accepted, and thought I didn't even care about.

Then came the dream about Angel Food Cake. At this point I don't even remember the dream, except that my Mom was baking the cake in her old kitchen from my childhood. As my alarm went off in the morning I could still smell the sweet aroma. The thought of the sponginess of the cake that I used to squeeze between my fingers when I was little became an obsession, and I bought a nice round one at the bakery. There was a farmers' market that day and they had the most luscious huge boysenberries and strawberries. I had a plan to satisfy my craving by sharing with grand kids that were scheduled to come over for a couple of hours.
Just when the first little one stated, "Grandma, I'm hungry!" I was ready with an answer... "Well, have you ever had Angel Food Cake?" She said," I Love Angel Food Cake!" "So do I!" Said the 3 year old, (even though I'm not sure he'd ever tasted it.)
I had already cut up the strawberries and stirred in some sugar, and they and the sugared boysenberries were put in separate red glass bowls. The kids helped me put it all on the table,  and it was a free-for-all as everyone had a slice of the plain, but luscious cake, covered with berries and covered with whipped cream squirted from a container. "I need more whipped cream on mine. I can still see a strawberry over here!" Seconds were had by some, and it was so satisfying, and not that bad for a lunch at Grandma's.

A few nights later I dreamt of my mother- and father-in-law, (Tutu and Grandpa), in their old apartment in Richmond, baking sugar cookies together. they made the best, lightest and most crispy sugar cookies ever. They made the dough, and then formed 1 inch balls with it, rolled the balls in a bowl of sugar, and squished the ball flat with the bottom of a glass that had also been dipped in sugar. Then they sprinkled even more sugar on top before baking. We all remember them working together as a friendly team in the kitchen. They were called "Helen Z's Sugar Cookies", and I used to have the recipe written in Tutu's handwriting, in my recipe file. Soon after breakfast, I was disappointed to not find it there, but found what was probably the same one in my "Joy of Cooking" book. (see Sugar Drop Cookies with Oil).
Once again giving in to my craving, I took a trip to Trader Joe's to buy some fresh flour and sugar. This was a real commitment to baking something. My mouth was starting to water at the thought of a cup of coffee with one of those cookies. Then I spotted semi-sweet chocolate chunks, a substitute for chocolate chips. I remember how everyone used to love my chocolate chip cookies that I made when I was a teenager. I vowed to make both of these cookies before the year is up.... only when there are plenty of people to share them with...... just so I could get my fill.
When I got home, it turned out that one granddaughter was visiting, so I thought I'd use this as a grandmotherly thing to do, and invited her to help me. Sometimes it seems that events like this can be rather nerve wracking for me. Standing on a chair next to the counter, the five year old kept insisting on pouring each measured ingredient into the bowl herself. I set the the bowl down in to the sink to minimize mess. She stirred the flour and made designs in it before slapping the spoon into it so it poofed all over. She proved to my amazement, though that she knew how to crack an egg. Her cookie dough balls kept growing in size and were re-dipped into the sugar extra times. When it came time to sprinkle the extra sugar on the cookies, I found some red and green colored sugar to make it look Christmasy. Before I knew it, the sprinkling turned out to be more of a "dump". I could hear myself being kind of anal about "we have to make sure that all this sugar doesn't stay on the pan... it might burn.... look I'll just brush it off". Bad Grandma. The first batch of cookies actually came out great. I felt I needed alone time though, so I had her hang some ornaments on the tree and do an art project while I kept cranking out more pan fulls.

One other morning, I awoke thinking about a wonderful sweet bread that my manager used to bring in to share with everyone. I had spotted the Mexican bakery some time ago, where "Senorita Bread" is their specialty, The Star Bakery in San Pablo, CA. While out doing last minute things for Christmas, I told my husband I was having another craving. We agreed to get it over with and joined people in line waiting for the next batch to come out of the oven. The aroma was heavenly. Senorita Bread is sold in boxes, the smallest having 15 pieces. We decided that was enough for our household. Each piece of hot, soft, leavened white bread is covered with butter and sugar. I think there is even a piece of butter inside each little bread that continues to melt, making the tiny loaves at the bottom extra buttery and sugary. Oh, I love it so! There is a warning to each buyer that the bread is very hot, don't eat it in the car, since melted butter might get on your clothes. We heeded the warning and waited to share this luscious, vein-clogging treat at home. Just two or three for me, and I checked that temptation off my list.

Yesterday, we had a "little Christmas" for one of the families who were out of town and didn't get to open their gifts yet. I had yet to make my chocolate chunk cookies. Time was running out. It's already December 30, and I saw this as a good opportunity to let everyone get fat with me. The secret of my old recipe is that I use Crisco shortening instead of butter. The old Toll House recipe on the chocolate chip package back in the 60's called for that. Butter, which is now recommended, just doesn't do the trick, and everyone always liked mine best.
When everyone arrived, the house smelled wonderful, with the fresh cookies and the scent of the Christmas tree. The semi-sweet chocolate chunks were a treat, since they provided more dense chocolate. Then my husband said, how about giving your secret recipe away? I did, but I kind of wish I hadn't, since I swear I could read their minds about hydrogenated fats and preservatives. Oh well, we all agreed. They taste yummy, and we don't eat like this everyday.

So now I'm in training for the New Year of 2014. The "My Fitness Pal" app on my iPhone has been notified of my new weight. It's a nice app that helps you count calories and how much exercise you've done, and shares your progress with other friends that are using it. And, did I mention? It's free! I can hardly wait to input that we'll be going to our aquatic fitness class on Thursday!
Now that my cravings have been sated, I'm ready for my usual manic first week of the year. I'll pamper myself this year with good health and creativity. How about you?

Getting Ready For Christmas: The Christmas Tree

Back in December of 1966, when I was 16 years old, (I'll wait while you do the math...), I went to my friend Anne's house, and was in awe of her Christmas tree. Her mother was very much in to decorating for every season, but this tree was so covered with ornaments and lights that it was hard to think where you might put one more. You could hardly see the green of the tree! I vowed in my heart that day, that some day I would have a tree like that.
A year later, Anne and I were in a modern dance class together, and we were supposed to make up a dance with some other girls, with costumes on, as soldiers, to Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker music. Her mother came to our performance, and gave us each a wrapped gift of a toy soldier/Nutcracker ornament, who looked familiarly like us, in our blue tights, red tunics, and tall hats. I cherished this, and thought, "This is the first ornament for my tree!"

From then on, I made a plan to buy at least one lovely ornament each year. By the time I had moved out of my Mom's house and had my own tree to decorate, I didn't have that many ornaments of my own, and had to subsidize the tree with packages of shiny metallic ball ornaments. When I was pregnant with my daughter, I found a recipe for "salt dough" ornaments, that could be painted, baked and shellacked. They've lasted a surprisingly long time, and so far only the snowman has lost his carrot nose and one carefully made angel was chewed up by our dog and then spit out because of the saltiness. Both of my kids and I made more years later, trying to duplicate favorites, and even pressing a dog's paw into the dough for posterity.

The kids brought craftily made treasures home from school. The story of one my daughter made in preschool is told every year. She always gives the disclaimer that she was only 3, and no one told her what it was supposed to be or that it would be hanging. Her little felt snowman hangs usually in the back of the tree with his boots on his head and his hat on the bottom. .....Darling!

Wrapped candy canes are something else to fill in with, but not too near the bottom of the tree, since the aroma may be too tempting for dogs. One dog we had, had became quite adept at snatching a cane from the tree. We watched as she settled down with it between her paws, chewed the cellophane open and licked the lovely peppermint with her eyes closed, looking dreamy at the lusciousness of it all.

So then there's the purchase of the tree. A real tree! Some people go somewhere in the woods to chop down the perfect specimen. We did that one time, and my daughter ended up scrunched into the back of our VW Adventurewagen, unhappily with it for the long drive home. One of the local lots suffices since then. My son and I found that the choosing of the tree went much quicker when his sister went off to college. We may not have been quite as discerning, but we could be in and out with a nice, full tree within 15 minutes, giving each other a high five!

A few years later, I had a job as a department store "trimmer". During the year, we'd change displays, and dress the mannequins in the latest styles. As the holidays approached, we dressed the entire store up for Christmas, to be ready for the day after Thanksgiving. The trees that were throughout the store had to be adorned with new lights, usually about 8 strands per tree and they were carefully wrapped around each branch, reaching deep in toward the trunk, to make a 3D effect. The maliable branches were "fluffed" to put them into the shape of a perfect tree after being stored away all year. I still insist on doing my own lights on our tree at home. Each year I use about 8 or 9 strands of multicolored lights and a couple of strands of a solid color to use as a lit garland, swirling from top to bottom. One year I used clear white for the main lights with a swirl of red lights like a candy cane. This isn't advised, since folks wished they had sunglasses on if they sat in the room with the tree.

When putting on the lights, it's good to have some mood music, like Bing Crosby, or Amy Grant's Christmas album, or at my house my husband will play piano so I can sing as I decorate. It's a slow process though, so I recommend lighting a fire in the fireplace, sharing some eggnog with whiskey in it, and watching "It's a Wonderful Life" for entertainment.  It's fun to make sure to have the bell ornaments ready for the end when the angel gets his wings!

It IS a Wonderful Life!!

Ribbon, wide, with wire on the edges, can also be used as a garland. Yard length pieces of ribbon can look wispy, when they're bent and curled sort of like ribbon candy winding through the branches. Simple bows can be made as well to fill in spaces, from some other velvety or shiny wired ribbon to help them keep their shape and attached with more wire to the branches. All these decorations last from year to year, and more can be added each year.

Once folks know that you like Christmas ornaments, it's likely that you'll receive a few as gifts. When I remarried, I made a tradition of giving a "family" ornament to everyone in our new combined family each year. The grandchildren are starting to notice the same snowmen, sleds, and angels that they have on their own tree.

Back in the day when my kids were younger, we had a lot of pets. Among them at one point, we had a dove and two parakeets. Every year, as soon as we got our tree set up in the living room, the birds were let loose to play in it. One Christmas eve, the birds were let out by one of the kids, to fly into the decorated tree. One of the parakeets was excited to see a bayberry candle lit on the mantle, and zoomed over to sit on the edge of it. Everyone screamed at her, but it took her little bottom a couple of seconds to realize the heat. She flew off, unharmed, but the room smelled like burnt feathers.

The kids and I started a tradition of putting collections of baubles together on the tree. The angels always are delegated to "fly" around the top. There is usually an imperfection, or hole in the shape of the tree, so the birds populate that area. The 3 wise men and any characters from the Christmas story are close by the angels, but the Santas are given a lower spot, not to outdo Jesus, and of course the nutcrackers and soldiers (especially my first ornament) are pretty much in front. Stories have to be told about many of the cherished ones, like a few that were my Mom's, the little Russian Santa on skis that looks more tattered every year. Having designated places for certain things keeps guests more interested and they sometimes joke about where things should go, trying to get the "system" right. Little kids can hang things anywhere though, since after they leave I'll probably move them.: )

A new tradition has developed the last few years, that has become my daughter's favorite. She's been organizing a tree decorating party and inviting her friends. It really turned into a good party when my husband surprised everyone with cracked crab, champagne, eggnog and brandy. It's been a delicious tradition ever since, with some of the same friends coming each year. They all bring some goodies to share, and patiently listen to our stories of the ornaments while we watch Elf, or National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.

My husband brought with him and his family the angel we place on the top, and the Danish tradition of Dancing Around the Christmas Tree. Someone mentioned at Thanksgiving, that it's not really dancing. That's true, but on Christmas Eve, before the gifts are opened, the tree is painstakingly moved out from the corner and the family holds hands around it. Grandpa, (my husband), usually calls out the song we'll sing, and then we sort of walk/march around the tree singing "Silent Night". Next he calls out "Jingle Bells", and we turn and go the opposite direction, with teenagers' eyes rolling and the happy smiles of the little ones. One time he said, "Should we do another song?", and a granddaughter cried out, "How about Old MacDonald Had a Farm!". Therefore, smiling, we marched (danced) in the other direction to two verses.

So..... It's almost time to buy our tree. What color lights should I use for an accent garland? Should we put the tree in a different corner of the room? ........ Actually, I think since I've written those words, I'm blessed to have these little concerns in my life. God bless anyone who reads this please.....and a merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Staycation in Half Moon Bay....Number 2

It's Saturday, October 26, 2013, and as we drove home to Richmond from Half Moon Bay today, we felt very smug. There was no traffic going our direction on Hwy 92, yet cars filled with families setting out for the coast to check out the pumpkin farms were barely moving, backed up all the way to Hwy 280. They must not have checked their GPS. We wished we could tell them to turn around and get a pumpkin at Safeway.
Doug and I had the time to spend during the week at Half Moon Bay, and went to the best pumpkin patch around. It's called Arata's Pumpkin Patch. Some will be disappointed because they no longer have the big hay maze they were famous for, and now have a corn maze. I spotted a lookout tower that I think is used to look down on the maze to make sure everything's okay. This year I don't think it was needed, since I could see the adults heads above the corn. Kids were having fun in the petting zoo with the goats, and there were some good looking snacks to buy, but we weren't hungry. Just know that everything has a price. We made it out really cheap since we only bought one of their many assorted pumpkins, called a "turban"... and we didn't have kids with us.

The reason we go to Half Moon Bay is to stay at a favorite place of ours, The Cypress Inn. It's one of the "Inns by the Sea", and after you've stayed there one time, vacations are half off for you and your friends. This one is located near Miramar Beach, right on the coastal trail, and the sea is literally right in front of the Inn. It comes complete with an "innkeeper", Reg, who has hot and cold appetizers, crudites and cheeses, and lots of wine and other beverages for us to have our way with at 5:00 pm. We count this as our dinner.
At  7 pm, Reg brings out a homemade dessert, such as Apple Crisp with vanilla ice cream. Yum!
In the morning, you have a choice of breakfast brought to your room on a tray, or being served in the lobby by the fire and visiting with the other guests. There's always fresh fruit, an assortment of croissants and breads, yogurt, and sausages, plus something cooked to order, like Eggs Benedict or a big egg, potato, cheese burrito. We figure that with all the food we're given, the room runs about $90.!
And then there's the view...

This time, we made sure to spend the night on a Thursday so we could listen to our favorite piano player, Terry Disley, play his songs at the Miramar Restaurant, only about a 2 block walk along the trail. We're always delighted to hear his renditions of everything from Beatles tunes to Gershwin and listen to him speak with his great English accent. I suppose we might be becoming "groupies" since this time we bought a CD and had our picture taken with him!

The next day we had time to take a drive further down the coast and have lunch at a usual haunt, The Paradise Grill, at Capitola Beach. The locally grown Watsonville artichoke marinated in spices and stuffed with tons of shrimp salad and served with Caesar dressing was luscious!
We were fascinated by the unusual amount of seagulls that were bathing in the end of the San Lorenzo River. The restaurant's patio looks out on it and the Capitola Venetian Court, a scenic attraction. There were SO MANY birds...layers of them, now some pelicans, flying over the sand and out over the ocean and beyond the pier....it was like being in "The Birds"!

The hordes of birds were fun to look at, but most folks didn't venture out on to the sand for fear of getting bombed. We sat on a bench for awhile and observed more pelicans diving for food, sometimes 4 or 5 would splash into the water at the same time. Even some seals were barking and getting in to the action. On our iPhone, we discovered that there were schools of anchovies that they were all going after.
I had a kind of embarrassing thing happen as we sat on a bench  by the beach. A woman near me said to her husband. "Look honey! I think the splashes are fish jumping out of the water to be eaten by the birds!"
Well, since we had been sitting there so long and had the whole thing figured out, I said, "Actually the penguins are diving down into the water to eat the schools of anchovies!" She looked at me kind of funny and they walked away. I slowly turned to Doug and re-listening in my mind to what I had uttered, said, "Did I just say 'penguin'?" He nodded. There I go, being Miss Smarty Pants, and come out with the wrong word! Oh well.....
Another reason to come to Capitola was to buy myself a nice new silver ring, since I had lost one and my finger felt naked. I have a fat finger, so most of the little shops didn't have my size 10 ring and they all refered me to Super Silver Capitola, where they had 3 Trays of size 10 rings! Everything was 1/2 off as well, and I love a sale! It's a good thing that I wanted something simple and light, since they sell rings by their weight. Doug was once again impressed with my frugality.
Even ANOTHER place drawing us to Capitola was Petite Provence, on Bay Ave. I looked online for vinyl coated fabric with French prints that I had seen in Provence a few years ago. This is part of my plan to jazz up our patio. I'm going to cover the patio table with a beautiful yellow and red poppy pattern that also has painting of lavender on it. Check out their website to see the beautiful designs. I bought the fabric by the yard instead of a ready-made tablecloth, and I'll tack it right on. It should last 10 years in the elements, or so the owner said.
When it was time to head for home, we drove up the coast, watching more and more flocks of pelicans gathering and diving for their anchovie lunch.

Next stop, after a little traffic going back across the new Bay Bridge in SF, was home. We brought out a gift that Doug bought me, a great free-standing hammock. We bought it in Half Moon Bay and the wonderful Twice Is Nice Store, where they have seconds from Costco at unbelievable prices. It popped together with no assembly required.
As my Grandma Diddo used to say....

                                                                  "Ain't life Grand?!"

Travels With Our Prius, Part 6: The Great Pestigo Fire of 1871 (rated PG for horror)

After spending a night in a campground in Peshtigo, Wisconsin, my husband and I were encouraged to visit the Peshtigo Fire Museum. It wasn't hard to find, since most streets have signs pointing visitors in the right direction. The Great Fire is the claim to fame for the little town that actually had to rise from the ashes of despair, since about 7/8th of the population was killed within an hour and a half on the evening of October 8th, 1871.

The people of Peshtigo want everyone to know about this tragedy. We were shocked to hear that it happened on the very same night of the Great Chicago Fire, which killed 250 people, and has the added legend of Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicking over a lantern to start it all. Peshtigo was isolated for a couple of days, without news being spread, since all forms of communication had been damaged. Within less than 2 hours, at least 1500 people had died....perhaps up to 2500 folks due to records having been destroyed.

It had been a mill town, using the technique of "slash and burn" to clear plots of land. The mills in town had piles of sawdust around them, and the town's streets were covered with even more sawdust.
There had been a drought, and many small wildfires had been starting up, and put out as fast as possible by men with buckets.  For two weeks before the big fire, a woman who lived on the outskirts of town told her children that "the sky was so smoky from the wildfires that the sun couldn't shine through". The clothes on her line looked grey and the smoke made it hart to breathe. The location of their home saved their lives so they could tell their story.

They said that at 8:30 p.m., the "heavens opened up and it rained fire". Men dropped their buckets and ran to try to save their own families. Someone said, "It was like the air was on fire!" Clad in nightgowns and caps, they "shrieked with horror as the fire engulfed their loved ones and they saw them burned alive." Some folks jumped down their wells for safety, but were boiled alive.

Hundreds of people felt that the Peshtigo river, already at a low ebb was their only chance. So many parents led their families into the water, followed even by their cattle, horses and pigs. Unfortunately, the bridge over the river became compromised by the raging fire and succumbed to the weight of carriages and horses and fell in to the river to crush those under it.

Some made it through the night and the next day, staying in the river, trying to stand securely on the mucky river bottom or holding on to horses, or whatever they could. Still, the river wasn't safe, for "swooping sparks and bits of fire dropped out of the sky burning entire bodies". Still a rushing river, some citizens died of hypothermia in the frigid water.

A nice story out of this tragedy, is that Father Pernin, of the Catholic church in town, rescued the Tabernacle, which holds the communion host (Christ's body) from the church and brought it down to the river. It was found later, floating in the reeds, untouched by fire, and not even smelling of smoke. It is on display at the Fire Museum in Peshtigo, encased in plexiglass, good as new.

There have been several theories of how this inferno enveloped so many lives so fast. The true cause is uncertain. Between drought, wildfires in the area, the fact the town was rife with sawdust, kindling for the fire. Studies by weather historians suggest there may have been meteorite falls to add to the possibilities. Other scientists say that there were several fires that occurred that day in Illinois, Michigan and Wisconsin that could have been caused by the impact of fragments from the Comet Biela.
When it comes down to a root cause, no external source of ignition was actually needed. On the day of the fire, a cold front moved in from the West fanning the smaller fires, starting the firestorm. It raged hotter than a crematorium, turning sand into hot glass.There were reports that the firestorm generated a tornado so powerful that it threw rail cars and houses into the air.  A wall of flame, a mile high, five miles wide, traveling at 90-100 mph, covered 1.5 million acres of forest and prairie till there was nothing left to burn.

A very welcome and heavy rain finally fell the next day, calming the fire. In the days ahead, the father of the family mentioned before who lived on the outskirts of town, came with others to pick up the dead and make rough boxes in which to bury them. As many as 5 bodies from one family shared a casket, since they were reduced to only bones.  Others weren't burned, they just suffocated from the intense hot air. Up to 350 bodies that couldn't be identified are buried in a mass grave, in the memorial cemetery outside the museum in Peshtigo.
So there. I've told about a piece of history that is little known. Sorry if it was hard to take.
God bless the souls of the people of Peshtigo.

Butterfly, Oh Flutter By!

Oh Butterfly, thank you for choosing our yard as your own!
I look to the sky on any day, and I see you.
Even when I look down, your shadow floats by
My heart melts at the sight, endearing my closeness to you.

I watch you flutter around the edge of the property like a sentry guarding the perimeter.
Then you pose on a chair till I say, "Look at that there!"...
...but not long enough to snap a picture.

Once more around the yard, and then you tease me,
pausing on a branch of a bush that I'm pruning.
Your yellows and black show off the blue spot on each wing,
like a jewel encased in a setting.

As you sit on the branch, your wings pump slightly for balance,
about to take off again, I'm betting.

Oh sweet Butterfly, do your dance. Flutter by. Fly for me.
Guard our yard if you think you must, from those tiny intruders.
Little moths give you chase,
then you fly like an ace, protecting us from the marauders.

As I sit in my chair, I imagine one day that you'll come to land on my finger.
I'll be patient, and quiet.
I am kind. I can wait.
I have time for you to come sit on my finger...and linger.

Travels With Our Prius, Part 5: Peshtigo, WI...... The 109th Day of the Two Week Trip

Since I'm not our trip's designated navigator, I very rarely look at a map. As we drove along the northwest side of Lake Michigan, I noticed there were several signs and bumper stickers that read "UP". My husband explained that we were in Upper Michigan, and it's separated by Lake Michigan from Lower Michigan. Huh.
It wasn't long before we crossed the border into Wisconsin, and I expressed interest in stopping. It was nice enough out, with a chance of rain in the morning, according to the radar app on the iPhone, so we decided to chance it to camp for the night.
We searched for Badger Park and Campground on the web, and found it on the edge of town, along the Peshtigo River. As we pulled in, teenage boys were riding their bikes and skateboards out of the park. "Hooligans! I said." As we drove further in, though, it seemed a very nicely kept up park, even boasting a brand new, huge wooden climbing structure. It had aspects of castles and forts and bridges, a wonderful place to play make-believe. It turns out was donated and built by local woodworkers.
No one was at the gate, so we drove slowly around to find the perfect site. We passed by a group of about 10 people that looked like they were together, so I voted to go farther away from them and closer to the restrooms.
The Prius was parked in its place for the night, and we decided, as we so often do, to sit first and have a drink by the campfire. A young woman, about 27 and kind of round, with tousled blond hair, walked over to our site. She wore a loose dress that she may have had on for days.  It was a little too short, showing her bare and stocky legs.
"Hi, I'm Audrey." she announced in her childlike way. She rather bluntly asked us where our tent was, and we told her we would sleep in our car. Her questions kept coming then, and we told her about our retirement trip. She told us that we could put our money for the night in an envelope in the box and the guy would get it in the morning. Then she turned and left to go back to her campsite with the big group.
About a half hour later, Audrey came back, lugging some pieces of wood for us to burn in our campfire. Surprised, we thanked her, as we started to get out our things to make dinner. She surprised us again and said, "You could come over and have dinner with us. It's my birthday." Doug and I looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and said, "Why not?!" Doug said, "Should we bring something to share? Maybe some baked beans? " We had just grown to love baked beans on the East coast, and had a big can.  Audrey said "Sure.", and we gathered up our can opener, our little covered pot, a spoon to serve with and our drink mugs.
We grabbed our solar powered lantern and followed Audrey over to her site. There was a campfire raging, and plenty of extra chairs, so we didn't need to bring our own. An older woman sat near  the fire. "I'm Marnie. Glad you could come. We have plenty of food left over." and then to her grandson, "Robby! get these here folks a coupla plates!" Robby did as he was told, and I said, "We brought some baked beans to share, if you'd like some. I'll have to heat them though."
Marnie called out again to Robby. "Robby! Crank that there grill down closer to the fire so they can heat their beans. I love baked beans! Haven't had 'em for years!"
As Doug opened the can, I got our pan ready. I watched Robby turn a crank that lowered a circular grill held by three chains as it hung from a high tree branch. The grill hovered over the flames, and Doug placed our pot of beans on it. Marnie ordered us to fill our plates, since it turns out everyone else had already eaten. There were two big covered foil pans, and I dished us a little each of the chicken and the potatoes, in case they seemed to have been sitting out for too long. It turns out that my fears were unfounded, and everything was hot and tasty and we both had seconds. Doug dished out our beans and everyone tried some.
Another woman, Stella, Marnie's daughter, and her little girl Tiffy, had emerged from their tent. "I want some birthday cake!", shouted Tiffy. "Hold your horses, little girl!" cried her Mom. "I don't know if you deserve any today!" We noticed that little 7 year old Tiffy, couldn't seem to do anything right in her mom's eyes. "But my stomach hurts!" and then she coughed a few huge low coughs.
"That's another reason you shouldn't have cake!" retorted Stella.
Yet another lady hobbled out of another tent with a cane, about Marnie's age. "I gotta come out and meet these folks that have traveled so far..... and I want to hear one of those songs you've been singin' while you drive along!" We were taken aback by this statement, but then remembered when Audrey had been grilling us about our trip, she had said, "Don't you get bored, just driving along?", We told her among other things, that sometimes we would sing songs that we remembered from Sunday School and from Pentecostal churches we had gone to. Audrey must have told everyone our story.
I said, "Oh, okay." and then started singing, "We have come into this house, to call upon his name, and worship him." Everyone joined in, seemed to know the song, and by the third verse, I think there was harmony. It was wonderful there with these strangers to find a bond that you didn't know you had around the campfire on a starlit night. We sang another song, and then Tiffy said impatiently, "Now is it time for cake?"
I volunteered to light the candles and cut the cake, which was huge, neon colored, and from a bakery. They had actually already enjoyed the cake earlier, and only half was left, but we put the candles on the untouched side and sang to Audrey, who's face shone in the firelight. I had an ulterior motive to do the serving. I wanted to cut back on chances of catching little Tiffy's cough, so I sort of graciously served everyone what was once again, a surprisingly delicious dessert!
We excused ourselves after that and toddled back to our site and got the car ready for bed. It drizzled during the night, but was dry enough in the morning to have our usual Peet's coffee, cereal and fruit. We saw that Audrey was over at someone else's campsite talking to them. Later, while we were packing up our bedding and getting out clothes to change into, she appeared once again to satisfy her curiosity about how we did things. She watched Doug sit at the back of the car opening putting on his socks, and me using the top of the Prius as a vanity to get out my pills and put in my contacts.
The man in charge of the campground came over to say hello. He knew Audrey and greeted her. Stella and Tiffy passed by on their way to the bathroom. Tiffy yelled out hoarsely, "Hi Mr. Ranger!!" He said, "How are ya doin' today Tiffy?" She thought for a second, and then called out, "I woke up!!" He shook his head and said, "Well that's always a good thing!!"
John, "Mr. Ranger", told us that while we're here we should make sure we go to the Peshtigo Fire Museum. "It's really something. Most of this town burned down the same night that the Big Chicago Fire burned in 1871.....you know when Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicked over a lantern? No one really knows about our fire. It was really awful! Lots of people died." Doug loves history, so I knew what would be next on our agenda.

Travels With Our Prius, Part 4: Out of Gas!! ....The 117th Day of Our Two Week Retirement Trip

It's a hot day in August 2013, and we find ourselves sitting in our camp chairs in the sand at the side of Interstate 80, just outside of Fernley, Nevada. We had called AAA, since we ran out of gas. Always trying to make lemonade out of lemons, my husband, Doug got out our fold-up camp chairs, put them in the shade of a nice green sign that said "Fernley next 3 exits". There we sat to wait for the tow truck, also covered by our umbrella with one broken rib, sharing sips of water from our last refillable water bottle. As I searched in my purse for something, anything.... I found a cake batter flavored Chapstick and some artificial tear eye drops. Looking up to offer these to Doug, I see him splashing water on his face and neck. "Wait! What are you doing! We have to save that! It's our last water!"
"But it feels so good when the breeze hits you.", he explained. He put the cap back on the bottle, tried some of my Chapstick, but refused the eye drops. "I know the tow truck will come soon. We'll be fine."
I, of course took notes on our situation, and took pictures.

Our 2004 Prius has been a real trooper on this, the 117th day of our two week retirement trip. It's not "her" fault. We had stopped for lunch in Winnemucca at the Griddle Restaurant, and I suppose we felt so satisfied with our nice meal, that we didn't remember that the alarm had gone off earlier that told us that we were nearly out of gas. The warning light had actually come on, and beeped, before lunch, usually signaling that we still had 30 to 50 more miles. The next sign we saw said that the junction of I-95 was 10 miles away, so we were confident that there would be a gas station there. NOT!! There were just a few old and abandoned buildings.
The next town was 36 miles away, Fernley.... in the desolate, hot, desert.
We had to believe that we could make it, since there wasn't any town for less miles in every direction. I suggested that we sing Jesus songs...songs that we've known in our lives from Sunday school, and later in our lives, to comfort us. We drove along, singing, sometimes in harmony, and occasionally petitioning St. Anthony to "please come around, a gas station is needed, and can't be found", as Helen, my mother-in-law used to chant. (St. Anthony is actually my hero, and pays lots of attention to my petitions.)
Doug suggested that we cut to 60 mph and then 50 mph, even though the speed limit was 75. I started coasting down any down-sloped hills, trying to save the gas engine on the Prius and using the electric one. If I saw an 18-wheeler gaining on us, I flashed my hazard lights a few times to give them the heads up, so they'd have time to see us going slow and change lanes. On the screen display, we could see the levels on each engine, and suddenly the dashboard lights lit up with !! and Caution symbols! We knew we were out of gas, but Doug said, "Don't let the car stop! Just let the electric engine take us as far as it can!" The electric engine gave us a little hope.
We decided to get into the emergency lane and leave the hazard blinkers on, to let all the trucks go past us at 80 mph, and to see how far the battery would take us. There was a long hill ahead. I kept my foot on the gas peddle gently, and we slowly marched up that hill, inching along, sometimes down to 8 mph. Our hearts were beating fast, and since we had turned of the air conditioner, the sweat started breaking out. We actually started chanting "I think I can, I think I can!" My legs felt so tense just to keep up the pace and not change the momentum. Every inch, the car carried us up what we thought was the final the hill, was another inch we wouldn't have to walk.... we thought!
Finally, the electric engine gave up the ghost and stopped! The car had just had it! Poor thing. It had brought us, crawling all the way up a long incline on it's battery alone!
An addition to our stories of the Prius and the iPhone, is that instead of Doug pushing the car up the hill, as he suggested...... we called AAA (luckily we had a connection!). They arranged for a tow truck to come with 3 gallons of gas. The woman on the phone first made sure we were in a safe place. Doug said, as he looked at the big trucks hurtling by, and the heat rising from the sand, "Relatively safe." She wanted to know what the number of the exit was that we were closest to. We really didn't know, so we walked together with our umbrella till we could each squint to see that it was exit 30, not exit 80, and then walked back to the car, holding hands, stepping down into sand that had sudden holes made from snakes or rodents. She told us it would be about a half hour, and that the truck was being dispatched.

When we got back near the car, Doug decided to make the best of it, and brought our camp chairs over to the shade of the highway sign.

We sat there getting excited whenever we heard a truck. Some folks waved at us as they passed, smiling at us since I suppose we looked pretty silly,with our broken umbrella and all. The AAA guy came, grinning at us as well, and proceeded to deposit the 3 gallons into our thirsty car. He told us that there wouldn't have been any gas at till the third exit, so it wouldn't have helped to coast to the next one. He waited to make sure that everything started up fine, and we were off and running again.....to the next gas station.
We patted and stroked our little car on it's dashboard and apologized. (We really did.) Our little chariot had been good and faithful for all these miles, and look how we treated it. We also thanked God for keeping us safe and giving us peace on this stretch of highway. Three more days, little car. Three more days.

Travels with Our Prius, Part 3: A Real, Vintage, Green, and Sustainable Motel, of All Things

One day, this last July, we had spent the afternoon exploring the coast of southern Maine, visiting pottery shops, eating ice cream, and drinking in the almost heady atmosphere. We had driven, at this point, about 9,000 miles from our home in California, and after a wonderful lunch of lobster and corn on the cob, I was ready to have a nice rest. My husband, Doug, could see the weariness in my eyes, and he started keeping an eye out for a motel. We often camp for the night, but he knew this wasn't the night for a battle with mosquitoes or trying to get a campfire going with too little kindling, blowing on the coals.
There is the budget though. Doug can spot a motel in his price range, about $89 tops, preferably cheaper, at a glance. We stopped at a couple along the coast, and he came out shaking his head, saying that the room smelled like smoke, or the person at the desk didn't give him a good feeling, or the rate was too high.
I kept driving north along Belfast Rd., heading more toward the Central Coast, when he said, "Stop! Turn in here!" It was the Birchwood Motel, It's sign touted that it was Certifiably Green, and Sustainable. That sounded good, but I stayed in the car while Doug went in to the lobby. He was there for a few minutes, and I was thankful to see him walking toward our Prius with a key in his hand.
I got out and we checked out the room together. (I always get to make the final decision.)
Right away, I was impressed with the nice new wood floors and the fresh, neat paint job on the walls. The bed had a nice quilt, and the little toiletries, like soap and shampoo were organic and locally made. It was a keeper. Quite unlike me, I laid down on the bed, ready for a nap. Doug pampered me by bringing in all of our bags, computer, and camping refrigerator bag that had goodies enough for our dinner.
Not one for napping long, I got up, and we sat out on the long deck that's outside all the rooms, facing Penobscot Bay. We had drinks and worked on a crossword together. Heaven!
Doug mentioned that this place was surprisingly inexpensive, for what we got, only$89, I think with a senior discount, and that there was "some sort of breakfast" in the morning. After a delightful evening of watching a movie and checking our emails on the free Wi-Fi, and a great sleep on a Maine-made mattress with organic cotton sheets, we ventured over to the lobby in the morning for our "continental" breakfast.
I opened the screen door and walked into a lovely lobby....no,.. it was like a great-room. No one was at the reclaimed wood desk, so I looked around. There was a refrigerator that I wish I had known about, whose freezer is available to refreeze your blue ice for your camping cooler. Also, different cold drinks are available to guests if they leave a dollar or so in the bowl provided.
We followed the lovely coffee aroma over to a table laden with our fantastic breakfast. Since the owners are so Green, there were several mugs made by Eric's wife, Jenny, a potter, and napkins that were perfectly torn from cotton print cloth in squares, and folded. There were scones made from the eggs and the berries from the "farmette" there on the grounds, and a bowl of fruit from the garden too. We each had two glasses of fresh orange juice a piece, and another cup of coffee.

I was giddy. This is the ideal breakfast in a "motel". No Styrofoam cups. No plastic forks...only stainless steel. No straws or stir sticks. We put our used plates into a bus tray, along with our utensils and cups for washing and reusing, and went outside to enjoy the beautiful garden that we hadn't even discovered yet!

Turns out Eric and his family had taken an old motel, (there are many of them to be found in this area..in the shape of a strip), and have made theirs Special! They're known for being green, vintage, organic, and sustainable.... ALL that GOOD STUFF!!

They have worked on it for a few years, and it is their home. Therefore they don't want to put it on anything like Hotels.com, putting it out there for just ANYONE to book in to. They are pretty picky about who comes to stay at their motel. Their family lives there. This is their home, And their farm (ette). Since their family lives here, Eric kind of interviews folks that stay with them. No one is allowed to check in late, or bring pets. Still, people are welcomed with open arms and they hope folks will come back again and again for the location and the value.

The Birchwood Motel is enchanting. Just go around back and wander by their organic garden, and cluck at the chickens by the henhouse. They'll cluck back at you. There are a couple of vintage green metal chairs where you can sit just above the pond, to perch and look down on it all. Go check it out. You'll see a bit of Penobscot Bay from there. Bet you'll want to make it your home base when you  come to the lovely Central Maine coast.
Maybe we'll see you there..... I wish.

Travels With Our Prius (part 2), AND our iPhones

Upon arriving at my friend Carol's house in West Lafayette, Indiana, Doug went out to the car to bring in a few things. I stopped my conversation with Carol to call out, "Remember to be careful! Don't forget the hummingbird!" Carol had a puzzled expression on her face. I told her that our aging Prius had a new problem. When you pull up on the back hatch, part if it wants to come off in your hand, only being held on by the wires. I have put a sticker of a hummingbird to remind us to press the button and lift gently when we see the hummingbird, and then lift the hatch from the bottom. The sticker was to remind us to not do any more harm to our poor car.
When we left on our trip after retiring from our "jobs" on April 22nd, 2013, it was to be a two week trip. We packed for 2 or 3 weeks: for our pills, (since we're over 60), and for warm weather since we were just heading south, in California.
In order to take this trip, the first thing to do was to get a new air conditioner. It stopped working last winter, and it was an expensive job. We put it off till now, when it was really needed. It had come down to: take this trip by flying to a destination and then renting a car, or buying a NEW Prius, or fixing the air conditioner. In the interest of being frugal with our limited retirement income, the latter was chosen. Our Prius had transported us through several trips, some camping and some not. We voted to extend its life. It turns out that the air conditioner hadn't died of natural causes, but with an injury (probably from a rock), and it had a huge hole..... so it wasn't it's fault.
We had our sleeping bags cleaned at a drycleaner, and bought a new 39" wide futon that fit perfectly as our bed, tossed out expired camp supplies and refurbished them.
From the beginning, my husband Doug loved the new car because it had the potential of being a camper. The year before, the '03, which I had promoted to him, didn't have that feature. But, what do you know! The 2004 had a larger capacity, to have a 6' 5" sleeping area. Since Doug is 6'3", it works out. One  just has to get over the enclosed coffin-like feeling. (Only kidding.)
My joke about us, is that in the morning, our fellow campers, seeing us stick our legs out the side and slither out of our Prius "RV", think that the Prius is giving birth!

The first leg of our journey was to Morro Bay and the big Morro Rock, a place that Doug has been attracted to for the last few years. It seemed like a good start to our retirement trip. We camped near the shore of Morro Bay, and were entertained by a lovely great blue heron that posed for us in our campsite. Excited about a new journey, we planned our two week vacation to Palm Springs, Vegas and maybe the Grand Canyon. We took a tour of Hoover Dam, but couldn't go to the Grand Canyon via the north rim since it was closed, so we continued on to Zion National Park, where we camped for only $11.00 a night on the senior pass, for four nights. We saw the sights, but were invaded by sneaky caterpillars in our campsite. They showed up in the strangest places!
Then we went on to Monument and Arches Park

This time, instead of using paper maps as in the past, we relied on our iPhones for directions. We brought an atlas that we got for free from AAA for the bigger picture, but we've found that if we want to find the directions to our next destination, we just go to the map icon on our phone. All we have to do is, put in the desired destination.... say we'd like to know the route from our current address, and we see the little blue ball that is our car on one of three possible routes that we can choose from. We usually choose number one, and then press "start" and it gives us directions in green signs like you see on the freeway.

Another thing we check on the iPhone is the weather. We found an app on the iPhone called "My Radar", that makes Doug, our "navigator extraordinaire", a meteorologist..... even MORE extraordinary! He plans our trip according to altitude, length, and climate. Thus, instead of visiting the northern rim of the Grand Canyon, which we found was closed, he had the idea to extend our trip to visit his old friend from high school, Phil, who lives in Colorado. We found that Phil and Karen were home, so we did.

That's why our two week trip was extended. We had to navigate the altitude though. Doug started to feel altitude sickness part way up the mountains, and told me we should turn around because he thought he was "blacking out". Startled, I backtracked, while he looked some things up on Google, about altitude sickness. It was said that a person suffering from altitude sickness should drink plenty of water, not alcohol, and that for a man, Viagra would help with symptoms. Doug called his friend, a medical doctor to confirm this, who said that he had prescribed that pill to many people who were climbing in the Himalayas! It was true.
Doug had one pill left, and measured out each mountain peak's altitude at it's pass via iPhone. We cautiously went forward, avoiding any high pass, with much joking going on....  Finally arriving at our friend's home in Boulder, all intact, we both had a good sleep.
We stayed with our friends, visiting, cooking and eating together, and taking the time to do laundry. I got a pedicure, Doug got to golf with his friend, and we pampered the Prius by getting it new tires.
It seems it was time to leave, but it didn't seem like it was time to go home. Doug said "I wonder if your friend Carol from high school is home in Indiana?"  She was. .....and furthermore she and her husband were happy to have us stay with them even though we had been there only six months before.

Soon after we left Colorado, the back hatch of the Prius started having it's problems. The other remedy was a piece of blue duct tape, to hold the piece on to the car. This also reminded me of my husband's daughter speaking derogatorily about his remedy of the new wooden bumper he had put on a family car....  The crowning touch, is that Doug had an idea at our campground in New Jersey and ended up drilling a hole through the car part, screwing the part on, and deleting the use of tape. It actually works pretty well, and we don't have to buy a new, expensive part. It's not quite as bad as a wooden bumper.

So far the car has gotten us over 6000 miles. We've meandered around, from Indiana, to Flint, Michigan to see Doug's family home once more, camping in Canada, and then to Niagara Falls, ..... to New Hampshire, to eat lobsters with Doug's brother-in-law, Steve, to Brooklyn to visit my kids, Jennie and Lucas, (the car got it's first ticket in Brooklyn for parking)....  to Boston to see an old friend, to Maryland to stay with other relatives....  All along, we were led by the maps on our phone, and also the Yelp app, that told us where to find a restaurant, a pedicure, or an oil change.... the Hotels.com app that found us an hotel for when it was either too hot or raining,  Reservations America app that found us a campsite, while we paid all our bills on Bank of America's online site, We even found a Catholic church to go to every Sunday on Masstimes.org!

Each time we need to find an hotel, we find a reasonably priced one on the Hotels.com mobile site. We read all the reviews of the less expensive ones, and if they say "Horrible!" or " smelly" or "noisy and dirty", we go on to the next one. Not too picky generally, (I'm usually pleased if the maid has folded the washcloths into a fan, and made the end of the toilet paper into a point). We do have some standards. It turns out that if you make your reservations from the phone app, there are many discounts. Tonight we're staying in Middletown, R.I., near Newport for $69., including breakfast and internet! We will have to camp soon, though, to keep on budget!

 All the way while driving, we've used a little contraption that my daughter gave us that plugs into the "cigarette lighter". and plays iTunes or Pandora Radio from our phones on the car's speakers. Between Indiana and New Hampshire, we listened to Beatles and Creedence Clearwater, and between New York and Connecticut we figured out there was a comedy channel on Pandora. Amazing what you can get for free!

What a different world it is...  even since we first got our Prius in 2004!  We still sleep in it. That's the good thing! We still camp in our car.... and people are still surprised....but we love it, and it's still cozy. Today it got an oil change in Connecticut. Much deserved.

The thing is, we get around in it by satellite gps now. .... not so much by the maps. They always know where we are. We could be out in the boonies, and want to know where the nearest gas station is, and we can see on the map on our phone.... our little blue dot will travel on the route and guide us to that station! The only thing is.....our GPS system doesn't have an English woman's accent. Doug is our GPS, along with the phone. Every so often, though, he has to say "recalculating".

Smithville, New Jersey Revisited, more Travels With Our Prius

I can't believe it's been 37 years since I worked in an "olde" village called Smithville in New Jersey, just West of Atlantic City.
We're on the big retirement trip.... kind of a grand tour of the U.S. My husband Doug has visited old haunts, and we stayed with a high school friend of mine in Indiana. After we left New York, I suggested that we check out Smithville, where I have fond memories.
Excited to see that the place still existed on Google, I grew eager to see the place that I have told so many people about.
It was on a different "big trip" during the Bi-centennial year, 1976, with my former husband, Walt. He had secured a fancy waiter job at the Seaview Country Club, and I had been making patchwork denim vests and halters from old jeans and old flowery draperies. I went to Smithville, and was told I could set up my wares at a table on the entry road.
I had no sooner set up my display, and it rained! I grabbed everything, and ran into an old building that had been abandoned. I remember thinking that I wasn't doing very well at contributing a portion of our income. I prayed that something would come along. Suddenly I had the feeling that I shouldn't worry, and also I shouldn't speak. (Being alone, I didn't think that would be a challenge.)
At that moment, a man ran in from the downpour. He was surprised to see me there. I just said "Hi" and we commented about the storm briefly. Usually I'll talk to strangers more, but I felt I shouldn't speak. The man told me he was the manager of the old village down the road. It had houses that had been moved from different areas of South Jersey and there were craftspeople in each house.
Suddenly I found myself saying, "Do you have a quilter?"  Hearing myself say that, I almost jumped.
He looked at me, and said, "No, we don't... And you're a quilter, right? If you're interested, I think there's an old quilting frame in the attic at the potter's house. If you can find it, you can have a job, if you like."
So that was it. I was given a long cotton blue and white dress, and an Amish-style white hat, and informed about the house I would be in. It had been owned by Noah Newcomb, a basket weaver for the oyster trade. He made them out of cedar and oak hardwood. The quilting frame was up in the attic, like he thought, and already had a quilt on it, partially done. That was handy, since I had never quilted on a frame before, only doing something called "quilt as you go", square by square! I ran to the nearest library and got a book about it. Thank you God! I had a job!

So now, here I am in 2013, age 63, with grown children, and grandchildren coming to revisit a place I had loved in another lifetime.
When I looked at the Historic Village of Smithville's website once more, I was shocked to see that my old Smithville had been turned into 60 specialty shops, that there was a little train ride, a merry-go-round, several restaurants, a B&B, and even condos! I was appalled at the thought of this, but we decided to visit it anyway, to see if I could recognize anything.
First though, to make my trip down memory lane complete, we looked up Blueberry Hill Campground in Port Republic, NJ. That was where Walt and I had stayed with our van, a small trailer and our dog, Lillian (on the Romer big trip).
I guess the old saying that "you can't go back" is true. the woodsy forest of deciduous and pine trees is still there, but 1/2 filled with huge RV's and mobiles that have surely been here for awhile. There seems to be a competition as to who has the most decorations around their campsite. Flags, lights, gnomes, carved signs, lit up lighthouses and assorted colorful chairs and gazebos with Tiki bars abound. All the campsites look foreign to me, and I couldn't imagine which one I had stayed in so long ago for three whole months. Doug and I finally agreed on one near the restrooms with showers.
We sat for awhile in our camp chairs and then decided to find Smithville, so I could stop wondering about it.
Times have changed so much that we used our iPhone map to guide us, rather than a paper one. My memory wasn't recognizing any of the surroundings, since everything had changed.
Then we rounded a bend and I could see the familiar small lake just past an unfamiliar parking lot and shops. We parked and ventured over to where the water wheel had been. Only a rusty hub remained and the mill house was roped off with yellow security tape. Then I spotted the bridge that had led in to the village I knew. Before, black swans had glided majestically under that bridge, but they were gone and plumes of algae were forming instead. Still, I was full of anticipation as we walked toward some shops that had been installed in some of the old houses. I tried to recall the shape of Noah Newcomb's house, but then realized that all the houses had been moved into a different configuration. There used to be a huge village green, about as big as two football fields, but it was made much smaller and all the houses were squished closer together, in order to have the little train ride circle around the edge.
In the pottery shop, there was a woman, who was actually trimming a bowl on an electric wheel. (Back in the day it would have been a kick wheel). She was interested in my story of how things had been, but she hadn't been there long, and didn't know about the house she was in. I told her it would have been nice if a potter was in "my" house, since I do some pottery myself.
As we went out of her door, I noticed there was a little sign on her house that identified whose house it had been--just like in the past. There was hope!
When I looked at the sign on the very next house, I was pleased to see that it said "Noah Newcomb, 1820". I stood out in front to try to recognize it, but it had been stuck right in between two other houses, so that they all shared walls. Walking in, I told the sales person, that I was kind of a special case...that I used to work in this house, and I just wanted to get my bearings. My eyes went directly to a small door on the right. I said, if this is the right house, inside this closet is the underside of some stairs. I bumped my head on the stairs one time when I bent to get a broom. I opened it, and there they were, the stairs that had sent me to the emergency room 37 years ago to make sure I hadn't fractured my skull!!

Back in the day, I was hired as the village quilter, since that's what I told the manager I could do. Now that is a ridiculous idea, since most of the women would have been quilters, but he told me about that quilting frame in the potter's attic.

He led me over to meet the "village potter", a nice young woman with her brown hair pulled back with a ribbon. She wiped her hands on a towel and we ventured up a ladder to look for the frame. There it was, complete with a navy blue and white quilt half done, sewn on to it.
The next day, (after cramming about quilting at the library), I used the information I had gleaned to figure out how to set up the quilting frame in Noah Newcomb's house. We had to look authentic, as if it was the 1700's, so when I walked around the grounds with my little Amish-style white hat on, I carried a basket as a purse. I already had a leather thimble, but the pincushion that I had on my wrist was frowned upon since the plastic band on it hadn't been invented yet! I bought a leather bracelet and replaced the plastic. I learned to make nice, neat stitches, and noticed that experienced quilters walked in my door and bent right down to examine my stitches on the back of the quilt! The house was next door to a barn and corral, so if I left the windows open on a hot day, horse flies would fly in and pester me, landing on the quilt and leaving "fly specks".
The funny thing is, many folks who visited assumed that all of us "actors" in the houses actually lived in them, and here we were working a 9 to 5 job just like them! I'd try to act the part, some days more than others. I'd talk about my "brother" Noah, who was the basket maker (there were actually stacks of baskets outside my front door presumably for sale), and how "I don't know where he could have gone off to". Noah was known for going on drunken binges. It was fun pretending and to have people appreciate my little act.

But now, everything in the two rooms was foreign, and it was even being used as a jewelry shop. I recounted to the shopkeeper how a man who impersonated Mark Twain used to come in to visit me on a slow day. We would heat water for tea or Lipton Cup-A-Soup with a little plug in element that I had, and sit at a table and visit. Whenever a family came in, he'd revert to his Mark Twain persona. Also, I told her about the Towne Crier, who rode horseback on a dappled grey horse, would come to visit by letting his horse poke his head in the door and whinny.
Revolutionary war re-enactments were performed a few times out on the Village Green, and every time some entertainment was about to happen, the Town Crier, in his three cornered hat would call out, "Hear ye, Hear ye! Come to the Village Green at one o'clock, to see the troupe of actors perform a show!", or some such thing.
The girl in the house next door to mine, Marianne, made apple head dolls, and she came over to visit sometime and showed me how to peel and carve a head out of an apple and then watch it shrink, wrinkle and age over time and in the heat. She made beautiful, detailed clothes for her dolls and sold them for quite a lot. 
There was a guy dressed as a pirate, and he hung out down by the lake with a huge red plumed parrot, which he let me walk around with one time. Canadian geese were on the lake with the black swans, (whose honks sounded like bicycle horns). One day, the geese all left at once and never came back....time to go south.
I went to other houses, which had also been disappointingly made into stores, and we rode the little train, but no one remembered how it used to be. It was, I think, worth being remembered, so that's why I'm recording my memories of it.
Time goes on. They say that the Smithville of old, wasn't making money and was sold to a developer that has brought lots of jobs and money to the community. That's fine and good. I still wish I could go back in time.

Back at the campground, however..... We've decided we like it here. It's been refurbished, has a nice pool and spa, a new playground for the kids, and brand new washers and dryers in the laundry room that are super efficient. The café. now called Clark's Landing Café, is being given a new start with Joe, the excellent cook and owner. We're having dinner here tonight, and I even have my eye on a string of flamingo lights for our campsite.  I think we should "join 'em".

Dry in Utah, more Travels With Our Prius

Evidently, in Utah, because of the Mormon influence, liquor is sold in separate state-run liquor stores. We were staying for the night near the border in Kanab, UT, and thought we'd save a little money by not ordering wine in a restaurant. A merchant in town told us that the nearest "packaged" liquor store was just across the border, in Arizona. We entered "liquor store" into the maps app on our iPhone, and the directions popped up. We headed for the border of Utah, into Arizona.
Sure enough, a lone, weathered building stood in a gravel parking lot with a peeling sign that said  "Liq or". It had the look of a business that was either closed or was neglected. From the outside, empty cardboard boxes could be seen piled up against the window. Doug said, "The man said there were two stores, maybe we should try the other one..."
There were three cars in the parking lot, and I said, "SOME people shop here. I think this looks interesting. Let's both go in."
The screen door creaked as we walked in. Doug ventured ahead of me down a narrow aisle. I was greeted by a little black bulldog. When I bent to pet him, flakes of dandruff appeared on his dusty looking coat. There was a slight scent of a litter box. The dog followed behind as I turned to take in the scene.
Some of the nails were sticking up above the weathered floorboard. On either side of the aisle were big bags of cat food, dog food, and garden soil. Something for everyone. What was really encroaching on the aisle were stacks of old newspaper, and discarded packaging that never made it out to the garbage.
Behind the counter sat a rather tall old woman with waxy skin and and long gray hair. She made eye contact with me, and I noticed the bags under her eyes and the deep wrinkles from years of smoking.
"What's your dog's name?", I asked, trying to be social.
She looked me up and down and then shouted ,"He's Bull! B-U-L-L!" at the top of her voice, as if she was hard of hearing, or she thought I was.
Behind her was a another stack of newspapers and magazines, this time intermingled with three bottles of what I recognized as little plastic bottles of homeopathic remedies. I was going to be bold and ask her about them, since I've taken the different "cell salt" tablets before for different ailments, but I refrained. Maybe I felt that it made me more like her...
I walked back to where Doug was examining the different bottles of wine that were displayed amazingly neatly, but with no prices.
In the mean time, the lady smoked the last of a cigarette, flicking the ashes off her stained down vest, chatted with other customers, asking about their families; how she hadn't seen them for a couple of days, etc. A young man with a bowl haircut and missing a couple of front teeth, emerged from a big refrigerated room with a 24 pack of cold beer. She asked him when he was leaving for his new job. "Tomorrow", he said.
We made our selection, a Turning Leaf Merlot, but wondered about the price. "Seven ninety-five." she called out. She called out "See ya!", to some other customers, and then asked if we would pay by cash or credit.
"Visa if that's okay", said my husband.
"BOBBY!!", she hollered. "Seven ninety-five!!"
Turns out Bobby is her grandson, who arranges the bottles and runs the credit machine.
As he was ringing us up, Doug asked the lady if the road to the North Rim of the Canyon was open yet. The boy from the beer refrigerator said, " It won't open till May 15th, I'm going up to work there. We have to get it ready in the next coupla weeks." He smiled and shrugged his shoulders proudly.
"So I guess we'll head on up to Bryce or Arches", Doug said.
Trying to make a little more conversation, I said,"I bet you do a pretty good business here right on the border!"
She looked at me oddly with her rheumy eyes, and in a moment said, "Yeah, some tourists come through here."
The young man with the beer offered, "Well, ya got a lotta regulars!!", grinning from ear to ear.
"Well, tomorrow I think I'll just close for the day", she said, "I've got a lot of errands to do." She moved an overflowing ashtray to a neater place directly in the middle of an old Oprah magazine.
Her grandson had Doug sign his receipt, and then went back to straightening the liquor bottles.
We said our good byes, and headed for the door, once again followed by Bull. Near the door I saw a big white ice machine and opened it thinking we might need some ice for our ice chest. I closed it quickly and made for the door.
Doug said, "You don't want to get ice?"
I shook my head and said, "There wasn't any ice in there, only old pizza boxes..."
We walked to our car thinking that perhaps we should wipe down the wine bottle before we opened it. I guess you can see that we aren't fine wine connoisseurs....

The Velocity of a Cough

"You should gargle with salt water". I can still hear my mother's voice in my head after all these years. I've been reminded more recently, since after hearing me cough off and on through the night, I heard my husband's sleepy voice giving the remedy high praise. "I really think it's helped me dodge the flu that you have darling. I swear by it."

I don't know why I fight gargling. Finally giving in, I added the salt to some warm water, and gargled. First, I tried to gargle making it sound like the "Star-Spangled Banner", since that was my way of encouraging my kids to get the salty solution all around the uvula and throat. (Either that, or they'd laugh trying).

It didn't work for me, though. Once the water hit the back of my throat, it set me off with such a cough that a Blast of water came flying out of my mouth that covered the 3 by 4 foot mirror over the sink with salty drops. I was shocked at the force of a cough!

The next morning, while brushing my teeth, another creeper cough surprised me while I was brushing my teeth, (perhaps my gentle readers don't want to hear this), with "shock and awe", toothpaste and water were sprayed all over the aforementioned mirror and on my arms. Upon closer investigation a snotty, green, "luggie" had been "hacked" out and projected by the cough onto my arm! It was disgusting! (Hence the warning) 

The next day, my doctor prescribed an inhaler for me. The pharmacist instructed me to exhale as much as I could, and then inhale while squirting the mist into my mouth and try to then hold my breath. .... Now this was difficult, since inhaling instigates a tickle in the back of my throat lately, and as hard as I tried, the cough would burst out like I was a stoner trying to hold in smoke from a hash pipe. (as seen in movies, of course)
Again I wondered at the velocity of this cough that was expelled  from my body with such power!

So of course, I went to Google.
Evidently I'm not the first person to wonder about this. The explanation that was easiest for me to understand was written by Richard S. Irwin, MD, FCCP. He said "during vigorous coughing, expiratory velocities of up to 500 miles per hour may be generated."
Well, I'm just saying...... Cover your mouth when you cough! Do it the new approved way, by coughing into your elbow. Even our grandkids know how to do that.
Gesundheit

Sickroom Supplies

It's been so long since I've been sick with a cold and cough I kind of forgot how far down you can be dragged. Certain things have been known to either take me out of a funk or make me feel better when I'm ill. Last night when I couldn't sleep because of coughing, I found myself wandering around the house at 3:00 a.m., looking for remedies of any sort. Mostly found were daytime cold medicines, expired, and threatening side effects of nervousness and irritability. What I really wanted to find, was an old bottle of spray Chloraseptic that I used when my kids were still living at home. Maybe I never sorted it out and tossed it. Maybe it still had a bit left in it, enough to numb my throat so it wouldn't want to cough and wake me as I finally dozed. No such luck.
In the morning, I would gather together all the supplies I needed to get better.

When this began, a few days ago, I thought all I needed to knock this thing out was to gargle with salt water, and have some tea. Left at home alone in the morning, my husband went off to work by himself and I ventured down to the kitchen for that cup of tea. Peach Ginger tea sounded perfect, and I waited for the teapot to whistle. There came a tapping noise from the living room, and I peered around the corner for signs of life, but none. I went over to the various electronic devices that were humming away, unused. No tapping. Standing in the middle of the room, waiting..... a tapping to my left on the window. The culprit was right there! It was a  bushtittie! Well, a Bushtit, a small round ball of feathers that travels in flocks that have been known a couple of times a year to come to our yard, cover our lemon bush, making cute little noises like a bunch of squeeze toys outside the window. I've always announced with an English accent, "The Bushtitties are here!" to extract a bashful grin from my kids. Never, have I seen one fly right up to a window and peck at it. As I was watching that one, another one did the same at another window, taking a rest on a vine and then throwing itself at the window to peck again! I tried to take a picture, but it doesn't do it justice. This was still going on even after I drank my tea and came down 2 hours later. My sister says it must be mating season, and they are trying to get together with their reflections!

This experience reminded me that one of my favorite things in our room (whether sick or well) is to watch the birds at the bird feeder hanging outside the window. Today is a beautiful, springlike day. The finches, sparrows, and chickadees are all making delightful entertainment for me. I see them take turns sitting on the branches of the plum tree (with new blossoms), to fly over to the feeder to peck at the seeds and throw even more on the ground below. Occasionally I'll get a visit from a local Scrub Jay, that I call Blue Boy. He makes a huge "thump" on the metal hook that holds the feeder, helping us to greet the new day with him. His favorite munchie is the dripless suet made from peanuts and other seeds that you put in a little cage to hang. (If you don't get the dripless variety, the hot sun will melt the suet, or grease, all over the ground underneath.) Blue Boy goes into all sorts of contortions to get at the good stuff and to entertain us.

One thing about this cough, is that if I talk, it makes me cough. My husband might be enjoying this just a little bit too much. Many times I started telling a story that something reminded me of on tv, started coughing and then, waving my hand, said, "Never mind!" since it wasn't worth the telling. We went out to have a nutritious lunch of Shrimp Hot and Sour Soup at our favorite Vietnamese restaurant, Nong Thon, in El Cerrito. Since I was about to cough, I didn't blurt out our order to our server, I more politely waited for Doug to do it. This "condition" of mine has also brought to mind that I have been known to "talk over" someone. Not sure if it was ever worked in to a character on Seinfeld, but in an excited state, without realizing it, I've tried to get out my information about a subject before, or at least louder, than a friend. If I've ever done that to you, I'm sorry, and evidently I'm getting some time to think about it, with laryngitis. We'll see if the lesson sticks. I think it's a darned good Lenten practice.

Anyway, we went to the store for the supplies, the Chloroseptic, (the original disgusting flavor), some daytime and nighttime cold medicine, new menthol cough drops, more birdseed, and some carrots, apples and ginger to make myself some juice in my new Jack Lalanne Power Juicer. The latter is to keep me on the track I've been on to try to detox my body! Could this cold be all the toxins trying to fight their way out? (I've heard people say things like that before : p)
No..... but the words seem to be fighting their way out, and not through my mouth, through my fingers!
So , have some tea. Bottoms up!.....and good health to you all!

Moon Over My Waistline

Today I thought of a silver haired lady that we used to see gardening outside her apartment house in El Cerrito. The corner was a busy one, and most times she'd be there taking really good care of her hedges with an old-fashioned hedge clipper. Unfortunately, more often than not, when she bent over, her loosely banded sweatpants revealed her butt crack. I thought, "She must know that she is flashing everyone who is  sitting, waiting for the  light", but year after year she kept putting in her time on her corner lot, mooning everyone who passed.

Unfortunately, the reason I thought of the lady, (she, I'm sure is no longer with us), was because when I was gardening today, I think I resembled her. We had just dug all the weeds out of our raised bed, and chucked them into a couple of piles. I wheeled the green bin the city gives us on to the sidewalk, and started bending over repeatedly to pick up the weeds and chuck them over the rock wall into the bin. My pants have had a harder and harder time remaining on my so-called waist of late. It was the end of the day, and this was the last thing I had to do. I was tired of hitching up my pants, and I'm sure I may have flashed someone! (Well, there wasn't anyone around, but if they had been there, they would have been flashed.)

This whole observation may seem silly, but I found out the other day, why my pants don't stay on my waist..... I  took my measurements. Without confessing the actual data, suffice it to say that my chest measurement was only ONE INCH MORE than my waist OR my hips! This was an eye opener. Something to be dealt with.

We HAVE just come back from a vacation, but this isn't anything new. Sitting with a laptop on the bed and watching TV, and being less active has an effect on our bellies. Our bellies are also important for our back health, as I've been told by my physical therapist, and I have known, but not paid attention.

So, with instructions that I have been given for exercises, a regime that has been suggested to me for cleansing toxins, I'm on a mission to be healthier in my retirement. My mission is to not have to hitch up my pants every 5 minutes while gardening.

In the meantime however, I'm going to drag out my old pair of overalls...