My Mother's Newsworthy Pie

                I had three months between graduation and my wedding day.

            “Well, are you going to teach me how to cook?”

             My mother looked up from her book, her eyebrows raised. 

            “Cook? If you can read, you can cook.” Her face brightened. “Let’s shop for your trousseau!”

            That was my Mom – thoroughly modern Matilda. She must have been a great reader because she was a good cook, although not at first. She loved to tell the story of when her father in law (my detective grandfather who died the year I was born) decided to visit his son and daughter in law. It was during World War II and Dad was stationed in Ann Arbor Michigan. Mom shared a cottage on base with Ann, another soldier’s wife.

            The first thing Grandpa Charles did when he arrived was declare he had a yen for an apple pie. Mom pulled her roomie aside.

            “Ann, I have no idea how to make a pie! What should I do?”

            “I don’t know. He’s your father in law.”

            I’m told as fathers in law go he was one of those grumpy types, like a cop with no patience and sore feet.  But my mother said he was rather sweet in an awkward sort of way.  Mom grabbed her cookbook and followed all the directions. She did a fairly good job of rolling the dough into thin circles on the newspaper she had spread out.  

            “Fortunately, the newsprint disappeared as the pie browned in the oven,” she would say whenever she recounted the story of her first apple pie.

            As far as I’m concerned, that’s what bakeries are for.

             

           

 

           

Livestock

                 When she saw a mouse in her house, my mother’s declaration that the place was “filled with livestock” made me picture cattle rambling through the living room. (She was occasionally given to hyperbole.)

             I first saw our little mouse when he ran from under the basement door to hide behind the dry sink in the family room. My shriek made him do an about face and race back to the depths from which he had come. I stuffed a towel under the door, hoping he would give up and go away.   

             He didn’t. The hole he nibbled out of the edge of the plastic cookie container sitting on my kitchen counter was huge. Then I noticed a sesame cookie resting behind the back burner of the stove. When I told my husband I thought it must be a huge mouse to be able to carry food that size, he came to see. By the time hubby walked into the kitchen the cookie was gone – and that was in broad daylight.

            I bought every kind of mousetrap you can think of. Most of them grossed me out. I dreaded having to see its little head …well, you know. I found one trap that actually kept the dearly departed inside, hidden in a separate compartment. I put every kind of lure I could find in that trap but no luck. The only other thing I could think to do next was stay up all night armed with a shotgun and night vision goggles.

            Meanwhile, I kept the counters clear of cookies and even put the sugar bowl in the toaster oven every night. I planned to starve the bugger out but I think Mother Nature took care of our little visitor.

            We live in the boonies and our property butts up to open fields. On wintery mornings I find some mighty strange tracks in the snow. If I were a hunter I would probably know what livestock are roaming around our trees and under our windows at night; I can tell you the creatures are not small and they take big strides. I see hoof prints but those long sets of three horizontal lines, two up front and one behind, are pretty scary.

            I think mousie went outside searching for food one night and got et.

Buzz Kill

                I admit my bah-humbuggy feelings about the Christmas season are a definite buzz kill. I suppose I should keep my mouth shut, but I have a blog – so no way.

                Christmas isn’t my problem, nor are the general feelings  of good cheer and wanting to share with others. No. My problem with the season is that it’s too long and getting longer. Last year my husband chuckled as he caught me turning the four foot Santa to face the store’s wall the day after Halloween. I didn’t think anyone was watching.

                I swear someone could discover the cure for cancer and be told, “wait until after the holidays.” It seems people can’t keep their minds on task because half their brain cells are counting days to Christmas and how many gifts are yet to be bought.

                It’s a time of pure gluttony, too. I remember when my office was on the 8^th floor and I was struggling that year to keep to my diet. The third floor was taken over by cookie fiends hawking baked goods of all sorts. I skirted my way to my office and felt safe behind the closed door. Then I heard the cookie pushers “la la lalling” nearer and nearer. What am I? Some goose that needs stuffing?

                I see hoards of people pushing their way through store entries  to grab the latest must-have items that will fill dumpsters in two years time.

                Other than that, Christmas is such a jolly time.

Word Rant

       

                Do certain words grate on you? When you hear them used, or misused, do you cringe? There’s a term in the writing world called “weasel words.”  A weasel sucks the guts out of an egg, leaving an unbroken shell – a useless look-alike egg. A weasel word, like an empty egg, is actually useless and needs to be deleted whenever it pops into one’s prose. Can you find the weasel word in the last sentence? Which word could be eliminated without changing the meaning of what I wrote? I’ll give you a hint: I actually hate that word and whenever I hear it I actually want to scream.
            I was listening to the evening news and the reporter was talking about a house fire. He mentioned the name of a person who “actually” lived in that that house. Hold the phone! Stop the presses!  He actually lived in that house!!!!!????? As opposed to what? Not living in the house? 
            I think “actually “ is a 99.9%  useless word.  “The cookie actually tasted good.” Change that to “The cookie tasted good.” I could go on forever (actually???) but you get my drift.
            Are there words or expressions that drive you up the wall? My husband hates “At this point in time.”  He maintains the “in time” is totally unnecessary – weasel words.
            There, I ranted and actually feel better.

 

It's All Relative

If asked, I would say that today is gorgeous.  Years ago I was shopping in the mall when the clerk asked me about the weather, since she was nowhere near a window or door. I grinned and assured her it was just lovely outside– then proceeded to describe how the sky was overcast, with brooding clouds that threatened rain. It was nippy too and the wind was picking up. As I spoke I watched her face fall. Apparently, we did not share the same idea of lovely weather.

I’ve come to realize that I am one of the few who prefer dark days to sunny ones, but trust me when I tell you, I am not alone. Every once in a while a few people will nod their heads and whisper that they feel the same way. There’s not many of us. In fact only one friend in my quilting group appreciates a sky with a darker personality. The rest of the ladies just laugh and say “only you two” and shake their heads. I told one friend who lives in Florida that not only did I like cool overcast days; I thought day after day of sunshine was like a darn fool who doesn’t know enough to stop grinning. This summer during the heat wave I send her one sentence through Facebook : “The darn fool won’t stop grinning!” She knew immediately and responded “LOL.”  Now there’s a friend who gets me.

Fall is especially prone to dark, nippy days. Maybe it’s because I’m descended from European peasant stock; around this time of year a primordial need to prepare for winter bubbles from deep inside. I suddenly have the urge to make homemade soup and bake pies. I want to make a cozy nest. The more clouds, the colder it gets, the more naked the trees become, the more I want “cozy.”

That domesticity, mostly dormant, awakens when the weather  has a little edge to it. The rest of time I can find a thousand things to do other than bake pies. As one friend replied in an email where I spoke of being a “domestic maven”, he only stopped laughing after he fell on the floor and hit his head.

How many of you share the secret pleasure of gloom? If you don’t and think I’m nuts, click below on the “blech!” choice. If you’re one of an apparently small secret society of dark day devotees, click on “agree.”  Who knows, maybe there are more out there like me.

What's in a Label?

                I don’t think this story will ever make the national news, even though the issue effects  every man, woman and child in America. I wouldn’t have a clue about it if my son and daughter-in-law weren’t farmers and committed to the principles of naturally grown, pesticide and chemical free crop management. I listen to son John’s description of caring for the soil, using natural unmodified seeds and pest control that balances nature without poisoning it, and wonder why farmers would do anything else.

                Well, there’s lots of reason why not and I don’t plan to go into them. I just want to share two things with you.

                The first is a website I came across that I think is very informative if you wonder what I’m writing about  or are concerned about consuming genetically modified organisms  (GMOs) in your food (along with other goodies like Bt, Roundup, hormones and antibiotics). Visit www.earthopensource.com... and that’s all I’m going to say about that.

                Here’s the news you won’t hear. Because California uses initiatives to make laws rather than rely on legislators to introduce them, the regulation to make food producers add “GMO” or “Non-GMO” to food labels is currently up for vote by the people of California.  According to the polls, the majority of Americans, when given the choice, would choose NOT to consume food with GMO ingredients.  Agribusiness in America uses GMOs in food production so much that adding GMO on labels would be devastating to the industry. If California approves GMO labeling, making labels to comply with the new regulation for the California market alone would be prohibitive; most likely the labels will be uniform across America. And how will that affect sales in the U.S.?

                You would think Big Brother would be behind this labeling movement. It seems to me, Big Brother is into banning things (as in New York City vs  giant Coke beverages) and not into  truth in labeling so Americans (who apparently are too stupid to decide anything on their own) can choose not to become lab rats for big business and decide for themselves what to consume.

                Here’s your power. First, if you think I’m on a rant and just full of it, ignore me. But if you wish to have choice about what you put in your body, download the free app from Apple:  ShopNoGMO or visit  www.nonGMOshopping to download the shopping guides .

                Law of supply and demand rules - despite lobbyists, legislators, or courts. In the end, you get what you are willing to buy. You rule!

Robo-Virus and Ma Bell

It’s the mean season.  We face two months of political sound bites, mudslinging and skewed facts (better known as lies). It would be a miracle if we could vote a government into office capable of agreeing on anything – even what to order for lunch would be a good start. Oh, I forgot to add, without the lunch costing 1.5 billion dollars.

I hear each candidate claim he will create more jobs.  Just exactly how does Executive power create jobs?  Will the President wave the flag three times over the Lincoln Memorial and force Kodak to hire 200 workers?  

Some people know which candidate will get their vote. Others are still working through the hype. Personally, I dread the coming robo calls. Why do people who are supposedly bright enough to solve America’s problems (?) think these nuisances would tip the balance in their favor? Let’s see - in the last four days Candidate A has interrupted my dinnertime three times, assuming I will listen to a recording of political drivel while my ground beef burns. Yes! I want to vote for that man!

As I turn my phone on to stop the ringing  so I can turn it off immediately,  my only satisfaction is that whoever that candidate  was, he or she  just wasted more of his money  than my time. And if I fail to check caller ID and accidentally respond, like Pavlov’s dog to a ringing phone, the robo call will certainly make me reconsider voting for that candidate.

Because here is my question: since everyone knows the public hates these things, why would a person who wants my vote invade my home with aggravating, electronic drivel?  If the candidates claim it’s not them, but their campaigns initiating these calls, I wonder why they do not have control over their own campaigns. Choosing to implement robo calls on your behalf tells me you are not listening to the American public and have no intention of doing so in the future.  If you can’t control your campaign’s decisions, why should I believe you are capable of leading what is euphemistically called the free world?

My dream candidate would not make claims but would describe methods. My candidate would not snipe at his or her opposition in mind numbing sound bites that insult my intelligence.  My candidate will say to the electorate: I agree robo calls are a nuisance and you will not receive any on my behalf.

 Can I vote for you twice?