 Mr. Fix-It and I just got back from our favorite place in the whole world. It’s simple. It’s lovely. It’s laid back. And it’s cheap!! (That’s the best part) We love to visit the Bull Shoals, Arkansas area which includes Cotter, Flippin, Mountain Home, Fairview and Lakeview. We stay in various places whenever we go but our favorite place to stay is in a tent at the Bull Shoals State Park campground. What a gorgeous place to be!! The deer are so numerous that you can nearly walk up to pet them and the White River is cool, quiet and serene as fly fishermen silently cast their lines to snag hungry trout. It’s just God’s Creation at its best. We only spent a few days in the area and actually stayed at an historic and popular resort called Gastons White River Resort since our stay was so short. We plan on going back in the Fall to camp for a longer time. But I thought that I would post some photos of the area just for you to enjoy.  First of all, I bet it’s been a long time since you’ve seen one of these at a motel! Gastons is still using keys for the doors to their cabins. Kinda quaint – and Psycho-like. 🙂  We woke up to this scene out of our window. It just did my heart good.  We skipped over to Cotter for a few hours. The spring there and the park are just so pleasant. This is the Cotter Bridge which was built in the 1930’s.  The dam at Bull Shoals was built in the 1940’s and harnesses the White River for electricity, as well as for Bull Shoals lake, a huge recreational lake that spans Arkansas and Missouri.  On one side of the dam is Bull Shoals Lake  And on the other side of the dam is the White River. I’ll give you three guesses why they call it the White River!  On our exploration, we had to stop the car in the road to allow this aimless wanderer time to mosey across without a care in the world.  In the town of Bull Shoals, I caught this advertisement and thought it was a hoot. Pretty creative!!  There has been so much rain in Arkansas that the flowers are gorgeous. The drought seems to be over in that part of the state, anyway. This hibiscus was spectacular. If you get a chance to head down Bull Shoals’ way, you should! And bring a tent for camping at the state park! (who needs a big, expensive camper!?) You might even get a raccoon or two to join you for dinner!  |
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Archive for the ‘A Day In the Life Of An Okie’ Category
Bull Shoals – A Little Place Of Heaven
Friday, August 23rd, 2013
A Local Pampering and Giveaway
Tuesday, July 16th, 2013
 For those of you who live in the area of Oklahoma City, Tulsa, Guthrie…well…all over the state of Oklahoma, or who live in Kansas or Arkansas or Texas and come to the Oklahoma City area every so often, I have discovered a diamond in the rough in our little town of Shawnee, Oklahoma that is worth your attention. Oh my goodness. It’s the Grangeville Rose Tea Room and Emporium and if you can get a day to pamper yourself, this is the place to do it. I met the owner of this wonderful and elegant tea room, Cynthia, at the Central Oklahoma Lavender and Herb Festival as a fellow exhibitor. We chatted and shared products and she invited me and a friend of mine to come try out the tea room. Finally, on Monday, we had the opportunity to take advantage of the invitation. The Grangeville Rose is located at 322 West MacArthur Blvd in Shawnee, Oklahoma. It is just east on MacArthur from Kickapoo and is on the north side of the road. It is kind of easy to miss because it sits back off of the road in a little strip mall and is the very first building of the mall. The large, plate glass front window is black with white lettering and you have to be looking for it. In fact, when you first see the outside, you might wonder exactly what is behind that window! But when you open the door, you are carried into a world away from your mundane life!  A step through the front door, brings you into a little alcove that has been created to reflect the outside of an old home, complete with lovely sea green siding and wooden sashed window. Looking through the window, into the home, one sees a gorgeous, cut glass lamp framed by unusually, tailored curtains. To the left is the “front door” to the home where you enter into the tastefully decorated and luxurious dining room of an old, home – a Jane Austen home. Lights are low, soft music dances in the background and beautifully draped and decorated round tables, surrounded by high-backed chairs, are centered with floral lamps offering a gentle light for the guests. The menu reflects all things Jane Austen, including the Bingley’s Jane Austen Tea Series.  What a surprise we got when we were served on Royal Albert Old Rose china. Absolutely beautiful. And the flatware was Wallace silver plate. What a gorgeous table was set!!  I chose the Summer Trio for my lunch and was treated to three awesome salads – an unusual chicken salad made with grilled chicken. fruit and what tasted like maybe, sour cream, a pasta salad with the most amazing basil dressing with paper thin slices of fresh parmesan cheese, and a green salad with chef Brian’s personally created raspberry vinaigrette dressing. Brian is Cynthia’s nephew and smartly dressed in his French chef’s coat, he creates concoctions that are just to die for. Dessert was a treat of two lavender scones – yep, lavender – with apricot jam and I am here to tell you, I’ve never had a scone lighter or more delicate than these amazing morsels!! Everything was accompanied by a light, hot tea kept warm over a flaming trivet. Peach iced tea and hand-squeezed strawberry lemonaide are also available.  A china cabinet full of delicate pieces, elegantly framed pictures, a fireplace and buffet topped with silver coffee service only adds to the Victorian ambiance of this “Longbourn” place. (you’ll have to read Pride and Prejudice)  Gifts of Spode china, Moss Rose and other vintage items grace the shelves of the Emporium, along with hats straight out of Sense and Sensibility. And as of today, an antique wash stand, with bowl and pitcher, presents our own Prairie Blessings Soaps for sale! Unbelievably reasonable prices, extraordinary food, a ‘high tea’ party once a month and the perfect place for a bridesmaids’ luncheon, birthday party or business lunch makes the Grangeville Rose Tea Room and Emporium a place that is worth whatever travel is required to get there! Beginning July 23rd through July 27th, the tea room will be celebrating Christmas in July, complete with decorations, gifts and special foods. “A winter Holiday respite during the hot days of summer.” For tea room hours and reservations, call 405-273-6464.  And to make somebody’s day really, really special, I have purchased a gift certificate for an enjoyable lunch in quiet splendor. Just leave a comment below and you will be entered into a drawing for this gift certificate. Please do not enter if there is no chance that you can make it to Shawnee for this treat. We want someone to be able to truly enjoy this gift. The drawing will be held on August 1st. |
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Freedom, Safety and The Royal Berkey
Tuesday, July 9th, 2013
 I have so much to say and don’t know where to begin. So much has happened over the last couple of months in our state and in our family that it gets just a little bit overwhelming. I’ll do my best to make sense and make my 1971 High School English teacher, Mrs. Carter, proud. But I have some pretty deep thoughts to share. This is going to be a little different from my other posts.  You know that my community and others around me were devastated by three tornadoes that were so huge and powerful that very little stood up against them. Families have experienced the loss of homes, cars, personal belongings, pets and even loved ones. The immediate aftermath was a call for better safety measures….mandatory shelters in schools and homes, better warning systems and stronger homes. All across the land, “safety” has become the new “in” word. And I have to admit that sitting in our storm shelter on the night of May 19th, I felt snug, safe and strangely calm in the midst of the wind storm above me. Then, yesterday, a video was sent to me. It had gone viral on the internet and was of a young student from my alma mater in Murfreesboro, TN who had been stopped at a DUI checkpoint, not because he was drunk, but because he was young. I think that he must have been a law student because he knew the legal terminology and the Constitution backwards and forwards. With his cell phone camera turned on and laying in the front seat, the young man recorded a most horrible and astounding episode of police intimidation, corruption and just plain meanness. At one point, one patrolman announced to the kid that the Constitution can be suspended in the name of safety. The very ones who have been charged with the duty to “keep us safe” had become people FROM whom one would want to be kept safe! Last week was our country’s celebration of July 4th – Independence Day – the day that we set aside to remind ourselves of our escape from tyranny, of the blessed freedoms that we enjoy in this land and to think on those of the past who stood up for those freedoms. Many people, including myself, feel that a lot of those freedoms are being eroded away, but still, all-in-all, we are a people in a nation that enjoys the most freedoms of any other country in the world. Unfortunately, however, we keep giving up freedoms in the name of ‘safety’. Ironically, in the same week as our Independence celebration, just two days prior to that day, my family experienced something that made us all feel that our freedom AND safety had been snatched right out from under us and it is taking some time to overcome that feeling. On Tuesday afternoon, shortly after 1:00 pm, in the middle of the day, my daughter, Mrs. Dance-A-Lot, drove into the driveway of her new home. She and her hubby (Mr. Guitar Guy) had moved into this house just weeks before and, though it is new and wonderful, the house isn’t quite home yet. Mrs. Dance-A-Lot had been on a special lunch date with Mr. Guitar Guy, taking a moment together while their little Miss Snicklefritz, was visiting the other grandmother and recovering from the very contagious Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease. Mrs. Dance-A-Lot had only been gone from her house for 45 minutes. As she pulled into the driveway, she noticed that her garage door was open and that a car was sitting in the drive. The door from the garage to the house was open as well and in just a matter of milliseconds she was asking herself why everything was open, whose car was in the drive and if the new pest control man was back without calling her. But then, how could he get into the house without her there? She pulled up next to the strange car to exit hers as a very large man came toward her car, carrying her laptop, with two more men attempting to carry her big screen television behind him. Of course, she and the men all jumped out of their skins at the same time and as Mrs. Dance-A-Lot slammed her car door to back out of the driveway as fast as she could, the men carrying the television dropped it behind the man with the laptop and ran to their car . My daughter was on the phone with 911 as she vamoosed out of there, heart pounding and feeling like she was in some kind of alternate universe. All she could think was, “I have to get away.” A home full of police, fingerprint dusting and providing their own fingerprints later, my loved ones had to face a ransacked house covered in clingy, fine, black fingerprint dust, a front door that had not only been kicked in but had taken the door frame with it, some missing personal items including jewelry and electronics and a feeling that everything in their “space” had been violated. Of course, the anger set in and pretty soon, the paranoia and fear – and that affected ALL of us. All kinds of things run through your mind like, “What if they come back?” “They know what I/she looks like.” “They know what they left.” “They know that I/she can identify them and their car.” An unsettling lack of peace followed. It wasn’t helped by the fact that on July the 4th Mrs. Dance-A-Lot’s Netflix account showed that someone was watching pornography on her computer!! Just one more violation. For a week now, many in our family and even close friends have been running through plans of what can be done to avoid this type of situation again. Alarm system companies are loving us as they are getting new orders, doors have been made more secure using the EZ ARMOR door security systems from Lowe’s (they cost $68), video cameras are being considered and discussions on what can be learned from the incident are underway. The issue of “safety” has come up again and a feeling of freedoms lost permeates conversations. And as usual, I’m looking on the bright side in the hopes that these sorry individuals are in agony with high fevers and blisters because they were exposed, in my daughter’s house, to the numerous. stuck on everything and highly contagious germs of Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease!! Would that not be sweet justice?! Laying aside that vengeful part of my personality, it has occurred to me that all of us need to recognize something about freedom and safety that often gets overlooked. In the Declaration of Independence, those great men who wrote that great document stated that our freedoms are ordained by God. We forget that our safety is in His hands as well. Yes, bad things happen but that does not negate the fact that ultimately, our great God who is the authority over all things is our protection and our safety when push comes to shove. We can plan until doom’s day, but all the plans in the world are just man’s efforts to stop something that is totally out of his control. We can monitor every phone call from overseas and still have some nuts blow up the innocence of a marathon race. We can install burglar alarms and fire alarms only to have them irritatingly announce that our home is burning down or that burglars were quick enough to grab and run before the police could get there. We can store up food for a crisis only to have it tossed over the countryside by a tornado or burned up in a fire or spoiled by varmints of some type. We can live in the country with farm animals, gardens and fruit trees to provide our sustenance, only to have drought, bugs, accident or disease wipe out every ounce of that provision. We can use wind power, solar power and generators to offset the loss of electricity only to have God’s electricity – lightning – destroy it all. “The best-laid plans of mice and men go oft awry.” (Robert Burns) The fact is, using man’s schemes, we are never truly “safe”. If any person promises to keep you “safe” from anything, he is a liar. And if he promises you safety in exchange for your freedom, he is a tyrant. Proverbs 28:26 says, “He who trusts in himself is a fool, but he who walks in wisdom is kept safe.” And what is wisdom? “The reverence for the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Proverbs 1:7 What kind of safety is scripture talking about? It can be physical safety, but more important, it is about spiritual safety. It is a safety from fear, unease, depression, discouragement, dread and all of the other negatives that cloud our joy and steal our peace. I have experienced moments when God has given me wisdom and warning that if I had just listened, I would have avoided a lot of physical heartache. But more important is that if I had just listened to His promise that He is my safety and salvation, I would have avoided a lot of spiritual turmoil as well. God truly does have our best interests at heart. He is our calm in the midst of calamity, peace in the midst of chaos and joy in the midst of pain. Even when bad things happen to us, if we let Him, He keeps us “safe” from ourselves. He is the tornado shelter for our hearts that shields us from the winds of our fear and anger, the surveillance for our minds that keeps us safe from thinking we are in control and the burglar alarm for our souls that warns us of stolen joy or pilfered peace. It’s pretty amazing. “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness and all these things will be added to your life.” Mathew 6:33 As I said, a lot has happened in our state and family that has messed with our perception of “safe”. And now that it has been a week since a first experience with the nature of people who don’t understand the concept of “this ain’t yours”, it has been hammered into my brain that when all is said and done, God is in control, God is the actual Justice and God is our protection from our own worst reactions. But I have to admit, in the dark recesses of my heart, I still catch myself hoping that those three men contracted Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease and are scared to death that they have the Black Plague or something!  But speaking of steps that you can take to better care for your family, I want to show you our wonderful, stainless steel Berkey water filter that I absolutey love. Isn’t it pretty?  When ordering a Berkey water filter, you have a choice of charcoal or ceramic filters, as well as special ones for arsenic and flouride. We’ve had this Royal Berkey, which holds a total of 3.25 gallons of water, for three years, and the spigot makes it so handy to just keep on the counter for a quick drink. We pour new water from our well into the top half with the filters once a day and enjoy the clearest, sweetest water you can imagine. They are a little pricey, but the filters last for years if cared for properly. We did the math and determined that in the long run, the Berkey was the better deal for water filters. So there’s my sales pitch. We don’t sell Berkeys or get a commission or even know anyone who sells the systems, so I can truthfully say that our endorsement is unbiased and for real! |
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Video On A Unique Donation!
Friday, June 14th, 2013
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Having lost our lovely, huge White Oak trees from the May 19th tornado, this video kinda struck a cord with me. It was produced by some friends of mine with our local news channel and some of the footage is at the church or around our area that I mentioned in my previous post. I was pretty surprised to see it and thought, “Hmmm. I never even thought about all the trees that have been lost!” You can’t imagine the piles of tree trunks and limbs that are gracing our roadways right now. Hope you enjoy. You can donate from the video site or go here. |
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Diary of A Tornado
Wednesday, June 12th, 2013
  It’s been three weeks since the mile wide, F4 tornado that swept through our community. It feels like it has been a year. Shockingly, in this short time, we’ve had so much help that some homes have been completely bulldozed off of foundations for new building to begin, roofs have been repaired on other homes along with all kinds of repairs, and piles and piles of debris have been neatly stacked in front of homes and properties for county pickup. The Sunday had started out hot and muggy. The wind had been blowing for two, straight days and it was so hard and so brisk that people looked around nervously and commented to each other, “I don’t like this. It doesn’t feel right out here.” The sky was clear and blue with big, puffy, cumulus clouds off in the distance. That afternoon, I was on the phone with a friend and Mr. Fix-It came in and said, “Grab your camera! Those weird kind of clouds are covering the sky!” I told my friend that I was going to take pictures of some clouds and she said, “Oh! Mike Morgan (the weatherman) is talking about those clouds right now!” I didn’t take the time to turn on the weather to see what kind of clouds these were for fear of losing a picture.  The whole sky was covered with what looked like a huge cluster of grapes. They gave an ominous feeling. Mr. Fix-It said, “This isn’t good. The last time we saw clouds like this was before a front that spawned tornadoes.” I felt weird inside. Something was nagging me that this day was going to be the day that we finally came face-to-face with the brutal force of a tornado. I had never experienced one of these twisters but had seen the aftermath of their devastation in the neighborhoods of friends. Somehow, our area had always been spared. In May of 1999, when the then largest tornado in history chugged its way through Moore, Oklahoma, I had been just south, in Norman, trying to make a getaway to get home, not knowing that two tornadoes were behind me. We made it to the cellar and those tornadoes lifted right over our area to set back down several miles behind us. We felt like we were blessed with protection. But this day…this day was different. There was a foreboding in the air. Our neighbors must have felt it too because my cell phone rang in the early afternoon and my neighbor, The Horse Lady, said in a timid and questioning voice, “I think it could be bad this evening. Can we come share your shelter?” She and her husband have two little girls. I told her to come if the sirens went off. At around 5 pm, our astute weathermen began warning that bad stuff was coming. We always keep our televisions tuned to the local stations when impending bad weather is possible. With their droned warnings in the background, I gathered up my laptop, a bag of goodies and water, my purse and a cloth bag with valuables that we would not want gone if the house was hit. All of these things went to the shelter where there is always a couple of lanterns, a battery operated fan, a battery operated radio and a backpack packed with a change of clothes for each of us, some jerky, dried fruit, copies of important papers, a first aid kit with bottles of our medications and toiletry items. The backpack would come in handy if we lost everything. Mr. Fix-It had cleaned the shelter, also known as a “fraidy hole” in Oklahoma, the month before, making sure that there were no spiders or other crawly things with which we’d have to share our space! We placed cat carriers at the back door, ready for Sway and Callie and little Ellie dog got dressed with a purple harness for a quick attachment of a leash. We continued our evening while keeping an eye on the television. At around 6:00 pm, Mike Morgan, the channel 4 weatherman, declared breathlessly that a storm with a tornado was headed our way. He showed a timeline of communities in the path and just then my phone rang and a friend asked frantically if I was watching the weather. She said, “You could be a direct hit.” I assured her that we were aware. I called The Horse Lady and told her to get her family over to the shelter. Mr. Fix-It and I loaded the cats into their carriers and put a leash on Ellie and got the animals situated in their temporary surroundings. At 6:15, sirens could be heard in the distance. I wondered where The Horse Lady and her family were. It was starting to rain. The Horse Lady and her husband and two girls suddenly appeared and came running through what was starting as quarter-sized hail. We helped them down into the shelter, little girls crying in fear, and got the door closed and bolted with the two, spring-loaded sliding bolts that slip into the concrete wall of the doorframe. It wasn’t long before texts on my cell phone started coming fast and furiously. We had lost all cell connection for voice, but for some reason, we could still get texts. My two dear friends were giving us blow-by-blow descriptions of what was happening outside our cozy, underground storm shelter and our children were wondering if we had made it to the shelter. I have never felt so at home in that place in my life!! I was ready to hang curtains! One friend managed to get through one last time by voice and I could tell she was upset. She lives in El Reno, Oklahoma, quite a distance away and she said she was trying hard to keep from crying because she could see what was headed our way. We could hear on the radio what she was seeing on the television. Suddenly, it got very quiet and then the wind started picking up. It felt heavy in the shelter and the wind began a low moan. The moan rose in pitch and became louder and higher and a strange whistle like a tea kettle whistling could be heard over the loud chugging of the wind. I can’t describe it any other way than it sounded like demons howling outside. And it just kept blowing and getting louder and louder. Mr. Fix-It and I glanced at each other as the two little girls sobbed in absolute terror. We exchanged an understanding look which indicated that we fully expected for there to be nothing left standing when we opened the door to our underground safe room. It seemed like the wind blew forever.   When it was obvious that the storm had passed, Mr. Fix-It unbolted the shelter door and peered out. I could see the back of our house. I was astonished. He came back down and whispered to me that all of our big trees were twisted messes and that the fence had been taken out. “Is that ALL??” I thought.  A piece of twisted tin lay in the side yard and another was wrapped high up in a tree – the remnants of somebody’s tin roof. Debris was scattered across the acreage, but it wasn’t debris from our buildings!! All were standing as pretty as you please. Later, we would find out that our roof was totaled, as was the guttering, and the garage door was damaged along with most of the window screens. But we thought at the time that the tornado must have missed our area after all. We were not prepared for what we would see of our neighbors.   Everyone crawled out of the shelter and we could hear a woman behind us crying for help. She was trapped in the rubble of her home. People were already there to help get her out. Mr. Fix-It and I moved toward the main road where we saw neighbors gathering. All have acreages and so some were walking from a distance. The Horse Lady and her family saw that there was a hole in their roof and our neighbor across the road showed us that the entire back portion of his roof had been lifted of its shingles to the decking. The neighbor to our south had a big tree in the middle of their house. But it was directly behind us that stunned us. Not a single home was left standing along a two mile stretch beyond our home to the east and for a mile to our south. Everything was either gone or exploded. Miraculously, nobody was hurt or killed. Just a few miles from us, though, two people were not so lucky. They died as their mobile homes were swept up by the tornado and hurled into little heaps of crumpled metal.   Power lines were cut, poles were toppled or snapped in half and there was no electricity for miles.  But not to worry at our place. Mr. Fix-It in all his wisdom had installed a whole house generator this past Fall. It isn’t a huge one, but runs the well pump so that we have water, some lights, the little heat pump at the back of the house, as well as two window units that we have in the attic for emergencies. It also runs the refrigerator and freezer and washing machine. The generator runs on propane and uses very little of the stuff to operate. We have a wonderful Camp Chef propane cook stove and oven that Mr. Fix-It set up in the sun room for me to turn into my temporary kitchen. That home canned bacon, hamburger, chicken and soups sure came in handy!!  The sunroom can be shut off from the rest of the house by French doors and then the side panels of the back door and the windows can be opened to ventilate the carbon dioxide.  In the midst of all of this devastation, a blessing came in the most unexpected way. All of us in this area rubbed shoulders with the American spirit of neighbor helping neighbor from both near and far. I have truly never seen anything like it. Within 24 hours of our disaster, semi-truck loads of supplies, tools, tents, blankets, food, water, gatoraid and all kinds of necessities from private donors came rolling in to the little church that is just to our south. This tiny church became a hub of disaster relief activity without even planning! People just showed up! Trucks of supplies from all over the country brought their donations to that little house of God and the members and neighbors jumped in to work night and day to get things organized for victims.  U-Hauls, commercial trucks, pickups pulling trailers, flatbeds loaded with heavy equipment and even vans of workers waited in line to either unload their goods or to be assigned to a particular area to help with cleanup. On one day, there were volunteer vehicles from 37 different states!!  The first morning, canopies were set up in the church parking lot to cover tables where people in the area could register for help, supplies and anything else they might need. This was all privately organized!!  By day two, the church was overwhelmed with the generosity of Americans across the land. It was something to behold. A system was set up to provide meals for all of the people in the community who were trying to salvage what they could from their homes and Mr. Fix-It and I, as well as my friend and her daughter, jumped in with other teams to deliver those meals house to house. Mr. Fix-It and my friends and I averaged 130 meals a day for dinner or lunch. We also distributed paper towels, toilet paper, fruit, snacks, diapers, wipes, water and gatoraid. We saw other groups simply showing up at each location where homes were either gone or partially standing, just diving in to help with cleanup, tree cutting and stacking and sorting through belongings.  This particular neighborhood was especially hard hit. We delivered meals here and were amazed at the number of people from the east coast who had immediately loaded up, made the trip to Oklahoma and were already in place with bulldozers, backhoes and tractors, volunteering their time, money and equipment to help these people who had lost so much. We gave lunches to these workers and they were very grateful.  The church also provided three, hot meals a day for anyone who was able to make it to the church. However, much of our community was stranded at their homes because cars had been totally destroyed or swept away in the winds. The church is continuing to provide meals now, three weeks later.  And in the middle of it all, the sound of chainsaws, the crackling fires, smell of smoke and the roar of heavy equipment has been our night and day experience. I even heard a chainsaw on our property and was surprised to find my brother-in-law, who had come all the way from Earlsboro, without asking, cutting up our twisted and destroyed trees so that Mr. Fix-It wouldn’t have to do it all himself. You gotta love everyday, plain folk Americans!!! When things need doing, they “gitter done!” |
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Flat Earth Travelers and Cooking With Children
Friday, May 3rd, 2013
 Ha! I bet you thought that I am going to educate you on people who refuse to accept the fact that this earth on which we live is a three dimensional sphere! Nope. I’m going to talk about travelers who are flat! Really, really flat. Well, yes…I know. I have been remiss in posting over the past few weeks. But we have been up to our elbows in soap…200 pounds of the stuff. We are preparing for the Central Oklahoma Lavender and Herb Festival at the farm of Country Cottage Primatives on June 1st. If you would like to have a lovely day of classes, vendors and lavender picking, set aside this day and make your way to this beautiful place. Look for our canopy and be sure to introduce yourselves!! Oh! And we did have our April drawing and Janet Black of Weatherford, Oklahoma was the winner of the canning tool set. Thank you for all of the entries. Stay tuned for the next give away. I have been working on this post for two days. That’s ridiculous. But I had it nearly finished yesterday, hit ‘save draft’ and instead of saving my draft, it got wiped out!! All of it!! There was some glitch that I have not figured out. It happened again this morning. I hit save again and it said, “You do not have permission to edit this document” and, “kerplooey!” everything was gone. I came very close to losing my normally pretty even temper with a shoe through the computer screen. But I didn’t and so third time is charm. But back to Flat People…Facebook is awesome. There were so many people about whom I have wondered over the years, having lost touch with them for as many as 45 years. Facebook has put me in touch with those wonderful people, letting me see what they look like, what they are doing, what accomplishments they’ve made, their families and it has given me a chance to rekindle old relationships. One of those people, a former high school friend and classmate, Carol, contacted me and told me about a geography project in which her 8 year old granddaughter, Ali, was participating. The students were sending a paper doll, drawn by each student, out to as many people as they could find to be photographed at locations that would introduce the students to new and wonderful places. The doll’s name is Flat Stacy. Mr. Fix-It and I volunteered to take Flat Stacy on our 2000 mile trip recently. It meant that we would stop along the way and take pictures of Flat Stacy in front of places of interest that we thought would be useful to the class. Now, there is nothing like watching the looks on people’s faces as a gray haired woman happily slaps a laminated, cut-out paper person that has been created by an 8 year old, up against some landmark to then step back and shoot pictures with a pretty nice camera. I figure that they wrote me off as some demented older person. But there WAS one place where a couple of young, college-age girls bounced up to ask, “That’s one of those flat people projects, isn’t it?! We did that when we were in school!” They hadn’t been out of school long enough to forget those kinds of things!! I do wonder, though, if they thought that I was somehow still in the third grade!! Mr. Fix-It joined into the project with gusto. Normally, ready to drive without stopping until bladders are screaming for mercy, he would see a sign and say, “Heh! That looks like a good place for a Flat Stacy picture!” and we would detour from our designated route to take in a site, complete with pictures to prove it. I just love that man. Anyhow, I thought that I would share with you just a few of the many places that we visited on Flat Stacy’s behalf. And Carol also sent me a recipe, to try, that her children, grandchildren and their friends brag about and can’t wait to eat when they are at her home. My granddaughter and I had a cooking day and tried these delicious treats so the recipe is posted below.  We stopped in Tupelo, Mississippi to visit the birthplace of Elvis Presley. Very impressive. Flat Stacy had her picture made with the “King” in front of the Tupelo City Hall.  Flat Stacy looked for the checkered flag at Talladega International Speedway in Alabama. I looked for Ricky Bobby.  In Newnan, Georgia, we found Flat Stacy’s store – or, at least it SAID it was her store! She was kinda dwarfed by the structure.  Outside of Wilmore, Kentucky, Flat Stacy had her picture made at Shaker Town, in front of a rock fence that was built before the Civil War.  Our little, long-haired dachshund, Ellie, was Flat Stacy’s traveling companion. Unfortunately, Ellie wasn’t feeling very good on this trip and when we got back and her to the vet, we were sad to find out that she is suffering from congestive heart failure. She is too young for that – just 8 years old. We are treating her with natural remedies and prescription medication to help her quality of life. We want to keep her around for a long time because she is such a joy in our life!  Near Mitchellville, Tennessee, Mr. Fix-It spotted these flat people who were just like Flat Stacy! In doing the research to find out about this sculpture, I found that the state of Tennessee has commissioned artists to do sculptures for each of the welcome stations. It just so happens that this one of the flat people was done by my former drawing professor at MTSU, Phillip Vanderweg! Small world.  Of course, we had to get a picture of Flat Stacy in Oklahoma and what better place than in front of the only working oil well in the United States that is located on the grounds of a capitol building. Our beautiful capitol building in Oklahoma City is in the background. Those are just a few of the pictures that we took. What a fun way to make a trip! And according to Carol, Flat Stacy went as far as Afghanistan for Ali! Here is Carol’s great cookie recipe for you to try. They are light, crisp and buttery. 1 cup butter 1 cup oil (I used coconut oil) 1 cup powdered sugar 1 cup granulated sugar 2 eggs, well beaten 4-5 cups flour 1 tsp. salt 1 tsp. soda 1 tsp. cream of tartar 1 tsp. vanilla  Now would be a good time to introduce our newest product: Bakewell Cream. I was actually introduced to Bakewell Cream way back in the 70’s in Maine but had not used it since because it is not available around here. Now I can have it!! Yay. It is the most wonderful baking Cream of Tartar that makes the most incredible biscuits. I have tossed baking powder and use the Bakewell Cream with soda and oh my….You can find it at our shopping page.  My granddaughter, Miss Peachy Pie, got her first cooking lesson, complete with her own “Li’l Cook” apron.” Typically, the batter wound up in her hair. Directions: Cream butter and oil with sugar and eggs. Sift flour, salt, soda and cream of tartar. Stir into creamed mixture, add vanilla and mix well.  My granddaughter “helped” put the dough balls on the baking sheet. If you are wondering why I cut faces in pictures – after the photo of my mother got stolen and used for unsavory purposes, I have ceased to show the faces that can be photoshopped and misused! Place small balls of dough on cookie sheet. Flatten each with a small flat bottom glass dipped in sugar. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes. (Do not grease pan!)  Yep, they are TAAASTY! Miss Peachy Pie loved them.  |
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Quoth The Raven Part II
Saturday, April 6th, 2013
  Don’t forget to leave comment to enter this month’s giveaway. This set of canning utensils is going to somebody’s home!! Better sign up before April 15th or you will miss out on your chance! As you remember in part one, we had arrived at a log cabin from the late 1700’s, where we were to stay, and I was not a happy camper. We unloaded the car, put Ellie in her crate and found our way to the retirement community to see my parents. Their home is lovely and the community is amazing. We were shocked to see this jewel in such a tiny town and I understood why my mom and dad had chosen this place to put down new roots. But this knowledge did not erase the heaviness that I was feeling.   I dreaded heading back to the cabin, however, we finally did and I fell, exhausted into the twin bed nearest the floor lamp. The only way that we could turn that light off, was to unscrew the light bulbs, however, the rest of the lights and the lighted Christmas tree stayed on all night. I was too tired to care. At one o’clock in the morning, Mr. Fix-It was frantically calling my name and I groggily asked what was wrong. “You have to get out of here and into the parlor. Take Ellie with you. We have wasps.” Finally awake, I could see wasps pinging back and forth against the ceiling, like in a pinball machine, and diving into the lighted table lamp across from my bed. Now, I must insert here that I am extremely allergic to wasps. I don’t just swell up like a balloon. No. My throat and tongue become alien objects, my hair tries to crawl off of my head, my ears and throat feel like I’m the fire eater on the circus side show and never mind the crazy heartbeat, the hives on hives have me imitating Job from the Bible. And I had no epi-pen. So, I vamoosed, in my PJs, to the parlor, fully aware that the people upstairs might come down at any moment to see what was going on.  I could hear Mr. Fix-It slamming the wall with what turned out to be a 1991 copy of Better Homes and Gardens (yep – 1991) that was lying on the dresser. He killed a number of wasps and declared the coast was clear. I crawled back into bed. The next morning, Mr. Fix-It had me out of the room again and attacked another round of wasps with a vengeance. They were coming from a gap between the ceiling and the log wall next to my bed and seemed attracted by the heat (evidently the heat had not been turned on for awhile) as well as the light of the table lamp. My hubby decided that we would trade beds to put me on the far side of the room. He admitted that the mattress on his bed had a tendency to slide due to the unlevel bed and the slope of the floor and that he had nearly rolled off a couple of times during the night. Oh well. At least I would not be so close to all of the wasps. I could see that it was raining cats and dogs outside. It was Sunday and we were to go to church with my parents – in the pouring rain – and after getting little sleep. I was NOT in a good mood. I had to fully dress in order to head to the bathroom to take a shower (didn’t want to embarrass our upstairs neighbors if they decided to appear). I turned on the little space heater and shivered as I started the water in the big, extra tall, clawfoot tub. It was then that I discovered that the door to the bathroom did not lock nor did it shut very well. I leaned against it and got it to close and then contemplated how I was going to crawl over the sides of that tub without killing myself or spraying water all over the room. It was one of those moments where you turn one way, then another, start to lift one foot, then the other and come close to freaking out in a feeling of total helplessness. I finally sat on the narrow, curved side and slid down into the tub, butt first, crawled to a kneeling position and then carefully pulled up to a standing position. The nice, warm, strong stream of water was a relief and I had a moment of bliss. That is…until I opened the curtain to a steamy room, reached for my towel, stepped out of the tub and suddenly realized that the door was standing wide open with a view of my glorious, dripping, gray headed body for all to see in the entry way! I dove to shut shut the door, grasping my towel with one hand and sat on the closed commode, laughing myself silly. I could hear Mr. Fix-It swatting more wasps. Our situation seemed utterly ridiculous. I figured that I would call the manager after church.  And then we got to the church in the pouring rain. It was one of the most beautiful churches I have ever seen. Sparkling white siding with stained glass windows, a bell steeple and gabled roof – the scene was like a picture back from 1800’s Kentucky – with cars. Inside was bright and cheerful on that dreary day and everyone was so friendly. In one, short year, these people – and this church had people of all ages: children, young people, young marrieds, elderly – had embraced my parents and were excited to meet the daughter. I was amazed at the quiet reverence of the sanctuary. People were not visiting. They were very quiet, reading scripture, praying perhaps, but all was very respectful. The minister gave the most amazing sermon and the music…oh the music…it was absolutely gorgeous. There was a tiny brass section, an organ, a piano and handbells. The instruments simply graced the singing with musical undertones while the voices of the congregation nearly blew the roof off of the building. At one point, the music minister stopped the instruments and the congregation sang, in parts mind you, a cappella, to a beautiful hymn. I had goosebumps. I have not heard that kind of singing in a very long time and teared up because it was so wonderful and moving. Two young people did a piece on the handbells and I was worn out just watching them. The whole experience was so worshipful that I realized that God had taken my focus off of myself and my feelings and had planted it squarely back on Him and His blessings. It was a turn around moment.  After a grand lunch at my parents’, spent with them, my sister, and a cousin and her family whom I had not seen in years, I reported the wasp dilemma to the manager and she called the owner to remedy the situation. He showed up at our cabin room door and introduced himself. I was delighted to find him to be a fellow artist who was eager to share his craft with me and the history of the cabin with the two of us. We got a complete tour and he left us with a can of Hot Shot wasp spray and a fly swatter. Yep. He did. There was no other room available. The next morning, I got up and made another stab at the shower, only this time I put my toiletry case in front of the door to hold it closed. I was grateful for the space heater because it was exceedingly cold and I even felt a little at home as I dressed for the day in that little room.   When I trundled back to the bedroom, through the old parlor, Mr. Fix-It was grinning and told me to look out of the window. A heavy layer of snow covered the ground and the whole farm was a white wonderland. The cabins, with the Christmas candle lights in the windows, stood out against the glistening snow and I knew that I had to grab my camera. It snowed all day and night and all day the next day. It was beautiful. The cabin seemed warm and cozy when we returned from my parents’ home, in spite of the difficult front door and the wasps appearing every so often to be stunned with bug spray and then swatted. I felt transported back to Daniel Boone’s “Old Kaintuck”. We curled up with hot tea to watch a movie and then drifted off to sleep.  We left that snowy, quiet little town around 1 pm the following day, a tearful good-bye to my parents who live so very far away from Oklahoma. But I came away with a peace that God has them in His right hand and that they are where they are happy, healthy, active and welcome. We met many lovely people, including the manager and the owner of the bed and breakfast, and I no longer feel like I will be visiting my parents in a strange place. And I kind of miss that cabin!! |
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Quoth The Raven
Friday, April 5th, 2013
 Don’t forget to leave comment to enter this month’s giveaway. This set of canning utensils is going to somebody’s home!! Better sign up before April 15th or you will miss out on your chance! I figure that since most people are too busy for soap operas on tv anymore, but almost everybody sits at a computer, I would offer an Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ soap opera for your enjoyment. It’s too long a story to put into one post and so you will get two installments – one today and one tomorrow. Will there be a happy endng? Stay tuned for…da da da (that’s organ chords)…The Old And The Feckless! Isn’t it funny how we get it into our heads how something is supposed to be, get all bent out of shape when it isn’t that way at all and then God provides a whole new direction that puts us all back together in contentment? I had that experience last week and I thought that I would share the adventure. Mr. Fix-It and I took a trip – a long trip! It started out heading to Georgia where Mr. Fix-It did some training to remind him that computers, his life’s chosen vocation, never work the way that they were intended. He’s just not as technologically savvy as I am. I know that the squirrels running the machine are simply out looking for nuts. Anyway, I took the opportunity to visit my uncle for the first time since my aunt’s death in December. It was a wonderful visit with much laughter and ample reminiscing. And then we went north to Kentucky. Now, Kentucky is beautiful and it is a wonderful state, but I was a little bummed about the trip to the place because we had to go through the mountainous part of East Tennessee where my parents had lived up until a year ago and where I grew up…and we didn’t stop…because my parents aren’t there anymore. I was sad. My mom and dad sold their house and had moved to a retirement community in a town in Kentucky that I had never heard of before and which was not ‘home’. When we got off of I-75 to wind our way to the town on narrow roads carved into the sides of huge bluffs (with no guard rails) and which narrowed down to one lane bridges in a number of places, I felt heavier and heavier. We were in the middle of nowhere and I was looking for the dueling banjos. “What were they thinking?” I asked myself. It was nearly dark when we arrived in their tiny town…and I do mean tiny. There are no fast food restaurants, only one gas station, a Dollar General Store (nope – no WalMart) and one grocery store. I had made reservations at a bed and breakfast (one of several) where the manager was kind enough to allow our little Ellie dog to join us in our room. The manager had informed me over the phone that we would be staying in a log cabin where the owner had a cat and so a little, long-haired dachshund would be no problem. We stopped at the main home of the two-part B&B, met the manager and found out that the cabin, we would call home for several days, was outside of town. We were to follow her car to the location. It felt like we drove forever, but that is always the case when one does not know where one is going. Off of a main highway, we came to a drive that led a long way down into a “holler” to a picture perfect sight of two, big, authentic Kentucky log cabins. I calculated their ages as it was revealed to us that they were built before Kentucky became a state. 1792 was that year – George Washington was president and Daniel Boone was a resident of the state! Wow.  But my heart sank as we carefully navigated the flagstone walkway that just begged me to be my usual, accident-prone self and climbed the stairs to an uneven porch and to an old, front door. “Now you have to work really fast to get the front door to unlock,” we were told as the manager unlocked a single knob with no deadbolt lock. “Just shove the key in and turn quickly. If you are timid about it, you won’t get it to unlock. Oh, and be sure that you really jam the door shut and double check that it has closed.” There was a note taped to a door pane that ordered, “Please make sure the door is closed.” The obstinate door creaked open and we stepped into a dark entry way, lighted only by an old, opaque globe with a light inside, showing off the various countries of long ago.   First, we were shown our bathroom. The door to the bathroom opened out into the dark entrance where any other guest would walk right past. I was relieved to find out that it was our personal bathroom, but the privacy was definitely wanting. Inside the bathroom was an old claw foot bathtub with circular curtain and old shower assembly. A tiny space heater provided the only heat. We then went into the parlor to the left of the bathroom and I felt like I had walked into an Edgar Allen Poe story. The boards of the floor (original) creaked and sank under the weight of our steps and ancient furniture, books and multiple stuffed animals were strategically placed around an old fireplace on a wall that was obviously uneven, old, painted plaster. Electric Christmas candles in the windows and a floor lamp in the corner offered dim lighting, and a large collection of crucifixes adorned the mantel and hearth. I was looking for the raven quoting, “Nevermore.” A narrow door of vertical boards, held together by a couple of cross boards and painted with enamel paint opened to a narrow set of stairs that led to the rooms upstairs which were occupied by another couple of visitors.  The door to our room was the same type of door, but wider. It was a little lopsided so that there was a gap between the door frame and the top of the door when closed. The doorknob was the old, metal enamel type with no lock. When opened, the door revealed a large room with three chinked log walls and one plaster one, a set of twin beds on a floor that sloped enough to mess with your equilibrium and a very large, lighted Christmas tree in the corner.  That tree, along with a floor lamp, a set of electric Christmas candles in the window, a dim table lamp and a collection of strange, lighted plaster art on the mantel of a huge fireplace, served as the lighting for the room. In other words, it felt like we would be living by kerosene lantern light. The bed that would be Mr. Fix-It’s had one leg leveled by a wooden block. There was a television. And there was a light switch on the wall, but we were cautioned that the light switch would turn off everything, including the space heater and it was cold!  Because there were no electrical outlets, a maze of extension cords and spike bars crisscrossed the corners of the room and over the mantle. A large extension cord dangled from the mantel to be used for a space heater on the hearth. Mr. Fix-It surveyed the electrical nightmare with horror. I just looked around in dismay at the very weird room. By this point, I was really depressed…(and with that, I will leave this to be continued tomorrow!!) |
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A Sick Bed Craft
Wednesday, February 20th, 2013
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In-FLU-enza…H1N1…Tamiflu…all words that none of us actually care about or even think about – that is – until we stumble into the doctor’s office, eyes glazed, throat that could only feel worse for a fire eater and muscles that scream four letter words at us, as we try to use them. THEN, the flu becomes a reality and a reason to think seriously about finding a sky scraper from which to jump. Such was the past week for Mr. Fix-It and me. He succumbed first. I knew he was sick when he willingly grabbed his keys and left the house early last Sunday morning to hit up the AM-PM clinic for drugs. ‘Mr. Fix-It’ and ‘getting medical help’ are not usually in the same sentence. Since he only had a fever of 99.9, after a nose swab, Mr. Fix-It was rather taken aback when the doctor forced a mask over his face and admonished him not to go anywhere, including work, for 5 days. The doctor was stern in his warning and typed up a letter to give to the boss. He told Mr. Fix-It that he was highly contagious and so he came home, not entirely convinced that he was really THAT sick. But then, Sunday afternoon hit. My hubby was a mess. His fever was quickly inching to 104º and I was frantically making preparations to get him to the hospital. I had tried everything…tylenol, ibuprophen, tepid bath, alcohol rub and then I remembered an elderly doctor’s method quite a number of years ago when our son’s fever had gone to 105. I filled plastic bags with ice, wrapped them in towels and put them under Mr. Fix-It’s arms, on his stomach and on his forehead. Magically, the fever dropped to 102º. All evening I battled the fever and Mr. Fix-It’s irrational statements that let me know he was NOT all with me. By midnight his fever broke and he actually slept while I transferred myself to the couch, hoping to avoid the disease. About 3 am I woke up shaking from head to toe, teeth chattering so hard that I could not keep my mouth shut and throat literally shooting flames. Oh no. Somehow, I made it to the bedroom and crawled into bed next to my ailing husband. I figured that I might as well be comfortable now that I had caught the germs. Of course, I woke him up with my shaking and he crawled out of bed to get me some tylenol and water. I thought I was going to die. We figure that Mr. Fix-It brought the germs home from the VA Hospital where he had done a computer installation the week before. Ten days is the incubation period and it had been ten days since his visit. I am sure that I picked the germs up from his clothes or from him. Who knows? All I know is that neither one of us has had the flu in years and years and years and years and so the ferocity of the disease was rather disturbing. It has taken both of us over a week to get back to normal. But, as always, I could see that there was a humorous side to our plight. I made it to the doctor as well…just our family doctor…and I found out that just the word ‘flu’ nearly tatoos an ‘F’ on your forehead and hangs a sign around your neck that announces, “Unclean! Unclean!” I was told to wear a mask throughout my visit and the nurse who swabbed my nose (might I add that this is one of THE most unpleasant tests on the planet – because your sinuses are already swollen and raw without a q-tip being twirled around the membranes like a chimney sweep’s broom!) barely stuck her head back in the door and said through clenched teeth, “It’s flu!” And it wasn’t just the flu-flu. It was the BAD flu. As I left the room with prescription in hand, the cleanup crew was already disinfecting everything I had touched. Even the woman who checked me out, handed my Visa card back to me, washed her hands, grabbed the pen I had been using, disinfected it and wiped the counter right in front of me. As I stepped back, I felt like I had smallpox. I slunk past ogling patients, bemasked and humiliated. Two days later, still diseased and miserable, I needed to somehow get an order to a friend, who had come in from out of town. We discussed the logistics of this feat without germs and it was agreed that Mr. Fix-It, who was well on the road to recovery, would drive me to a designated meeting place. He did so and when we arrived, dear friend stepped around her vehicle and waved, at a safe distance of 50 or so feet away. Mr. Fix-It got out of our vehicle, placed the box of goodies onto the pavement of the parking lot between our car and Friend’s and proceeded to soak the box with spray Lysol: Bottom, sides and top. The contents had already been lysol’d. I was looking around for Homeland Security to come swooping in with a bomb squad and handcuffs for each of us.  We got back into our car and Friend picked up the box to place in the back of hers. Hopefully, all germs were murdered by Lysol drowning. Now, I have to tell you that being sick is a boring state of being, but thanks to this same Friend, I was given a fun craft project that served to pass my time in bed and produce lots of little bows. She sent me an email with directions for making tiny bows that are so handy for a multitude of projects. And, heh, when you are running a fever and eating popsicles a new craft is a welcome distraction!! All you need is some 1/4″ ribbon, preferably a light weight or organza type, scissors and a four tined fork.  First, begin by running the ribbon under the first tine, over the second, under the third and over the forth.  Pull the ribbon under the fourth tine and pull it all the way to the first tine.  Now, go over the first tine, under the second, over the third and under the fourth.  Push the ribbon up to the end of the tines to keep it tight.  Continue the process until there are either two or three (depending on the size of bow you want) wraps around the outside tines  Clip the end of the ribbon that is attached to the spool and now run a fresh ribbon end up through the tines between the second and third one and in front of the first row of weaving  Pull up other end of this ribbon and clip off, leaving enough that will make it easy to tie  Pull the two ends up, gathering the center of the woven ribbon together, and tie at the center in a knot  Slip the bow off of the fork and clip off extra ribbon. The bottom bow was done with two rows and the top one was done with three rows  Use to decorate cards, hairclips, clothes and anything else you can think of! |
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I Am Woman!!
Thursday, February 7th, 2013
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Don’t forget to leave a comment to enter the Valentine’s Day Giveaway! Winner will be chosen on Monday, Feb. 11, for a basket of Prairie Blessings Soaps, handmade right here at the Oklahoma Pastry Cloth™ digs.  It was time to go to the chiropractor – a part of my week to which I aways look forward. I feel soooo good after a visit to Dr. Ryan and so it is no effort to make the long drive to his office. But I got into my car – my relatively new car – and turned on the key to absolutely no sound at all. No click. No whir. No nothing. The battery was dead. Why was the battery dead? Because there just has been no battery invented, to my knowledge, that stays charged when the dumb driver leaves the key turned to auxillary for a couple of days. Of course, Mr. Fix-It wasn’t here. In fact, he wasn’t even in the near city. He was two hours away. I called him on his cell phone and he asked what all men ask: “Why is the battery dead?” And I actually thought about spinning a yarn of an alien spaceship that landed in the front yard and sent out weird electronic waves that killed every battery in the area…”I KNOW dear. That’s just crazy isn’t it? I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes!!” But I didn’t. I told him the truth and took my lumps of typical male explanations on how I must be more careful and observant about taking the key out of the ignition. Which I should. We discussed my options, including an attempt, on my part, to roll the car onto the driveway next to my son-in-law’s sporty Monte Carlo that is visiting us on vacation due to a blown head gasket (I’m pretty sure that’s worse than a dead battery) – problem being, that the Monte Carlo’s hood is the equivalent of a slab of granite and can only be lifted by a pair of Olympic weightlifting champions. My fate was sealed to pedestrianism, 40 miles from the doctor’s office and 25 miles from any semblance of civilization. My friend pointed out that I could call the insurance company and make use of the ‘roadside assistance plan’ for which we pay. She was so logical in her reasoning, “It’s what you pay good money for!” However, I was experiencing a twinge of that sin that has brought down complete societies in one, fell swoop…..Pride. I did not want to have to drag some poor schlub all the way out to the boonies for a 5 minute job required by a stupid female who doesn’t pay attention. Now, there is nothing more inventive or creative than a woman in trouble. If the government would just put a group of women in a room and tell them that the national debt will cause chocolate to become nonexistent by the end of the year, within two weeks, those women would have the debt paid off, the credit card cut up and Washington, D.C. employees eating mashed potato sandwiches from sack lunches. So when I discovered a car battery sitting on a work bench, my little brain began to form a plan. While the Monte Carlo hood is granite, a car battery is a close second in weight. Those suckers are heavy….and dirty…and oily. I donned a full apron to protect my clothes, which added a floral accent to my situation, and tried to lift the square box. It did not budge. I quickly figured out that one must emit that same “arrrhhhh” that weightlifters’ grunt at the point of assuming full impact of a heavy object in order to make it move. I did so, and lifted the battery into my arms, struggling on buckling legs to transport it in front of my little Nissan Versa. Realizing that I could not hold the battery and bend over to place it on the floor, without dropping it and sending acid all over me and my pretty, floral apron, I looked for a “stand” on which to place it. Fortunately, there was a stack of boxes of canning jars and so this acted as my table on which to place the battery. Next, came the job of opening the hood and as I had never done that to this particular car, I had to get a flashlight and then use the engineering skills that I don’t have, to figure out how-in-the-world the latch worked. Of course, it couldn’t be just a simple latch. No. It had to be one that had multiple levers that acted in concert with the movement of the main clamp, which had to be pressed in a direction that made absolutely no sense. Finally, getting the hood up, I couldn’t find that little stick thingy that holds the hood in place. I searched everywhere, with the blood draining out of my arms while I held the hood above my head to keep it from slamming down on my body for someone to discover the hideous picture of a car that had eaten its owner. That engineering skill, that I don’t have, whispered to me to find the hole in the hood and then trace that directly below to the frame where the stick had to be in order to fit into the hole. I searched and searched on the hood for that recepticle and probably looked directly at the little stick thingy, clamped across the hood, at least a dozen times. It finally screamed at me, “I’m right here, stupid!!!” and I managed to support the hood. Then came the scariest part: Electricity. I had the jumper cables ready, and I knew that black went to black and red to red and that black is negative and red is positive which is soooo confusing since in the business world, black is positive and red is negative (just try to run a bank account in the red and convince your bank that’s a positive thing – well – yeah – the government does that). I carefully placed the clamps on the posts of the two batteries, gritting my teeth in expectation that I was about to arc weld the frame of my car to every steel component of the motor. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a spark and when I turned the key in the ignition, the car started!!! I did my best imitation of a “goal post dance” and wanted to growl like Tool Time Tim. Yessss! I might as well have invented the automobile with the sense of achievement I felt. And speaking of a sense of achievement. I discovered something rather wonderful this week. Most of you are probably not as ancient as I, and probably don’t remember Dannon’s Fruit On The Bottom Yogurt. That was a staple for me throughout my college years. I would go to the student union cafeteria and load up on cups of Dannon Apricot and keep that in my little frig for late nights at the Art Barn or studying for a test. But Dannon Fruit In the Bottom Yogurt went away. There was something about that yogurt with the tart chunks of apricot and the lumps of yogurt that burst in your mouth between smooth and creamy spoonfuls. Anyway, the other day, in making yogurt, a brilliant idea hit me. I have tons of apricot jam made from the bounty of Sir Flying Ace’s apricot tree. I put a couple of tablespoons of that jam into the bottom of my yogurt cups. Then, in my pan of warmed milk, I added vanilla and stevia to flavor the milk and then did my usual adding a little warmed milk to the starter, pouring that mixture back into the milk. I poured the milk and starter mixture over the jam into the cups and placed the cups in my yogurt maker. Oh my gosh!!!! When cooled in the frig and then gently mixed to bring the fruit up from the bottom, that yogurt tasted exactly like that which I ate in college. It is wonderful. I have now tried it with homemade strawberry and blueberry jams as well.  But to beat everything, I was out of buttermilk the other day and on a whim, decided to use that yogurt instead, for a batch of pancakes for Mr. Fix-It. I sustituted exactly the same amount of the fruit yogurt for the amount of buttermilk I would have used. Mr. Fix-It has said that he wants me to make pancakes that way from now on. They were amazing. So here is my recipe. I am sure that you can use just plain yogurt the same way, but that fruit really made some wonderful flapjacks!! One note: The yogurt must be live culture. The blended yogurts and those with additives won’t work. Ingredients: 1 large egg 1 1/4 cup yogurt 1/2 tsp soda 1 1/4 cups sifted flour 1/2 tsp vanilla 2 tbsp melted butter 1 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp salt chopped pecans (optional) Printable Recipe Sift together flour, baking powder and salt and set aside. In a mixing bowl with a whisk, beat together egg and yogurt until smooth. Add baking soda and mix. Add flour mixture and stir until smooth. Add vanilla and butter. If batter is too thick, add enough water to give it the consistency of hot pudding.  Pour batter onto a hot, well-oiled griddle, heating to around 350º. Sprinkle with chopped pecans. Cook until brown and turn to cook the other side.  Serve with butter and syrup. Good eatin’!!! |
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