Around Town

What's your technology IQ?

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You must admit, whether you like it or not, that technology is an integral part of our lives. And it touches almost every aspect of our lives.

But how savvy are you in the face of current technology?

I am certain my younger son was ready for computers long before I was. At 10 he was already interested. My association began as my school, Ripley-Union-Lewis-Huntington High School, put computers in the school lab, then in my classroom.

I was not required to take my classes to the computer lab. However, my journalism class insisted that we could do the school newspaper on computers. We did. They helped me learn, and so did the computer instructor.

When we moved into the new high school building, they placed a computer in each classroom. We were required to post our grades on the computer plus check morning announcements and other information  on our system’s e-mail.

That was a first for me - e-mail. And we could branch out and connect with those beyond the school’s walls. When my son went to college, I kept in touch with him via that e-mail.

So, I’ve had a long association with computers and used them for all types of things: posting grades, downloading photographs, creating slideshows to add to my classroom materials, etc. My knowledge was expanded when I  began working on newspaper, to lay out pages, to photoshop pictures.

But I don’t know everything. In fact, I would say that I learned to do the things I needed to do. I don’t adventure much into new areas.

We spent a few days recently with our youngest grandchild. He was two this month. Before his parents left for a few days, they offered their iPad as a diversion when nothing else seemed to occupy his time.

The first time I pulled it out, his demeanor changed completely. He smiled, his eyes lit up, and he reached for that magical tool. That didn’t surprise me.

What did surprise me was the speed with which his fingers moved to open the icons, to use that tiny index finger to tap on what he wanted and to slide side-to-side to another screen. And to open multiple screens. I was amazed!

I’m still somewhat fearful of touching some buttons and obliterating an important part of the computer, something that cannot be recaptured. Not so little ones! Let them move you through the operational aspects of your computer. They aren’t afraid.  Aug. 18, 2016

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Cooking Guesswork

 

Cooks may work from recipes—their own or those created by others. Some cooks seem to magically add ingredients to a bowl and produce a tasty dish.

Which are you?

Neither of my grandmothers seemed to need a guide to good food. I don’t remember them measuring ingredients (they may have), but they created delicious dishes.

People remind me that our grandmothers may have lived on the farm and had access to good cream and made good butter. That’s why their dishes tasted better. That is a distinct possibility.

Me—I’m a recipe-kind-of-cook. Oh, there are a few dishes that I can handle without any handwritten instructions. I have made meatloaf, macaroni and cheese, scalloped potatoes and corn pudding enough that I work from memory. Well, not really. I don’t measure—I just estimate. But those dishes are easy to handle in that they are forgiving. The same would not be true in my estimation for pie crust or Italian Cream Cake or chocolate fudge.

I used to be annoyed when I asked for recipes and the cook replied, “Oh, I don’t have a recipe—a little of this, a little of that.” At a family reunion a couple of years ago someone asked for my recipe for corn pudding. I had to respond that I didn’t have a recipe and that I was truly sorry to say that.

I think the secret might have been the corn—ambrosia, fresh from the field. I don’t think that the other ingredients would have produced such a request.

The entire family loved my mother’s macaroni and cheese. It was a staple in our “growing up” years and a regular part of any holiday menu. My niece was concerned that there was no written recipe for her favorite dish and encouraged my mother to measure and record the details for her macaroni and cheese. I guess it was somewhat like a science experiment—do what you do normally in making the dish, stop, measure, write it down, go to the next ingredient, etc.

My niece’s macaroni and cheese tastes just like my mother’s. The experiment was successful. And we get to have that favorite dish again and again.

It doesn’t matter which method you use. A good dish is a good dish whether you followed a recipe step by step or gather your ingredients and create your version of your favorite dish.  Aug. 4, 2016

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Strippin' Down

 

A couple of years ago we decided it was time to redo the laundry/half bath in our house.

Its last facelift had included wallpaper - which was a little dated and worn. My mother and I labored in a small space, working around a commode and sink and its vanity. The cloth-like “paper” featured a faint bamboo design in shades of pale green. It was lovely. But outdated. Time to redo.

We called in someone with experience for the job. It was more of a task that my husband and I felt like we could undertake.

The biggest job was removing the wallpaper. Contrary to advice obtained about its removal and what could then be done with the walls, nothing worked to provide us with clean walls that could be painted. We used bead board to cover the three areas that were affected. A change of color, new flooring, fixtures and appliances created a brand new room with a brand new look.

Without wallpaper, one wall - the one opposite the door - needed something. I thought about it for some time before an idea developed.

It’s basically a laundry room. When I was little, wash day at my grandmother’s house presented the opportunity play in the wash tub. I had grandsons who were at the time two and four. What if we put them in the galvanized tub to simulate the “good old days”? I would have it printed in black and white and large enough to be the center point of that wall.

The boys came to visit. We took the tub and them into the back yard.

“Boys, get in the tub,” I said.

Of course, the four-year-old looked at me and said, “Why?”

I explained that I wanted to take their picture. They stepped in. They both fit.

“Now, take off your shirts and sit down,” I requested.

“Why?” the four-year-old responded.

Now I explained the “why” of the picture, what a wash tub was, my days in one, where the picture would hang, etc. I don’t know if they understood the concept, probably not, but they cooperated.

Shirts off. The two-year-old proceeded to take off his shorts, too. He insisted! Luckily, we stopped him before his diaper came off, but that action was the highpoint of photographic session. We have laughed about the incident since and especially remember it when we step into the laundry room.

I love the picture. Both boys are crouched down in the tub with their hands on the rim. The black and white photo brings back memories of the past.  July 28, 2016

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Trouble in the Toy Box

 

Providing a diversion for visiting children can be difficult. Once our children are grown - or even earlier - most of us clear out the toys, games and children’s craft supplies.

We kept some of each of our sons’ toys and stored them in the attic. We wanted to be able to pass them on to our grandchildren. When our older son’s boys reached the perfect age to enjoy those treasures, we took them to Georgia. That shift of stored items made more room, which was desperately needed. Our younger son’s child is not quite two. I don’t think he (or his parents) are ready for wrestlers, Masters of the Universe and transformers.

We wisely pulled a couple of sets of toys aside to share with visitors. The Fisher-Price schoolhouse has always been a favorite. One toy with its many parts self-contained seemed the perfect one to store and make available when someone stopped by.

A year ago or so I added a plastic tub full of Playskool sets - construction, hospital, cowboys, etc. It’s a good thing I did that. I’ve packed the schoolhouse into a container, which I cannot find. I did one search of the storage building with no success. I need to do another sweep of containers.

The Playskool items were in a clear plastic tub, which did not have a top. I don’t know exactly why. Perhaps it split and was discarded. I should have transferred them to a container with a lid.

Why?

Well, my niece and nephew came to visit a couple of weeks ago.

They almost immediately asked for the toys. So, off we went to locate them in the storage building.

We then spread the toys out in the living room, but I left them for a few minutes to ask their parents a question. Suddenly they were yelling and running toward me.

“Come here! There’s a mouse in the toys!”

“A mouse?” I questioned.

“Yeah. He’s dead,” they responded.

And there lay a small mouse on the living room carpet. Yuck! And my husband did not offer to remove him for me. I did it!

Now, there’s a new storage container on the shopping list. I don’t want that surprise again.

And to cut down on the mouse population, the little ones suggested we get a new cat.  July 21, 1016

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I’m no slouch

 

How did you learn to sit up straight?

It’s a simple question. The answer or search for the answer may be more difficult.

Don’t you remember your mother or father saying, “Sit up straight!” I do.

My mother often instructed me and my siblings to sit or stand up straight. I remember periods of walking with a book on my head to improve my posture.

I’ve noticed that many people sit down and immediately lean forward and prop their elbows on their knees. It looks uncomfortable to me. Moreover, it seems to impart an attitude of disinterest. Not a good idea if you are trying to make a good impression.

And how you sit or stand is important to your overall health. Proper posture puts less strain on supporting muscles and ligaments, especially when you move or participate in weight-bearing activities.

For example, lower back pain is often attributed to not having the back properly supported. My back often notifies me that it’s tired when I am pulling weeds or picking green beans. No proper support!

I think most of my proper sitting posture can be traced back to my high school typing class. “Sit up straight. Feet flat on the floor.” Those were constant admonishments of Miss Marjorie Harmon. We also had a proper position for our hands, our arms and the typing book.

There was no slouching in Miss Harmon’s typing class. When I sit down even today in front of the computer, my back is straight and my feet are on the floor. 

Some lessons are hard to forget.  July 14, 2016

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Ruining the Rural Scene

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Looking over the fields the last couple of weeks will tell you how good the hay crop was this year. Personally, I love the look of those round bales scattered across a newly mown field.

I remember one person’s view of those bales from a call to a comment line in a local paper. That person wanted farmers to” be made to remove those distasteful objects from the highways’ view.”

Really?

I cannot address the job of haying with any personal experiences. Even though I spent a great deal of time on my grandparents’ farms, they always resisted the idea of the girls helping in the fields. And, perhaps I was too young when I actually felt the desire to help. I am sure that I had no idea of the difficulty of such jobs.

Now, I most certainly ran along the side of the tractor or rode on the bumper - such a no-no today. I climbed all over those square bales, played in the hay loft of the milk barn. That hay loft contained loose hay - a wonderful place to play hide-and-seek, to tumble and roll.

The disadvantage, of course, was the sharp ends of the grain, the itch of the shaft that found its way into every fold and crease in your body. We never seemed to care much as children.

My husband’s stories of working in the hay field vary immensely from mine. He was out there in the field for a full day. The sun beat down on him and even lots of cold water didn’t seem to alleviate all the results of the heat.

His days in the hay included lifting bales to the wagon, then transferring them to their storage place. 

The scratch, the itch, the discomfort - it could only be eliminated with a shower. And yet angry red scratches reminded him of what the day had been like and what could be expected the next day.

It was a hot, dirty, uncomfortable job that has been eased somewhat by modern equipment - an enclosed tractor cab with air conditioning, round bales picked up and deposited by a spear on the tractor - hardly the hand and muscle work of previous years.

I love the smell of new-mown hay. The round bales of hay accentuate the flatness of the fields, proclaim a cleanness, a orderly look, the promise of summer and vacation time. 

That one protester? Let’s just consider that some people can’t see the beauty of a rural scene.  July 7, 2016

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A Journey to Serenity

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The sounds of the city fell away. Even the traffic noises on the four-lane road seemed softer.

The left turn eliminated even those reminders of the cacophony that surrounds us each day. Ahead lay the serenity of Camp Nelson National Cemetery.

It’s strange that such a feeling of peace can envelope you in such a surrounding, but it does.

The symmetry of those white markers, the winding road, the tilt of each hill, the seemingly perfect grass settled in our bodies. 

The grieving process is an arduous one. Each person processes their loss in a different way, one that is personalized and individualized. Small incidents revive that hurt, attempt to mollify it, ease it, treat it.

The cemetery’s pavilion provided shade and a coolness that comforted. The simplicity of the structure with its wooden frame and rock wall created a gathering spot that heightened the spirituality of the entire event. 

The Navy honor guard, all in white from their hats to their gloves to their shoes, set the tone for this segment of the process.

Words can soothe or sting or comfort or hurt. Music can fill a gap in our ability to adequately respond to any situation.

Taken together the words and the music, strains of “Amazing Grace,” even the forlorn echo across the countryside of “Taps,” touched a different chord within those gathered, eliciting a final tug on the emotions and the heart and concluding a beautiful service.

If you’ve never attended a military funeral or driven through Camp Nelson, you have not felt the serenity fingertip on your hurt.

What a spot to encompass the earthly remains of my husband’s only brother - a spot on a hillside with a spectacular view!  June 30, 2016

 

A sleepy conclusion

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Long ago in a not so distant place, women ironed their bed sheets.

Shut your mouth! Cover your eyes! Do not speak such nonsense again!

I know. Who wants to add one more chore to their household duties? Not I.

But I will tell you - when I recently pulled out the sheets that I had recently washed, dried and folded and flipped them open across my bed, I considered, just considered, resurrecting that chore.

Somewhere along the line of my duties as a homemaker, sheets have changed. Yes, I can remember ironing sheets and pillow cases in my early married life. Why? Didn’t everyone?

Then permanent press cotton came on the scene. No ironing required. Or needed. Plus my work load as a teacher and mother now took precedence. Maybe I just decided that the sheets looked fine without pressing. I don’t remember for sure.

However, over the last four or five years, I’ve noticed that sheets once again “look” like they could use pressing. They don’t “look” unwrinkled, permanently pressed. The seams roll up until you lose at least an inch of material around the sheet’s edges.

Folding them plays a large role in smoothness, I think. Part of the problem for me seems to have developed when we went from a full-sized to queen-sized bed. I just can’t get that fitted sheet to fold as easily as the full-sized one for the guest bedroom. I know there are lessons for such things. I see them all the time on the Internet. Not so helpful.

Okay. I’ve found the problem, analyzed it, considered the alternative and made my decision.

I am not going to iron my sheets. I don’t want or need another chore. I can sleep on those wrinkles without a worry.  June 23, 2016

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A Look Back

 

The past? We talk about it, drag out old pictures, relocate items that have been saved for decades.

Social media reminds us of it, television rehashes it and our children/grandchildren kind of wince.

Okay, so I’m a writer of columns. I’ll tackle almost any subject. Let me remind you of things past.

What made us feel more grown up as children than a pack of candy cigarettes? The box had the look of the real thing. Contained inside were ten of those thin, pink-tipped sticks. There we were - six or seven or eight years old with a cigarette hanging out of our mouth. Then we’d chew up the sweet treat. 

I remember blocks of ice being delivered to our house for -  the icebox, of course. I was about six, and we lived way out in the country near New Bern, N. C. We only lived there for a short time, then moved onto the Marine base at Cherry Point. I don’t remember the icebox itself. I don’t remember opening it or even being curious to see what it looked like inside. I now wish I had! I just remember the fellow delivering the ice to our back door.

Home milk delivery was also a staple of family life when I was young. Perhaps only one glass bottle would be left outside the front door. If more than one had been ordered, the bottles were placed in a metal carrier. And a bottle of chocolate milk? Now, that was a real treat! 

The tops of those bottles held a reusable cardboard stopper which, thinking about it now, was surprisingly secure. Like some products today, there was a flap you could raise to lift the reusable stopper out of the bottle, then replace it.

I’ve considered doing a story about home delivery goods. That type of retail was very popular when I was a child. My mother might await the arrival of the Jewel Tea truck, the Watkins salesman, the Avon lady and more. For a young mother with a couple of young children, it was an easier way to shop.  In recent years there has been a resurgence of such practices, and online you can purchase almost everything to be delivered to your door - even groceries.

The past - I’ve only touched on it. I know there’s a world of other things I could write about, so you may see another column or two in the future.  June 16, 2016

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Your money's worth

 

I don’t want to say cheapest. Cheap seems to imply “inferior” and that is not always the case when our choice is “cheapest.”

We may make the least expensive choice.

We are all cost-conscious these days. And why not? The rising cost of everything should encourage us to be discerning - to check out several alternatives, to compare prices, to check the details.

But, you get what you pay for - it’s an old saying, but basically true.

Cheap clothing doesn’t hold up well - not with constant wearing and laundering. Seams are not wide enough and pull open. Fabric may be so lightweight it doesn’t last through many wearings. The zipper gives up.

Cheap couches or chairs - if no one sits on them very often, they are fine. However, do you have a child or young person in your house who doesn’t sit down but rather “falls” down? I see it all the time. Frameworks don’t hold up. If your child rides the arms of the chair or couch, the stuffing in the arms won’t hold up either. Add the stuffed cushions to that list, too. 

What else have you noticed?

*Toys that break before you get them home. And what do you have then? An unhappy child and wasted dollars.

*Paper towels that disintegrate. Or napkins. Or toilet paper. If you are looking for reliability, don’t look at cheap.

*Meals that are no bargain. They either don’t taste good or don’t satisfy your hunger. I’ll try  a new frozen entree or a new creation at a fast food restaurant, but I won’t continue to purchase unsatisfactory food.

*An advertised bargain that’s not what it’s advertised to be. We quickly learn to avoid such purchases in the future.

If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is - another old saying with new relevancy.

I look for bargains, for moderately priced items. Sometimes you must go to a higher price (there are good, even economical reasons to choose a higher priced product). 

But just because it is “cheap”? I may just pass by that object.  June 9, 2016

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Childhood Adventures

 

There’s a phrase that pops up every few months on social media - “I’m glad I had a childhood before technology took over.”

I’d seen the admonishment several times before I actually stopped and thought about it, particularly in relation to myself.

If I picture today’s electronics youngster, I see more time in front of a gaming device, more time punching buttons on a tablet of some type, and more time spent surfing the Internet.

How did my generation spend their hours after school and their summers?

Well, if you lived in town, you might ride your bicycle or play jump rope, hopscotch, kick-the-can, badminton, croquet, etc. I remember long sessions of jacks, pickup sticks, Monopoly and various card games. 

Dolls were a play day standby. From baby dolls to bride dolls and every type in between, we could spend hours creating life-like scenarios. And don’t forget paper dolls. I loved them. And when the commercially reproduced ones weren’t available, we cut up the older catalogs and created entire families.

Games of make believe were a large part of play with the neighborhood kids. Playing school was a frequent source of entertainment as were cowboys and Indians, cops and robbers, etc.

In addition to those outlets, my brothers spent lots of time fishing in the creek. 

Although I lived in town, I spent time in the country with my grandparents. My cousins would come for the day, and we would wander the farm. I don’t think we missed an inch of its acreage.

We waded the creeks, caught tadpoles, made mud pies - but we didn’t eat them. 

We climbed to the top rafters in the tobacco barns and adventured into the hayloft in the milk barn. We shelled corn, not at the request of our grandfather, but I don’t remember him ever complaining about our pastime. We played school in the meat house and invaded the chickens’ domain at times.

We climbed trees, played hide and seek, checked out the cellar - a good hiding place but a dark and dank one.

There was an old cemetery on our grandparents’ farm and we searched it, too.

Life lessons must have been absorbed as we recreated what we knew about our families and the way they treated various situations. I think we were multi-faceted young people and that influenced our adulthood.  June 2, 2016

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Check out the Lyrics

 

Are you ever surprised by the words of some songs?

Your thoughts may take you in a completely different way than I am suggesting. I am well aware of the irreverent, insulting and crude lyrics of songs that come from the world of rap, top 40 or rocks songs.

If you wonder why young people's language is what it is, just check out the music to which they listen.

I've been surprised a time or two when I've been standing in line and overheard the conservation of teens. Stand by a collective group and listen to their conservation. Two boys sat behind me on a plane trip a couple of years ago. I figured they must be 18 or older based on their discussion which was rather loud. When an adult came back to check on them and I caught a glimpse of their faces, I realized they were in the 12-14 age group, maybe younger. I was tempted to ask the adult if he knew what they'd been discussing. I didn't.

So, let's take rap off the discussion table and leave in almost everything else.

Consider "Incommunicato." That's the title of a song by Jimmy Buffet, and that word appears several times in the song. "Bravado" and "rendezvous" were written into that song, too. How about "metabolic rate"? That phrase is in "Growing Older But Not Up," another Buffet song. How often do you use those words in your conversation?

When composing, a writer may be looking for just that right word for the experience or trying to find a rhyming word. That could have been why Mariah Carey chose "euphoric" for her song "Heartbreaker." Well, it is not used to rhyme. What would rhyme with it? It helps explain her feeling for a fellow's smile.

In "The Kiss," Faith Hill sings of "centrifugal motion, perpetual bliss and pivotal moment." I have never used those words to describe a kiss, but maybe you have. Or maybe we should.

Bruce Springsteen uses "promenade" to tell his story in "Atlantic City." If you have been to that New Jersey city, you have probably walked that promenade.

Insertion of the word "imposition" adds to the flow of a line in Tim McGraw's song, "Live Like You Are Dying." He sings about facing death and what he would do if he knew the end was near. "All of a sudden going fishing didn't seem like such an imposition" reflects what we might do for someone that was facing their last days.

As you listen to your favorite songs or just turn on the radio as you travel, consider the lyrics. You, too, might be surprised by the use of some of those longer words, those more inspired words, those dictionary words. Not all music is only a repetitious replay of the same word, same sound, some line.  May 26, 2016

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Off the beaten track

 

My husband and I love to travel, to discover new and unusual things, to view the wonders of this world. We have traveled far and wide, from one side of this country to the other and even across both oceans.

We have as much fun visiting places near home, to pack a picnic lunch and head out in the morning, perhaps with a destination in mind, maybe not. Kentucky’s state parks offer peaceful valleys and striking hilltop views. Small towns often surprise us with shops, museums and delicious food that we were not expecting.

We have just returned from visiting our son and his family in Georgia. The direct route to his home an hour southwest of Atlanta is I-75. However, that road can be stressful and dangerous at times. So my husband has been scouting for a new way that won’t take more time but help us to feel more comfortable as we travel.

We skipped the heavy traffic of Knoxville and Chattanooga. We traveled some two-lane and some four lane roads with speed limits of 55, 65 and even 70 miles-per-hour. Other than the fact that we often traveled through towns with a stoplight of two or three, we made good time. It took about an hour and a half longer than the more direct I-75 route, but it was not as hectic through the country side.

On the way home we pulled off the road when we noticed some people parasailing. Four brightly colored silks floated ahead of us. They lifted and dropped as the wind’s path took them near and over a nearby hill; the silks fluttered all the time. Then each began to descend and landed in an area out of our sight.

We pulled back onto the highway and traveled only a short distance to discover this sign: Dunlap, the parasailing capital of the East. Well, that explains it! And off to the west we could see the landing site. It would have been nice to have taken the extra time to travel to the park where they all landed.

Another good find on this off- the-beaten-track trip was a good produce market, two in fact. My day will be filled with preparing and freezing strawberries and peaches. The strawberries were grown in the areas where we stopped. I knew I had missed part of the strawberry season in Fleming County and did not want to go without.  The peaches were from Georgia.

The girl at one of the stands was a good salesperson. If we showed interest in anything, she quickly quoted prices for one basket, two, three or a box. Then she offered a bite - a whole peach, a strawberry a slice of cantaloupe. Delicious! I bet you can guess what we bought.

It is that time of year, when you are tired of what winter offered in the way of good fruits and know that at least in our area not much is ready for harvest. These stands allowed us to push the season a little.  May 19, 2016

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Bar None

One of the joys of life as a youngster was to be treated to a candy bar. Unlike our children and grandchildren, candy was not a food staple in our homes.

Instead, it was a treat, one often relegated to a holiday.

I remember sweet tart hearts for Valentine’s Day and jelly beans for Easter.

Halloween brought candy corn into our house, but the best treat was going door-to door for sweet treats. People often dropped into our sacks items that we never had at home.

At Christmas, my mother always bought special candies: orange slices, chocolate bon-bons and chocolate-covered peanuts.

On rare occasions there were candy bars. Hershey bars, Milky Way, Three Musketeers and Snickers were the most recognizable brands on the shelves.

As I grew and my taste changed and I was allowed to select my favorite, I gravitated toward Almond Joy, Mounds and Payday.

Then I discovered Zero. I don’t see them in many candy cases today. If you aren’t familiar with Zero, it had a fluffy caramel-flavored nougat with tiny chips of peanuts and almonds and was coated in white chocolate. Very different! Zero bars are even more enjoyable in the summertime if put in the freezer for about an hour before eating.

I also found a love for Heath bars. I don’t know who introduced me to them. Now this bar has a hard center of toffee (a mixture of sugar, butter and finely chopped almonds) and is coated with milk chocolate. I make a chocolate Heath bar trifle that is yummy!

About the same time, I found I liked Blue Mondays. You see them in many local stores today, maybe because of their increasing popularity and because they are made by Ruth Hunt Candies in Mt. Sterling. They were not always easy to find. 

Now I don’t want you to think that I buy a candy bar every time I pass a display. You know they keep them right up there by the cash register for us impulsive buyers (remember my column a few weeks ago?). 

For the record, my last candy purchase was a Blue Monday, and I believe that was about a month ago.  May 12, 1016

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Restrained at an Early Age

As I attempted to strap my grandson into his car seat, I remembered how easily my sons slipped into theirs.

Many years passed between my first son’s birth and my third grandson’s birth. I’m skipping the first two grandchildren as I don’t remember trying to secure them in a car seat. However, lifting Conner (number three)  was no trouble, but figuring how what hooked here and what strap went there was a mystery to me. I left the honors to his parents.

Our first born sat in a seat that resembles a seat put on a swing set for babies. His little legs dangled over the console. Since we had a car with what were called bucket seats in those days, we had to use a rod-enforced pad that stretched from one seat to the other, then hook the car seat over that.

Neither my husband or I remember our second son’s car seat. Perhaps it was of a similar design. Our family car then had bench-style front seats, so we didn’t have to worry with that pad.

I will tell you that our sons seldom stayed in a car seat for long. I often held them. They would crawl to the back seat or I would place them there to sleep. For a trip out West when our older son was almost three, we placed a small mattress on the back seat and he played and slept there.

Today infants are not allowed to leave the hospital without a safety seat. Padding encloses their tiny bodies while the straps enwrap them. Wiggling is held to a minimum. That’s good. In case of an accident, we hope that their safety is insured.

As children grow, they seats change and grow with them. A booster seat, at least in Kentucky, must still be used for a child until they are eight-years-old or reach the weight requirement.

I’ve learned the fine art of strapping a child in modern car seats. Those straps are snug, and even my four-year-old grandson can’t move much. 

We had charge of both boys last fall and took them to their baseball game.  We returned home with two dusty, dirty boys (the dirt intrigued them more than the game). As I prepared to release the then three-year-old, he looked at me so seriously and said, “Who put me in this jail?”

I cannot image where he got that idea. 

Cartoons? I had to laugh. 

And as I released each snug strap, I agreed with him. It must feel like you’ve been jailed - for safety’s sake.  May 5, 2016

 

Mobile Dreams

Dream cars - did you have one as a young person? As you approached middle age? Is it a dream that has never gone away?

Every time I see a convertible, I dream.

Part of my teen years were spent in California where convertibles were common. Many fellows in my high school spent hours working on “street rods.” Most were painted bright colors and looked like loads of fun to drive. I still love to go to car shows to drool over those models.

As a college student, I fell in love with a Jaguar XKE. There was one in Lexington that I saw frequently - red, of course. Is there any other color for a sports car? It was beautiful.

Marriage and motherhood closed that dream for  a while. I wanted something that was safe for my children, one that could manage snowy roads that took me to my teaching position, something easy to drive and handle. I was too busy working and taking care of my boys to actually picture myself in a convertible.

Then the Miata entered the car world in 1989. They were compact, small, seemingly easy to handle. No one still needed a car seat. I dreamed. I was particularly drawn to a navy blue Miata with a tan top. So pretty!

When convertible talk became intensive, my husband pointed out that those cars were often cold in the winter and that road noise was a constant. You realize what he was doing, don’t you? He was not enthused about acquiring such a vehicle.

Okay, I was just dreaming.

The next model to catch my attention was an older Mercedes. Well, why not? Our older son’s father-in-law had one he wanted to sell. He encouraged me to take a ride in it or take it for a drive, to think about purchasing it. There we were, on Hilton Head Island, in the Mercedes convertible, cruising down the highway.

Again, dreaming. Decision: not to buy. I could complain that it wasn’t the right color - a buttery beige, but it didn’t seem to fit our lives at that time.

My husband offered to rent a convertible for a few months so that I would at least have to joy of driving one for a short time. I figured I would never want to give it up. Better to just have that dream.

And today - I feel like I drive a much safer vehicle than a small, close-to-the-ground sports car which I know would be hard to get into and out of.

However, my head still turns each time I see a convertible.

 

Lick it up!

As I finished moving the Brown Butter Frosting from the bowl to the cake, I was reminded of how many times over the years my boys had “licked the bowl.”

Well, at least our older son would patiently (most of the time) wait for the fudge to be transferred to the waiting dish so that he could take over the spoon and the sauce pan.

We had not been told about the dangers of eating anything containing raw eggs in his childhood days. He licked the cake and the cookie mixing bowls. And if there was frosting for the cake, well, he was standing waiting. He didn’t have to be called to the kitchen.

Our younger son was a picky eater. He was only interested in cleaning up a pan or bowl if it was candy or frosting and did not contain nuts.

I don’t know if children today wait for a chance to take a spoon and fill it with the remains of chocolate fudge or vanilla frosting. My grandchildren may be a little too young and picky to be so tempted. Perhaps I have just missed it.

Today busy mothers have the option of buying pies, cakes and fudge already prepared and prettily packages. No bowl to lick there. The same is true of cookies. Or they can choose the “slice and bake” version so nothing there. And all of these versions are good. We have all bought them, and sometimes our families prefer them.

I still have one candidate for candy and frosting pans and bowls - my husband. He is not shy about stepping into the kitchen when he knows it is time to lick the pan.  April 21, 2016

 

 

Are the lights out?

I sleep best when my surroundings are dark.

I don't have to have lights on to move easily through my house at three or four in the morning with not even moonlight to guide me.

If I turn on a light, I am almost certain to awaken even more, and in the dead of night I want to go back to bed and sleep.

As a mother I learned light might alert my child that someone was up - and they would want to get up. NO! NOT YET! It's not morning yet.

In addition, I've lived in the country most of my life. I'm used to the darkness. There is a security light near us, but it does not make the bedroom look like it is day time.

In the last year or two, I've learned that my house is not always dark. There are night lights in both bathrooms, a carryover from when our children where home and almost a necessity now for our nocturnal wanderings.

Having nights when my bed just didn't allow me to rest, I've sought other resting spots.

In the den, lights flicker on the wireless phone and the computer. That flash is distracting when I'm already having trouble sleeping.

If our cell phones are charging, they will flash off and on. I first noticed this when we were traveling and the phones weren't in another room. I learned to put the phone face down or to put it in or under something.

The television logo on the lower part of the frame glows in the dark.

The charger for my camera batteries is always plugged in. I don't want to have to cover a story and find I have no juice for my camera. The indicator light will burn red or green, depending on the status of the charge.

Clocks glow.

Light violates my dark, but I am usually able to ignore these small disturbances and sleep.  April 14, 2016

 

A sandwich? Really?

 Is it still a sandwich if you need a knife and fork to eat it?

I love hot roast beef sandwiches and hot turkey sandwiches, and I would probably eat a hot chicken or roast pork sandwich if they made them.

But pick them up and eat them like most sandwiches?

No way! Much too messy!

 If you are not familiar with these delicious concoctions, they include mashed potatoes and gravy stacked on the roast beef and bread, generally one slice of white bread. They are a knife and fork sandwich.

You may know them as open-faced sandwiches or a hot shot. Up East they are referred to in many places as a Manhattan.

Most of us have made or ordered a sandwich that just got to be too messy to hold or was so soggy we had to use silverware to devour those last few morsels. I've had it happen with pulled pork.

I like the Food Network show "The Pioneer Woman." Last week she made Chili Cheeseburgers for her family. One side of a bun was topped with a burger, then cheese, than a thick chili which oozed down over the burger and bun. She stated that this was a burger eaten with a fork.

Open-faced sandwiches are eaten all over the world. Now, I am not talking about those tiny party fingers that can be consumed in one bite. I mean a heap of hearty protein, whether meat or cheese or eggs, plus vegetables and a sauce of some type. The best know are the ones I referred to in the second paragraph.

Restaurants looking for an edge or a new menu item to draw customers add new creations on a regular basis, especially in the summer when folks are looking for something lighter. Don't look for potatoes and gravy on these sandwiches.

I wonder what the Earl of Sandwich would say. He is the one generally given credit for the sandwich's creation. The British citizen held many different military and political offices. He evidently didn't accomplish much according to his biographers although he had the opportunity.

And the sandwich? Well, the legend says that the earl was a gambler who spent hours and hours at the table. When he became hungry, he ordered someone to bring him a "piece of meat between two pieces of bread." Others got in the habit of ordering "the same as sandwich."

A kinder version states that the earl may have eaten the creation while at work at his desk. Hmmm.

If you are looking for comfort food, for a hot roast beef or turkey sandwich, you might try Suggins in the Chevy Chase area of Lexington which I found out last week makes delicious versions.  April 7, 2016