The last few days had been gloomy alternating with rainy and today started out just as gray and cloudy. The afternoon sun broke through, temps went up, and it’s a lovely, sunny 70 something degree early evening. Driving home after showing a 1700’s farmhouse in the next town over, my mind was wandering around the inner cranium when I noticed cars stopped and pulled over. As I drew closer the reason was apparent.

A mother goose was walking around the opposite side of the street flapping and honking. Dad was on the grass moving around uneasily. Two small bodies lay very quietly on the pavement and one gosling was flapping about, struggling to move anywhere but where it was. Luckily there was a parking lot right there so I pulled in, drew on a pair of gloves, hopped out of the car and ran over to see what could be done.

As I approached the gosling, Mom began hissing and coming at me. I stepped back to the curb, people in their cars are watching me eying the situation. Suddenly two policemen were with me. It was their parking lot, of all the luck. They directed the traffic around the geese and I.

First, I picked up one of the dead goslings and brought it to the side of the road. Mom started coming at me again but the officer distracted her. It was quick work to get the two off into the grass. The remaining one was brought off the road and into the grass beside the driveway of the home they were headed for. This particular property has a good-sized pond at its edge, which is where the geese were heading. Mom followed me, squawking and huffing the entire way while dad marched ahead clearing the path of any potential dangers. The baby continued struggling in the grass, flapping its downy wings, and not getting much of anywhere. There was a significant gash on the back of its right leg which seemed it might be broken. I brought it halfway across the lawn toward the pond and lay it down in the grass, hoping it could crawl back to the water. By this time the parents were on my heels and the officers remained on the street, not near enough to distract them from my actions.

I tromped back to the dead goslings and murmured the mourner’s kaddish, not knowing what else to do. It’s trash day tomorrow, a barrel was there, so they were put on top of the household detritus as respectfully as possible. I asked the officer if that was allowed, saying it was better than their being ripped apart (life cycle be darned, these fluffy puffs were not going to be further harmed by a passing predator; that animal will have to catch its own supper). He agreed it was the sensible thing to do and we parted company.

Once in the safety of my car I dissolved into a sobbing lump. Dealing with dead animals isn’t so much the issue, but I felt so badly the parents lost two thirds of their family just like that. Seeing the mom, in my mind’s eye, hissing and moving fretfully in the street, refusing to leave her young behind dead or alive.

By the time I got home I was chastising myself for not picking the gosling up and taking it to a rehab center. You may remember a baby possum was brought to the Berkshires for, hopefully, a new start in life after it fell off its mom’s back when traveling through our yard. That facility doesn’t care for birds, however. There was still a little time left in the work day, so I called my vet who does take in birds. I had one hour to get Gabby the Gosling to the doctor.

Zooming back to the site, talking to myself all the way, willing the gosling to be not far from where she’d been dropped in the grass. Gloves on in a flash, across the street like Batman, and I scanned the lawn. No gosling. Over by the water, the parents were moving in for a swim and there was Gabby. It was a bit of a distance but it looked like there may have been a second one as well, but definitely one was moving into the water with them. Just in case, I scoured the whole yard looking to see if Gabby had been stashed, but I couldn’t find her. A final scan of the yard and look out to where they were lazily paddling in the quiet water, and I returned to my vehicle. Hopefully she won’t become prey for some animal and her leg will heal, but we’ll never know. At least she has the opportunity to grow into adulthood and two parents that will do their best to see that it happens.

Tip of the Week: Take a few extra seconds to let families get across the road, regardless of their species. Birds don’t automatically fly up when a car approaches and baby birds don’t move so quickly. Turtles are particularly slow in the street and squirrels go this way and that in a panic. Give them those few seconds and you won’t have to read my tip for getting blood and guts off your car.

Recipe of the Week: I made this carrot soup last week and it was beyond delicious. I told our guests it was vegetable soup rather than carrot because carrot soup appears to be a turn off for many folks. They seem to equate it with a carrot drink they’re supposed to drink and it’s not very tasty. Admittedly, this soup does have a color that makes you think of something unsavory if you think hard, so don’t do that. Just make and enjoy it.

Two pounds of carrots, 3 T olive oil, 1 med. yellow onion/chopped, 2 gloves garlic/pressed or minced, 1/2 t ground coriander, 1/4 t ground cumin, 4 C veg broth or water (I used broth), 2 C water, 1-2 T unsalted butter to taste, 1 1/2 t lemon juice, S & P to your liking.

Preheat the oven to 400 and while its warming, cut the carrots into 1/2 inch pieces. Cover a baking sheet with parchment paper, foil, whatever and add salt and 2 T olive oil. Stir the carrots so they’re coated and let them roast 35-40 minutes.

Warm the remaining oil in a soup pot, add the garlic and spices ( added 1 t of curry powder as well), onion, and a few shakes of salt. Cook until the onion is translucent (5-7 minutes).

Add the carrots to the soup pot, bring to a boil for about 15 minutes. Transfer the mix to a blender and whirly away, adding a dash of pepper, the lemon juice, and butter (I didn’t use any butter and it was fine). It will keep about four days in the fridge and several months in the freezer (but you’ll eat it right up). Unbelievable.

Bob and I celebrated Passover, which started immediately after Shabbos ended on a Saturday night. There were two big holiday meals (Seders) that kicked off the holiday and two more that capped it, to round out the eight days of observance. Without getting into the nitty gritty, when a major holiday begins on a Saturday night, as this one did, it means meals for Friday night through Saturday need to be prepared ahead of time and cooking ends when the sun goes down Friday night. I always picture the chefs on the various competitive shows where the buzzer goes off, the announcer shouts out that time is up, and the chef’s hands fly up into the air as though cops ran them down into submission.

You would think that a flexible work schedule like mine would allow time for said preparations. Two weeks before the holiday it seemed as though anything could be accomplished in those fourteen days. A friend marveled at the way my lists and schedules kept me focused and on track, ticking off each task with a little flick of the wrist. But, when you work with people, time has a way of warping out of control and you find yourself triaging the actions from most to least important.

Friday was the last whole day to wrap things up. The day started out cheerfully enough after breakfast and a leisurely look at the paper. At 8:00 a.m. I smartly tied on the apron and jacked up the heat for the ovens. There were a number of dishes to work through but each one was really simple. Of course, the fact that eight basic recipes add up, time wise, never seems to be top of mind and I dove in, initially cleaning as I went.

No such thing as cleaning as I cooked or whistling while working by mid afternoon that day. The hair was in strings, sweat beading up anywhere there was a pore, and dishes and pans were piling up and beginning to lean precariously. A big roasting pan got shoved under the table while soaking (you know those ones that go inside the counter top turkey roasters?). The second roasting pan was now a base for a couple of disposable metal pans with veggies in them. The menu slowly morphed into an unrecognizable list of food items as time sped beyond my control and alternate dishes that were less labor intensive became necessary.

This phenomenon is not unfamiliar to me when cooking for company and there’s limited time at hand. I will say it makes for some creative dishes that magically appear on the table. Even I’m surprised. Luckily it was only Bob, Ethan, and I sitting around the table. Bob’s a good sport when it comes to meals and eats almost anything over and over again. While there was enough food, I may have forgotten a meal here and there, which called for us eating leftovers more often than should be legal. On the plus side, we wasted none of it and never went hungry.

Considering the Jews left Egypt with the clothes on their backs and baskets of unleavened bread, a few repeat performances on the table was enough.

Tip of the Week: I mentioned in an earlier post I’d bought Bob a Dick Tracy watch and later got one for myself (smart watches for those who haven’t heard of Dick Tracy or seen the comic frame of him talking into his phone). Like any device, there’s a cord and charger to take care of. Also, I had a concern about the faces getting scratched while revving up.

Dollar Store to the rescue! You’ll see I used hair clips to corral the cords. They come in a variety of sizes and grasp things gently. Plus, you get 3 or more, depending on size, for that dollar.

In addition, I reused the idea of sectioning off a drawer (seen in a previous post) and sectioned off a small box for Bob and I to store the watches and cords. A ruler was employed as the dividing material, a glue gun secured the pieces on either end, and a scrap of felt was laid down to prevent scratches on the watch faces. Another hint that won’t cost you anything: Turning the watch inside out so the face is resting on the watch band may avert a scratch.

Recipe of the Week: I was in a hurry tonight but didn’t want homemade junk food which is fast and filling, but not so nutritious. I quickly sorted through my file and found this recipe for spiced chickpeas and beef over couscous. There wasn’t a pound of ground beef at hand as we hadn’t yet portioned the ten pound log into smaller pieces. BUT, I did have some meatballs in the freezer. A few minutes in the microwave and they were ready for their close up in the fry pan. Another plus in using them is that they’re already cooked and make it to the plate even quicker. When starting late in the evening, that’s a plus. Finally, I didn’t want to use couscous since I treated myself to doughnut holes this afternoon, so it was swapped out for quinoa.

Spiced Chickpeas and Beef over Couscous (or quinoa): prepare the quinoa or couscous according to package directions. A cup of dry quinoa is more than enough for this and the recipe calls for a 10 oz. package of couscous. I used vegetable stock rather than water to boost the flavor.

1/2 C diced peppers, 1 T olive oil, 1 lb. ground beef of some sort, 1T ground cumin, 1 tsp cinnamon, 2 tsp smoked paprika (yes there is a difference between this one and the regular one), 1/2 tsp turmeric, 1 can chickpeas (15 oz.).

Heat the oil, throw in everything but the chickpeas and brown about 8-10 minutes (this is happening while the quinoa or couscous is cooking). Toss in the chickpeas, stir, eat. You can sprinkle some parsley on for garnish if you like. I tend to buy parsley, or cilantro, with every intention of garnishing this or that and usually remember to do so once it has passed to the other side and is only good for the compost heap. Rachel Ray has nothing to worry about tonight.

Onward and upwards into warm weather, sunshine on our faces, and cooling breezes at our backs!

In a recent post, I’d mentioned doing some reading on the topic of a minimalist lifestyle. This is coming from a person who alternately hangs onto some things forever and blithely tosses others with abandon. I’m married to someone who saves most everything and may be concerned he’ll return to an empty house one of these days! As with anything else, the extent to which one takes on a change in habit can be found on a continuum. I have no plans to reduce personal possessions to a mat on the floor and two sets of clean underwear, but there are a number of things that will be given, or sold, to others who will actually use them. I’ve found that many who adopt this lifestyle simply eliminate all the extras around them, or confuse organization with minimalism. A deeper look reveals the foundational mindset that has been a way of life for the Japanese, for example, and it can alter how you perceive your possessions. “Attitude is father of the action,” is an adage I use frequently that makes it easier to differentiate between things that should be kept and those that would be better off in someone else’s closet.

In Judaism, we have a practice of symbolically casting off the consequences of poor decisions, mistakes, and regrets by tossing bread onto flowing waters the first day of Rosh Hashanah. There are prayers to be read while doing so and the action tends to result in some reflection on your thoughts and actions of the past year that make you twist your lip upon remembrance. Watching the bread get carried away, and with it your negativities, brings a sense of relief and renewed belief you can do better in the coming months.

Similarly, Jane Yolen wrote a book, “Letting Swift River Go,” that chronicles the flooding of a number of towns to create the Quabbin Reservoir from the eyes of a six year old. It actually happened and took about seven years to complete. Graves were moved to higher grounds, buildings relocated or knocked down, the land stripped of vegetation, and the Swift River Valley flooded after a dam was built. The main character, Sally, went boating on the reservoir one evening with her father and she remembered her mother telling her she had to let lightning bugs go that had been collected in a jar. At the moment Sally heard her mother’s words, all the resentment, sadness, and anger she’d experienced throughout the seven year build floated away, as the bugs from the jar, and she was able to appreciate the significance and beauty of the reservoir.

My reading thus far has altered my perspective of the junk drawer. We all have them. It’s where you find absolutely anything you need from that tiny screw for the switch plate to the dog’s rabies tag that fell off the collar three months prior. We keep that stuff because, “you never know when you’ll need it.” Go. Right now. Look in that drawer you don’t profess to have. What’s in there? Is it really irreplaceable?

The book I’m currently reading by Fumio Sasaki, “Goodbye, Things” suggests we think of retail stores as our personal storage spaces. Really big ones, with people who are paid to help us retrieve the things we have trouble finding. In those storage areas, anything we want is beautifully organized and categorized so they’re easy to find. Your head won’t get conked by a flying tennis racket when you open an overloaded closet. Matter of fact, that closet won’t be so crowded that random objects will be projected anywhere, once you’ve eliminated extraneous items.

Sasaki’s frame of reference is life in Japan, where space is limited for many individuals. His living quarters currently measure less than 800 square feet. He’s eliminated much of what one would expect in an apartment along the lines of furniture. As with the storage example above, he thinks of his neighborhood as his personal living space. When he wants to entertain friends, he does so in “his” living room at a nearby coffeeshop. A book can be enjoyed at the local library if he wants to hold an actual book, or it can be read digitally. Mementoes have been scanned, filed, and stored in the cloud and he adopted a dress code similar to Steve Jobs’ to further lessen the need to store a variety of clothing choices. These are lengths I’m not willing to go to, but he did talk about objects lying around as being silent “to do” lists that I found interesting.

People who enjoy handmaking things often have cabinets and bins full of materials, findings, tools for cutting and measuring. Years ago I worked in quilt and yarn shops that were housed under the same roof. The total hours worked each month were so minimal, I took my pay in the form of materials. At that time I was actively involved in both pursuits and had no difficulty keeping up with the stash. The yarn shop closed and reopened under new ownership in another location. I bought enough yarn to knit several sweaters at close-out prices. The second shop closed two years later and, again, I had the opportunity to stock up. Well, much of that yarn is still in my possession, as is yards and yards of quilt and clothing fabric. Over time, my ability to use up the goods in a timely fashion has diminished as my focus has strayed.

In our current residence, I finally started to set up a crafting space. I’ve been at this endeavor since we moved in three years ago. All that fabric and yarn has been screaming at me, in a not so silent fashion, “Use me or give me away!” The same is true of the unopened boxes from that long ago move. Clothes that aren’t worn in a year are routinely dispensed with but those boxes……. not so quickly. Until now. I’ve been employing the same strategy used when tackling anything that will take a prolonged, concerted effort and that is to set a timer for X amount of time; usually half an hour. You’d be amazed at what you can get accomplished in that amount of time. So far, the kitchen cabinets have been relieved of expired items that were lurking in their dark recesses, the car cubbies cleared out, and numerous boxes of fabric and findings have found their way to a lovely lady who turns them into sensory blankets for people living with Alzheimer’s.

The lady mentioned above is only one of the many people I’ve met when giving or selling my things. It is so interesting to hear how these items are going to be put to good use. A number of people make them over into new craft items and sell them in circumstances where the proceeds benefit a group in need. New teachers have been given enough materials to go a long way to defray the costs of setting up their first classroom (whenever we actually get there!), and I’ve been invited to join a sewing/knitting group in a few months, once all parties have been vaccinated.

I have a lot more to go through to pare down items that haven’t seen the light of day in at least three years and, for some things, even longer. It has been fun looking at them and remembering the connection to a class taken or family member who used it last, which really underscores Sasaki’s thesis it’s the memories and not the object that’s really important to us. This connects to a suggestion he made in his book that there’s a difference between memorabilia and memories. Using this as a frame of reference has made the purging process painless and efficient.

Onward and upwards to a new appreciation for the things that really matter!

Recipe of the Week:

I’ve been wanting to make stuffed shells for a few days now and today was the day. Time was limited however, so I decided to make deconstructed shells. Luckily there was some sauce from the eggplant parmesan made a week or so ago, but I wouldn’t have turned my nose up at using bottled sauce as a short cut. Remember, people, I’m not a professional anything in the kitchen; just someone sharing recipes that taste really good. This method of making the shells probably isn’t original, but I have no idea who to credit if it was seen in a past magazine article.

I used the recipe on the back of the Ronzoni box and it’s below. I didn’t have any mozzarella cheese, so used a Mexican blend. Also, I wanted to amp up the nutrition and threw in some spinach after thawing it out. I think that makes it Neapolitan, or something. I simply broke the shells in my hand while wearing a dish glove, as the pieces are a little sharp. The sauce went into the bottom of the pan, half the pasta next, cheese layer next and repeat for two layers. You’ll see a picture of it deconstructed and then in the oven. I’m waiting for it to come out now and certain it’ll be great. After all, it ends up mushed in your stomach, right?

Tip of the Week: I’m in the habit of sticking notes to the inside of my cabinets. I have a mind like a sieve and in a kosher kitchen where there’s two sets of dishes, pots and pans, etc. it’s necessary for me to put some items used less frequently in the cellar. I lose track of what’s in storage downstairs as they may only be used once a year on a particular holiday. I’ve mentioned in the past that I once had five jars of mayonnaise because when I went to the store each of the four excessive times, my thought was, “Don’t forget the mayo! You keep forgetting it!” Nope. I kept forgetting it was already purchased. Domestic Diva skills sometimes betray me.

The world of the die cutting machine has come up with all manner of vinyl relative to color, texture, and purpose. One of the latest is chalk paint vinyl. Those of you who read homestyle magazines may remember there was a trend a few years ago when chalk paint was slathered on door panels or framed out parts of walls. The homeowner could then use chalk and jot down anything they needed to get at the store, or map out their kids’ activities for the week. The really clever person would then snap a picture of the list and run the errands knowing that fifth jar of mayo wouldn’t be bought in error.

You don’t need a die cutting machine to employ this tip. The vinyl can be bought at a local Michael’s or

online somewhere (not seen at Walmart, but maybe JoAnne’s has it in the store). It comes in a 12″ X 48″ piece and can be cut to fit the area where it will be applied. You’ll want to clean the surface before application; it will stick better on a smooth surface. It is a removeable vinyl, so shouldn’t take the paint with it if it needs to be moved, but don’t take my word for it as this is my first go using it.

Since I have a Cricut, I decided to cut the piece out so it looks like an oversized tag. I’ll be placing them inside a few cabinet doors. You write on them with a chalk pen that can be wiped off with a damp rag, making the vinyl surface useable for quite some time. Sharpie and Bistro make such a marker and the best price I found locally was at Walmart. Michael’s also has them.

You could use the vinyl in a more decorative manner, as dictated only by your imagination, but I’m opting for getting the job done with a bit of flair and on to more pressing chores.

The oven is warming up in preparation for the banana bread that will be slid in for its amazing transformation from a thick batter to a warm, golden loaf of memories and delivery system for peanut butter. I always use my grandmother’s recipe, which is included below. A number of recipes have been tried and found to be delicious, but I continue to turn to Dee Dee’s because, to me, it’s the epitome of a quick bread. Its not dense or cakey like many of those others, but easily cut into thin slices, a bit crumbly, and has a heft that is reassuring but won’t break your teeth. I’m not sure why some are even called breads, when their texture and weight clearly fall into the cake category. Often, they’re almost moist in a wet way, like a zucchini or date nut bread, which is not to my liking at all for a quick bread.

More importantly, the bread I make is made from a tried and true recipe that was included in Dee Dee’s recipe box. I laminated the few recipes found tucked inside to preserve her handwriting from the splashes and splatters that accompany my baking attempts. This recipe has been employed hundreds of times but I still check the amounts carefully as I work my way through the steps. Funnily enough, I have no memories of baking with my grandmother. No matter, my connection to her almost forty years after her passing, is maintained through the mixing and baking process of this little slice of heaven.

A similar connection is made when using my mother’s cookie sheets. You can see from the picture, they’re well seasoned rectangles of metal that are hardly flat, but they get covered with a sheet of foil many times throughout the week, and used to roast veggies or as a base for warming small packets of food in the oven. She and I didn’t cook together, chattering about this and that as I absorbed her knowledge and intimate ways around the kitchen, or any other romantic notion you sometimes read about. I do remember watching the pans get used and they are some of the few things kept when we closed up her house. It’s funny they are “my mother’s pans,” or when I’m looking for the hammer I ask Bob if he’s seen, “my mother’s hammer.” I don’t know when they will become mine or, at the very least, unnamed but for now they still hold the moniker of “my mother’s……”

I’ve recently been watching a number of You Tubers on the topic of minimalism. A lifestyle uncluttered by more than one of an item, owning something that doesn’t serve a useful purpose, or possessing objects simply because they’re beautiful is not new. In other times, this lifestyle would have been called spartan or expected of many who choose certain religious orders. The Japanese culture is well-founded in this lifestyle and that was brought to our attention and Pinterest pages about ten years ago when Marie Kondo published her book on tidying up. I’m currently reading a book, “Good Bye Things, The New Japanese Minimalism,” by Fumio Sasaki, who documents his discovery that less is more when it comes to possessions.

Living with fewer possessions isn’t for everyone, but it’s interesting that you’re born with nothing in your hands and you go out the same way. In between, we’re given what we need to survive by our parents both in terms of material goods and life skills. There seems to be a bell curve where we acquire things throughout our lives and then we start to jettison extraneous items as we downsize into the golden years. In a previous post I related that when I went off to college all my worldly possessions fit into a foot locker which was stowed in my VW bug. Three years ago we needed over a hundred trips with the SUV and two small truckloads from a moving company. Much of that stuff is being sold or given away as it hasn’t been used in more than a year. Probably longer for some of it. There’s a lot to be said on this topic and it will be another day. Right now there’s a banana bread to be baked.

By the way, a link to add a Podcast to my post came up and I’ve been following the links. It’s through Anchor. I’m giving it a whirl. Feedback is appreciated and the Podcast can be found on Spotify and other places I don’t remember but will as I get more informed. The button to listen is above.

Onward and upwards to the oven!

Recipe of the Week: Follow the recipe below and you can’t go wrong. It has been tested in my kitchen, Dee Dee’s too, for more years than you can shake a stick at. What does scant mean when measuring out the sugar? I fill the 2/3 cup and then shake off enough that I can easily see the rim from the inside. You really can’t mess up; just measure out a little less than 2/3 cup. Also, I use two medium sized bananas for one loaf and three good sized one when doubling the recipe. Finally, I’ll often add a dash of cinnamon to the batter.

Tip of the Week: Thinking along the lines of minimalism, organization of our belongings comes quickly to mind. Regardless of how much you possess, it’s easier to use it or store it if it’s done in an organized manner. I love nothing better than a container, especially cute ones, but it’s not really necessary to rush out and spend a huge amount of money on yet another item to store your things in. Look around your home and I’m sure you’ll find containers of various sizes that can be repurposed to hold this and that. On the plus side, if you’re one who collects antique salt dishes, for example, they can be used to collect the paper clips in your drawer and no longer reside on a shelf just waiting to be dusted. You get to appreciate its beauty and function.

The front page of this morning’s newspaper featured Jane Yolen, an author who just published her 400th book at the age of 82. She has an additional 130 unsold manuscripts, 30 books under contract and written, and ten more in the works. While Jane (I’ve taught from her books long enough I feel like she’s “Jane” to me) has written for an adult audience, she’s best known for children’s stories and poems. She worked full-time as an editor and raised three children with her husband in the early days. Today, she explains she has the freedom to write all day. A perk of “old age,” if you will.

My thoughts strayed to another woman who took the creative world by storm as an artist years ago; Anna Mary Robertson Moses, a.k.a. Grandma Moses. Anna Mary Robertson was 78 when she began painting full-time. She always enjoyed drawing and her father used to buy her penny sheets of paper as he enjoyed watching her draw. Farm life in the late 1800’s was laborious and everyone had their jobs to do. Anna Mary left the family stead and began working on a nearby farm getting paid for tasks she learned at home. One family noticed she enjoyed drawing and supplied her with drawing materials.

Anna Mary met her husband on the last farm worked, acquired their own farm, and they had ten children. You can imagine there not being a lot of time for creative endeavors at that time, but Anna Mary managed to work her flair into the everyday by making quilts and embroidered pictures. In her late seventies, arthritis made it too difficult to create with a needle and yarn. Her sister suggested she work with paint brushes instead. Thus, the work we know today leaped out onto Grandma Moses’s pages.

Grandma Moses painted up until her death at age 101. She, like Jane Yolen won critical acclaim and awards for her work. President Kennedy memorialized her and museums and private collectors around the world benefitted from her legacy. Grandma Moses created over 1,500 art pieces in a thirty year period that sold from $3.00 to 1.2 million dollars.

In the movie, The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy realizes there’s no place like home to find your true north. I don’t have to look any further than my own family for examples of living a creative and productive life. My brother is a musician who plays a number of instruments as well as composes original songs and lyrics. He’s the one person in the family who can’t read music but he plays the heck out of any note in front of him.

One of my sisters is an artist. Like Grandma Moses, she displayed talent as a child and had the good fortune to take a few lessons at the local museum as a youngster. We had much stronger art programs in school at that time as well. Painting and drawing were set aside as she lived her life although, again like Grandma Moses, she prettied up the house with handmade drapes, slipcovers, and the like. In her forties, she met up with a professional artist and illustrator who inspired her to return to drawing and painting. Now my sister’s work hangs in galleries, private collections, and the state courthouse in Tennesee.

The oldest of the family, another sister, has an eye for interior design and sews clothes like someone from an atelier. Her imagination and ability to put colors and textures together yield coffee table book worthy results. She draws in the style of an illustrator when she picks up pencils or brushes. It will be interesting to see if she pursues this vein of creativity now that she has retired.

Our parents and my maternal grandmother were creative in their own rights. Our father was a dancing teacher with a successful studio in Western Massachusetts and in the Northern Kingdom of Vermont. His choreography was inventive and fun to perform. After he “retired” he continued to teach dance and expanded into theater as well.

Our mother was also an artist but, like Anna Mary working on the farm, didn’t have a lot of time to explore this bent. Her creativity was demonstrated in the invention and creation of our Halloween costumes and clothing for special occasions. It was seen from time to time when planning art lessons for her fifth grade students and in the frequent redesign of her living space. Baking and cooking were additional avenues of creativity. Unlike Grandma Moses, my mother passed away at age 53 and didn’t get the time to live out her artistic life.

Me? Well, the title of this blog pretty much says it all. I hum a little, create a little, sew a little. You get the idea. I’ve often thought of myself as a compilation of all the best parts of my ancestors and influenced by my siblings. I can only hope to live to 82 and beyond to have the opportunity to fully explore my creative life!

Onward and upwards to our fulfilling our artistic potential, regardless of the arena!

Recipe of the Week: Eggplant Parmesan

About 2.5 pounds of eggplant, 1 lb. of ricotta cheese (2 lb. container if you really love it), enough grated parmesan cheese and shredded mozzarella cheese to satisfy you, about 1 – 2 t of majoram, 1-2 jars of pasta sauce or the homemade sauce outlined below.

No, this isn’t the grease-sodden, breaded mush you may have experienced in the past. Matter of fact, there’s no breading at all and the eggplant manages to maintain some form so you have something to bite into. I’m going to assume you’ll take a shortcut and use bottled pasta sauce. If you do, make sure it’s one not cluttered up with, high fructose corn syrup or thickeners and stabilizers. I’ll include the recipe for the sauce that is part of this treat but wanted to share with you the eggplant part first.

Pre-heat the oven to 375 degrees. Peel and slice (about 1/2 inch thick) however much eggplant you have. Pour/smear 2-3 T of olive oil onto enough cookie sheets to accommodate the eggplant (I always line my pans with foil to make clean up easy). Season the veg with S & P and lay flat on the sheet pans (honestly, I add S & P to the olive oil on the sheet pan and then pushes the slices around all around). Brush olive oil across the tops of the veg and throw into the oven about 20 minutes (too much longer and the eggplant will be mushy). That’s the base of your heavenly dish.

Smear some pasta sauce on the bottom of a baking pan, layer on the eggplant, ricotta, grated parmesan, and sprinkle some majoram on top. I’m telling you, it’s the majoram and sauce below that really makes this dish so tasty. Continue layering in this manner if you have enough eggplant. You can overlap the slices as well if there appears to be a lot of gapping between pieces. This week I only had enough for half the pan to have two layers. No biggie. I’m in the h abit of sprinkling mozzarella on top, which was not part of the instructions.

Eggplant Parm Sauce (I use it willy-nilly for pasta, just so good!)

2 T olive oil, 2 medium onions (minced), 5 cloves of garlic (chopped), 12 medium tomatoes/about 4 lbs (peeled, seeded, coarsely chopped) or three 28 ounce cans of diced tomatoes (the author tells you to get whole tomatoes and drain/seed them. I’ve never done that. I just throw all the contents of the three cans into the pot. I’m not that much of a gourmand), 1 T balsamic or wine vinegar (I’ve always used balsamic as it’s always around), and 1 t sugar.

Cook the garlic and onions in the olive oil, being careful not to brown them (about 10 minutes). Throw in the tomatoes and turn the heat to high and bring to a boil. Turn the heat to medium high and continue to simmer the tomatoes and veggies about 30-40 minutes until the sauce is thick and stiff. Remember to stir it on occasion so nothing sticks to the bottom of the pan. Add the vinegar and sugar at the end. At this point, I use an immersion blender to further smash about 2/3 of the tomatoes so it’s less lumpy and more saucy. Do what moves you, but you want enough sauce to cover the bottom of the baking dish and spread over the layers of eggplant.

Credit cookbook author James Peterson (Vegetables) for this tasty bit of warmth when it’s gray and wet outside.

Tip of the Week:

Bob and I are sensitive to a number of scents and I often look for household items that are effective and odorless. Dryer balls, those spiky, rubber rounds that look a bit like a COVID cootie seem to be ok. They supposedly decrease static electricity and bounce around to help aerate your clothes and speed drying. I’ve never timed this process so don’t really know if the drying time is shortened. I have found that static electricity isn’t something I’m too worried about, but do appreciate their lack of odor, unlike dryer sheets.

I recently came across wool dryer balls and like them even better. They’re made of a natural material, are unscented, last a really long time (good to remember when shelling out the bucks because they aren’t all that cheap upfront), and if you can tolerate scents, a few drops of essential oils can be added to imbue your clothes with a scent of your choice. These ones were purchased through the Grove company, which advertises heavily on FaceBook, but can be purchased on Amazon (no fee earned for this tidbit!) as well. It’s recommended to use six balls for large loads and three for smaller. I’ve been using the three for either size load and found it to be ok. They cost around $15 per package of three balls. Possibly you can find a better deal. Just remember they should be woolen all the way through.

In my junior year of high school a friend and I joined the local YMCA. While active, regular dancing lessons and horseback riding had been put on hiatus, so a consistent workout routine was welcomed.

We had great fun strapping ourselves into the machines that jiggle the fat away (totally useless), going for swims, and trying out the odd exercise class that was on offer. Jane Fonda had not yet taken the world by storm in 1973 and the exercise classes didn’t peak my interest. Jogging, however, was still as simple as throwing on a pair of sneakers and going outside. The running bug bit me.

The first few years I was a fair weather runner, where winters found me on the indoor track going in circles when the spirit moved me, with no regard for a regular schedule. Trotting in circles or on a treadmill makes me crazy and should really be reserved for lab rats or hamsters. Running outside year round began in college when a break from studying was welcomed and the activity became a routine. By this time I’d wrangled a part-time job at the Y which kept me fed through college and graduate school. It wasn’t too long before the Y started a running club as jogging became hugely popular. Running magazines abounded, shoes went up in price and technology, and clothes went beyond a ratty tee shirt and pair of shorts to matchy-matchy jackets and pants.

In the early 80’s I began running with a partner and we continued well into the 2000’s. We just got caught up on the phone the other night and, sadly, she had to stop running a few years ago. Sometimes your body just doesn’t want what you want and it’s important to listen to what it’s saying. We ran more miles together than can easily be counted and with every step we solved the problems of the world and ourselves, imagined various houses as they’d look if we’d done thus and such to the landscaping, and we once stopped into an open house where they served mulled cider.

The runs were often more of an adventure. My partner learned not to trust me weather-wise. One time there was a severe storm in the forecast. I fancied myself a bit of a meteorologist and thought I read the sky pretty well. She was assured we’d be fine and there was plenty of time to run a few miles. We often ran out and backs, or loops, so were never far from the starting point. We started out and were on the return leg when the sky suddenly blackened and the winds picked up. I mean like very late afternoon black just before the sun has totally disappeared. The skies opened as we were running past an open field. The lightning began and looked like it was cracking down beside us. Fortunately there was a house on the other side of the street with a porch. We took cover there until the worst of the rain passed.

Another time I was in need of a Sani-can. There was no way to make it back to the house and we were on Main St. in Hampden. I have no problem taking advantage of the cover nature has to offer and we looked for a likely spot. Main St. Hampden is populated along its entire length and we were at the end where the market is, so houses were a little closer together, but there’s a good amount of vegetated area separating them. Poison ivy is something that grows in abundance so you have to keep a sharp eye out for that as well. We found a spot that looked like a bit of a trail with trees and brush along the side. The deed was done and I stepped back onto the road to continue running. Just then a car came down that “trail.” It was someone’s unpaved driveway. Who knew?

Finally, we were running with her husband tagging along behind us. We’d left the Y and were running up Liberty St., chatting away. I was looking at my partner and didn’t see what was coming. Her husband did and called out just as I bonked into a leaning light pole. Let me tell you, we were going at a good speed so I bounced back off my feet and clunked the back of my head on the sidewalk. A two for one head bang. They helped me up and waited a minute or so for the head to clear before we continued running and chatting about this, that, and the other thing. Doesn’t matter if you fall as long as you bounce back up. For a week or two after, when I raised my eyebrows, the skin over the sizable bump twitched like it does on a horse when they shake of a fly. Guess a nerve got smashed.

I’ve been running solo for fourteen or more years now. The other day it occurred to me that 47 years have passed since slipping into a pair of Adidas track shoes for the first time. Enumerable miles, road races, and three marathons later the positive effects of a run (truthfully a fast shuffle these days) regardless of the elements outweigh any misgivings about it being too this or that outside. The troubles of the world and my personal sphere are still worked out, the change of seasons duly appreciated, and occasional encounters with walkers and runners round out the good times. May there be 47 more years of putting one foot in front of the other!

Recipe of the Week: This cauliflower recipe is so easy. I know, you may be thinking that this member of the brassica family smells like old sweat socks when cooking and has a washed out flavor when eaten. Cauliflower became the darling of the foodie crowd for a hot second, which was a well deserved honor, when it enjoyed a renaissance with the “invention” of cauliflower rice. . It takes on flavors of spices and herbs easily, can be eaten as “rice,” slabs, pureed in soups, or as florets. It takes just minuets to prepare this side dish and it tastes terrific as a leftover as well. Get over yourself and give it a try!

One head of cauliflower broken up into florets. One small onion cut into thick pieces. In a bowl mix: 4 cloves sliced garlic, 2 T lemon juice, 1/3 C EV olive oil, 1 1/2 t yellow curry powder (didn’t know it came in other colors until I read this), 1/4 t cinnamon, 1/2 t salt, and 1/4 t pepper. Throw in the florets and onion and toss around. Pour contents of bowl out onto a baking sheet lined with foil and roast at 425 25-30 minutes until well browned. Credit simplyrecipes.com for this one!

Tip of the Week: Freshen up that Laundry Hamper

This laundry hack is courtesy of Brittany Vasseur of You Tube fame. She uses my favorite around-the-house-helper, baking soda. Cut the leg off a pair of nylons and pour some baking soda into it. We all know baking soda freshens up a multitude of things. Go another step further and add a few drops of an essential oil to the powder in the stocking, tie it up, shake it around, and throw it into the bottom of your laundry hamper. The baking soda absorbs the odors and the oils emit a subtle aroma. Yes, you can omit the oils if you’re scent sensitive as Bob and I are.

Here’s a two-fer for you that I was happy to see Brittany follows as I’ve found it to be useful as well: Get one of those mesh bags at the Dollar Store (I happen to use bags originally purchased for my veggies. Way more came in the set than needed, so I had to find a way to repurpose them) and put all your socks into it before throwing them into the washer. The bag can be transferred to the dryer and, voila, you don’t have to hunt down for that OTHER sock stuck to the back of a blouse. Did you know that socks are larvae that pupate into hangers? Now you won’t lose your socks or deal with ever-burgeoning hangers!

Onward and upwards to the open road!

Several years ago, the movie Wonder was released. It was based on a book of the same name by R. J. Palacio about a boy Auggie, born with Treacher Collins, which is a craniofacial anomaly. Each chapter of the book was written from the perspective of the people in Auggie’s life, as well as his experiences. The story unfolds giving the reader an intimate look inside the life of someone born with a difference that can’t be hidden. Almost as important, readers get an up close and personal view of the impact on the lives of friends and family struggling to support Auggie with varying degrees of success.

Wonder was written after R. J. Palacio and her young son encountered a child with a craniofacial disorder. In an interview, she recounts kicking herself for turning her son’s stroller away and walking out of the store because he began crying and she didn’t want the child to see his reaction. Ms. Palacio didn’t speak with the mother or child yet her insight to the challenges faced by a person who is born with a craniofacial disorder and how it’s handled by family and friends would lead you to believe she was a mom with a child who was different.

The incident led Palacio to write Wonder and she later met the Newman family. How they met is unclear but the Newman’s son, Nathanial, was born with Treacher Collins. The similarities between the story’s Auggie and Nathanial Newman were uncanny, especially when you consider they hadn’t met prior to the book being written. abc’s 20/20 created a series of interviews with the Newman family and Ms. Palacio. Fascinating to watch and can be seen on You Tube.

So how are the fictional story, actual family, and comic strip above related? When I read the comic strip a week or two ago I was reminded of my own experiences as a person with a craniofacial disorder, Crouzon’s Syndrome. As you can see from my photo, it looks like I have no cheekbones (I actually don’t) and my eyes protrude (they don’t, it’s just that the sockets are too shallow to accommodate the normal-sized eyeball). My nose is a bit beaked (typical for a Crouzon’s person but it does pass as a “Skinner” nose [family trait]). You can’t tell, but my head has a roof line front to back where the plates fused too early. The most annoying side effect of that was I wasn’t successful at Eraser Tag in school (the eraser always fell off my head) until I found a flat spot on the back of my head. If I kept my head waaaaayyyyy down and didn’t mind bumping into things, I had a shot at tagging someone.

The story arc of the comic strip is that Hillary’s best friend has to move away and it’s a wrenching change for a young teen dealing with the social isolation courtesy of COVID, raging hormones and attendant fluctuating moods, and a significant loss in her life. At first the Mom was telling her things would work out, they’d keep in touch, all the things you automatically say in reaction to your child’s grief. The key word here is reaction. As the character Karl pointed out, Hillary just needs to go through the process of losing her friend while knowing her mom is in her corner; she’s not in need of a band-aid, hot chocolate, and platitudes.

Honestly, I don’t remember talking with my family about my daily experiences to any great degree unless it got to the point where I came home in tears. The reaction was as you’d expect: “They didn’t mean it,” “Of course you’re not ugly,” “It will be fine tomorrow.” I don’t know. That group of boys who circled me one night in the street, taunting me, seemed like they meant it. I stood up to them though and luckily it didn’t get physical; they went home without the bloody noses they deserved. Lesson learned: Don’t react. Doing so only made things worse. I remember the day when I changed my mindset and carriage from one who reacted to one who apparently didn’t care as if it were yesterday.

I used to part my hair on the side. I went into my mother’s bathroom after a trying day in seventh grade and said out loud, “I’m not taking this S— any more,” and defiantly started to create a new me (the first of several amazing transformations throughout my life). I parted my hair in the middle, used some snazzy clips to keep it out of my face, straightened up and left that cubicle resolute. Helen Reddy wasn’t yet singing, “I Am Woman,” nor was the transformation complete in that twenty-four hour period, but it was a start.

Over time I realized that people laugh when they’re uncomfortable, or they’re often scared of what they don’t understand and behave badly. Little kids would ask me point blank what happened to my face and the mom would often, in horror, try to stuff the words back into their mouth and hustle them away like Ms. Palacio did. I would stop them, assure Mom it was okay to ask, and simply tell the cherub it was just the way I was born. Kids rolled with it and would quickly focus on the Doritos calling out to them in the check-out line.

Much as I’d like to say life after that day in the bathroom was rainbows and butterflies, it wasn’t. I can share the most important lesson learned; very similar to what Karl said in the comic strip. Rather than react and say whatever comes to mind to make your child feel better when dealing with social challenges, regardless of the source, let them vent. Hear them. Hold back from saying or doing anything to make that moment easier for you, actually. You want to make them feel better and are helpless to do so, so the cliches start pouring out.

Let them feel terrible (children being bullied to the point of self-harm or suicide are not who I’m thinking of right now and that’s to be dealt with in a very different manner). Help them navigate the waters where sharks are circling by letting them know you are in their corner; you’re working from the same side of the room and then facilitate their developing strategies to deal with the bad that comes with the good as they move through life. Acknowledge their uniqueness honestly and with kind candor (no, you don’t have to say they’re uglier than sin or dumber than a box of rocks as their “friends” pronounced) and point out the attributes they offer the world. It’s so easy for us to buy into the negative and lose sight of the positive skills, talents, and character traits we bring to the table.

Your kids who are different are going to make and lose friends because of this, they are going to snag wonderful jobs and lose employment opportunities, wonderful days will be followed by really crummy ones; they will experience a yin for every yang. It will sometimes get ugly and won’t be easy but with you hearing and supporting them, guiding their developing coping mechanisms rather than fruitlessly trying to make them feel better, they will come into their own on their individual terms, differences and all.

Tip of the Week: This tip is geared to the kitchen but isn’t a recipe. I enjoy making desserts but neither Bob nor I need to eat an entire cake or crumble before it goes bad. It’s easy enough to cut up the mayo cake and freeze the individual portions and here’s an easy way to dispose of that crumble. Line a muffin tin with plastic wrap, lay in the crumble and freeze. You can cut the wrap apart once the crumble is frozen and wrap the individual portions before putting them into freezer bags or vacuum sealing them.

Recipe of the Week: Pots of Cream

It’s Valentine’s Day today and it is low key as Bob is in the early stages of recovering from knee replacement surgery. I wanted to make something special that wasn’t too involved as time has been in short supply around here. I happened to see this recipe for Pots of Cream and it seemed to be just the ticket!

1 1/2 C heavy cream, 2 1/2 ounces of bittersweet (not unsweetened) or semisweet chocolate, chopped (I used mini chocolate chips), 1/4 t cinnamon, 1/8 t cayenne pepper, 4 egg yolks, 3 T sugar, 1 t vanilla, 1/4 t salt.

Toss the chocolate and 1/4 C of the cream into a saucepan and heat until the chocolate is melted. Remove from heat, gradually whisk in remaining cream, cinnamon and cayenne pepper. In a separate bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, sugar, vanilla, and salt until it thickens. Gradually whisk the chocolate cream into the eggy mix, being sure to whisk, whisk, whisk so the yolks don’t cook. Divide the custard into five 4 oz. ramekins, or whatever small dish you’re using, and cover each one with a piece of foil.

Instant Pot cooking: Fill a 6 qt. IP with 1 1/2 C water and put the rack on the bottom. Stagger the ramekins in the pot. Mine were bigger than 4 oz. ones so it was two on the bottom and two on top. Close and pressure cook on high for ten minutes, natural release 15 minutes. Cool at least an hour on a wire rack before serving or cool a bit and then put into fridge. If chilled, let stand at room temp about half an hour before serving.

Oven cooking: Rather than place the covered ramekins into the IP, place them into a large baking pan. Add enough hot water to pan to come halfway up sides of cups. Bake until custards are set but centers still move slightly when gently shaken, about 55 minutes. Remove from water, remove foil, chill until cold, about 3 hours.

In either case, they can be made two days ahead. Keep covered and chilled.

Onward and upwards into a new week and adventures!

The other day I stopped by a neighbor’s for a second. Nowadays, this action is done fully masked, you step away from the door a good amount, and shout out whatever needs to be said. This is much like the 50’s and 60’s where you went to a friend’s house and called out from the sidewalk asking them to play.

My neighbor came to the door and the first thing I noticed was how much he looked like Moses. Yes, the biblical one, with a flowing beard and hair to his shoulders. Clearly a result of the pandemic as he usually wears his hair slightly longer than a Marine recruit. Message was delivered and we each went about our day. I wondered if he liked his new look or was afraid to have his wife have a go at giving him a hair cut. Bob is undaunted at the prospect of my wielding clippers though the results haven’t always been as neat as one would’ve hoped.

Today, for example, results were mixed. I began with the longest blade and worked down to the shortest one, hoping to blend a longer top to very short bottom and sides. Bob has curly hair which may have added to the struggle, but there’s such skill that goes into handling the comb and scissors simultaneously, let alone wrangling the clippers. I have previous experience clipping dogs and, thankfully, Bob doesn’t move around or nip at me throughout the process. Honestly, he would have been within his rights to do so when surveying the cut.

The experience started out promising until I went for the top with a shorter blade. I thought the clippers were going with the hair but, alas, that wasn’t the case. There’s now a very short section in the front on top. I saw what was happening and lifted the blade away before creating a reverse mohawk. This was unlike the last time when I created an interesting cut out on one temple. Not interesting enough to be cool, however, just an obvious blunder. Sucking in my breath so as not to scream in an alarming fashion, I took up the scissors and comb.

I did learn something today about holding the comb horizontally to the head and clipping the very ends of hair to get it to lay flat in layers. A badly needed win. There are curls on the back that pop up here and there that wouldn’t do anything but mock me. I pressed on, dropping the comb and crummy scissors so often it was like I had the shakes. Grunting and expelling air don’t help any, by the way; just makes the candidate nervous. Finally, I just had to stop while there was some hair left on his head.

Bob should’ve been shaking by the end, but he endured. He did say he might risk COVID and get his hair fixed, so you KNOW I won’t be giving up my day job.

Recipe of the Week: Hot Chocolate

It has been especially cold the last few days and the temps have seemed even lower with gusty winds that really make for a wind chill that’s beyond brisk. After a run outside, or walk with the dog, there’s nothing better than a hot chocolate. Yes, you can boil up some water and open a packet of something out of a box, but in that same amount of time you can have a hot, chocolatey, creamy, steamy drink of your own making. It’s so easy and can be jazzed up with a pinch of cinnamon, splash of vanilla, or the old whipped cream or marshmallow.

2 T of cocoa and 1/4 C water go into the pan first on low heat. Give it a stir and then add 2 C of milk and 1 T of sugar. Stir it up, let it heat, and enjoy. That’s all there is to it! I usually just use the 1% milk on hand, but sometimes I’ll put some half and half into the measuring cup to make the treat extra yummy.

Tip of the Week: This comes from the “Family Handyman” and I love it! It’s just what it looks like. A shoebox with toilet paper tubes standing up, filled with a cord of one type or another. I just sorted through a bag of cords and donated the extras to the nearest Savers. There are still several in the bag, tangling as I type, so I’ve started putting tubes into a box to give it a try.

This idea came across my computer and had my name all over it. You don’t have to spend a lot of money on fancy organizers and this is proof of that. Toilet paper and paper towel tubes come in very handy. I may just have to do a series on their varied uses!

Home hair cuts have a plus side for birds, as they use the hair that’s shaken off the apron for their nests. They also make me appreciate my hairdresser even more. Well, difficult times make us do difficult things.

Onward and upwards into easier days and attractive hair cuts!

Massachusetts teachers pay into a private retirement program. When they retire, their pension is paid from that program versus Social Security. Makes sense. Unless you become a teacher as part of a mid-life career change, as I did. There is legislation that prevents a Massachusetts teacher from collecting both their Social Security and the pension unless you’ve worked thirty years in the private sector. This was the dilemma I faced two years ago. Continue teaching and lose the social security benefit or leave and return to the outside world. Because I went into teaching so late in life, I’d be 105 years old before being eligible for full retirement benefits in the private teacher retirement system. The difficult decision to leave teaching became a reality in 2019.

With three graduate degrees, more than thirty years of work experience, and side hustles that make for an interesting resume, finding work outside of teaching seemed like it would be a walk in the park. Who knows if being in my sixties, an employer thinking my salary requirements might break the bank, or trying to break into a new field with fundamental skills made the search more challenging. Looking for appropriate work became my full-time job for about nine months. It was time well spent as it gave me an opportunity to focus on how at least of third of my day could be most productive, mentally stimulating, and socially engaging.

Bob has a real estate business that includes two other related businesses. I’ve posted before on my work lettering the warehouse, developing an advertising campaign, and setting about organizing the physical office and creating an administrative infrastructure. That morphed into a half time position. It meets all of the personal requirements noted above and the work schedule dovetails nicely with my supervisory work for Springfield College.

I liken my work with Springfield College to being a grandparent (I’m not a parent of any kind but am able to care for my dog and feed Bob on a regular basis). I get to go into classrooms manned by new teachers, interact with students, and provide feedback to the teachers to facilitate their development as professionals. Grandparents get their grandkids all sugared up and drop them off at home to work it off. Similarly, I get to leave the classroom when it’s time to do lunch duty or, my favorite, bathroom duty. This year, of course, all supervision has been done remotely but you get the point. There were two final pieces to add to the transformative puzzle: Reactivation of my realtor license and opening an Etsy shop.

Over this past summer, I decided to explore a variety of products that could be made with the Cricut machine and sold online. The entire universe, with varying degrees of success, began doing the same in light of the pandemic. It sounded so alluring and the You Tube videos made creating a product look so easy. How hard could it be?! Well, either I’m a slow learner or haven’t dedicated enough hours each day, but I continue to trudge up the learning curve. A few products have been developed, mocked up, priced, and produced for the holidays (gift tags and decorative elements to add sparkle to the home). They’re now being modified for other occasions and coming holidays. It will be a few more months before that Etsy or Facebook shop is up and running, I’m sure, but the feedback and limited sales experienced to date have been inspiring.

The real estate license is in hand and I’ve started working with customers. I’d sold property for fourteen years when I first became a teacher. I’d start with a customer as the school year wound down just after the testing season and would continue until returning to the classroom in August. With occasional help from Bob, should someone need to view a listing during the school day, it went pretty well. Because I only sold in the summer, I had more customers than I could handle from a referral source and I never had to work up leads. Now that it’s a full on focus, I’m learning how to use social media to promote myself and Kushner Realty. The side hustle of making things will benefit from developing my virtual skills and marketing as well.

It has been an interesting process and the fact that two years have passed is unthinkable. If there’s any wisdom to impart, it would be that knowing what you want to do when you grow up can be a moving target. Evolving from a human services professional, to educator, to realtor/maker over the last thirty plus years has been made possible because I never realized reaching that time of being grown up; it’s still happening, one molt after another. Here’s to thirty more years of evolution!

Recipe of the Week:

Who of you buys fruited yogurt? Have you ever read the ingredients list? It’s so easy to cook down fruit to be used as a topping. Hardly any time is needed and you can make it just the way you like it. I often buy the bag of mixed fruit from Costco. It has black and blue berries, and red raspberries. Throw it in a pan on low heat, toss in some cinnamon, vanilla if you like, and squish in some maple or agave syrup, or maybe some honey. That’s it. Let it cook a bit and it’s ready to eat as is, over yogurt, or dribble onto sponge cake for a low-cal delicious dessert. Doesn’t get any easier than that and there’s not a lot of extra anything in it, including calories.

Tip of the Week:

Ice cubes are a versatile item and perfect for slowly adding moisture to plants, especially orchids. You’ve seen them. The orchid sold in the grocery stores. Maybe you brought one home, only to have it die because you didn’t read the card. The card told you to put a few ice cubes on the plant each week. That’s it.

I didn’t read the card and watered the plant a little bit. Well, when I transplanted it, I found rotted roots. I thought there was plenty of drainage at the bottom, but not sufficient for this plant. It’s thriving now, no thanks to me. This type of watering system, if you will, is useful for any plant that needs a bit of moisture over an extended period of time without taking the chance of overwatering it.

Onward and upwards into a new week!

The classic follow-up to that intro is, “…gone into a room only to find you’ve forgotten what you went in there for?” It reminds me of the day my running partner and I were searching her house high and low for her sunglasses. She’s about the same height as I am so there’s really no excuse for my not noticing they were on top of her head the whole time.

Another time I was on my way to a wedding back when you actually had to unlock your car with a key rather than a wireless fob and dinosaurs had recently become extinct. Time was getting short as I pulled into the driveway of another bridesmaid. I hopped out of the car reflexively pushing down the lock button on the way to my friend’s door. When she and I ran to the car for the mad chase to the wedding venue we found I had a lipstick in my hand and not the keys; they were still dangling in the ignition (this was also before the warning beeps were a “thing”).

Have you ever set off a fire alarm at work? This was not, in the words of Martha Stewart, a good thing. Publik House (yes, it’s really spelled that way) restaurant in Sturbridge, MA bakes wonderful pecan sticky buns. Bob has family in eastern MA, so when we trot out there for a visit, a stop is made to pick up those tasty tidbits. The next day, I popped one into a plastic container and went to work happily anticipating the treat when a much needed coffee and sugar boost were needed to get through the day. By the way, I was teaching in the classroom at the time.

Prep time comes (similar to break time in the outside world except you have a boatload of work to do in the allotted time) and the container went into the microwave for twenty seconds or so. The next thing I remember is the horrid, acrid smell emanating from the microwave. I hurriedly opened the oven door, pulled out the now melted plastic, and made the fatal mistake of opening the container. Billows of smoke and the odor plumed out and, within a nano second, the alarm went off. The entire school evacuated.

Apparently the high sugar content in the sticky bun reacted exponentially with the plastic. There was a small, black, hardened mass adhered to the bottom of the contorted mass of degassing poly-whatever. The smell worked its way through the entire basement of the school, which is fully utilized, and wafted into the upper floors as well. Everyone was clucking and wondering what happened.

I went to the principal and confessed, fully expecting to be fired for endangerment of lives or something but Mrs. Page, being Mrs. Page, totally understood it wasn’t an act of vengeance and got a good laugh out of it. I was beyond mortified. The teachers banned me from using any kitchen tools at school.

Finally, have you ever challenged yourself to accomplish something you’d always wanted to do? Flip turns were one of the many things on that list and I decided to do something about it toot sweet. I watched You Tube videos, other swimmers, and practiced on my own until dizzy. I managed to smack up against the side of the pool, slam to the bottom, and somehow wound up in the lane next to mine. Obviously, this was something that would take professional intervention.

The JCC gave me the name of a coach and an appointment was made. During the initial conversation, she asked what I was able to do so far, i.e. could I somersault (yes), could I swim (enough not to drown) etc. “What happens when you try to do a flip?” she asked. Well, imagine a duck diving underwater for a treat. His tail feathers are wiggling, wings are flailing in the water, and there’s lots of splashing. She didn’t say much after that but agreed to meet with me.

Three months later and I’m flipping like a pancake. The turns aren’t always pretty, I come scarily close to the lane marker from time to time but never go into the next one, and there’s still some splashing. However, I’m hitting the wall as I should 95% of the time and haven’t bonked my head once.

Basically, I think it’s never too late to try something new. It challenges your brain, can lead to meeting new people, and additional opportunities to expand your skill and/or knowledge base become apparent. Knowing when to get guidance is critical as it can save you time on learning and, possibly, avert head bonking and tail feather wiggling.

Recipe of the Week: Bob had been wanting to try whiting fish, which is a common type used in fishcakes. It’s a really watery fish and needs to be drained into paper towels a good ten minutes before dredging and cooking. You’ll change the toweling a number of times as it gives off a surprising amount of liquid. The following is the simplest of recipes and, if you are one to pan-fry fish, may be in the habit of dredging the fish in egg and then flour or breadcrumbs. This recipe uses cornmeal. I always forget this as an option and let me tell you, it is worth remembering. Yummy and light. Give it a whirl!

Throw 1 T flour, 3/4 C cornmeal, 1/2 t garlic powder, 1/4 t cayenne pepper into a flat dish and mix it up. Season the fish with a little salt and pepper, dredge in the cornmeal mix and fry it up in your skillet. We didn’t use a huge amount of olive oil for the frying, as is usually suggested. We just coated the bottom of the pan plus a little bit, fired up the cooktop, and tossed the fish into the pan once it was hot. Only takes about 3-4 minutes a side. So good.

Tip of the Week: More than one cleaning tip, actually. These may be reminders for some of you and self-evident but….. wait before wiping up cleaning solutions and dust your lightbulbs.

Let cleaning products do their job. I happened to notice a custodian cleaning a public space. He efficiently sprayed and wiped, moving along the area quickly. Cleaning products usually need time to activate and soften goo or kill bacteria. In this time of Covid, many anti-bacterial products specifically tell you to wait ten minutes before wiping the surface. That time is needed to kill germs, lift stuck-on gook and so on. Not waiting means you wasted time and effort and will still be exposed to whatever it is you’re trying to eradicate. There are some faster acting products used in hospitals and other critical areas, which is probably what that custodian had.

Bob and I are sensitive to dust, mold, you name it. The iRobot does a pretty good job of taking care of the floors with a little help from an upright vacuum from time to time. Dusting the flat surfaces is a no-brainer and hopefully the same is true for occasionally taking the vacuum to the furniture. What about those lightbulbs in the lamps? Not only do they get a surprising amount of dust settling on them, it can get to the point where the lumens are dimmed. The heat from the bulb kind of glues the dust to it as well. Really. I would never white glove check your house for dust and wouldn’t expect you to do so either, but check those bulbs if you’re not in the habit of giving them a wipe. You’ll be surprised!

Onward and upwards!