Missing the Grandkids

My DIL took her two children - my youngest and oldest grandchildren - to the Midwest yesterday to visit family. They have been out of Arizona for about 36 hours and I miss them like crazy.

My oldest son, DIL's hubby, is flying out there in about 9 days. Till then he has my youngest son as his roommate. Middle son and I went over tonight and I fixed supper for the three of them - pork chops, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, rolls, corn-on-the-cob and, to counteract all those starchy, buttery dishes, a green salad. It was all comfort food. The boys loved it. But it didn't comfort me.

I don't remember going to #1 son's house without my grandchildren being there. It felt empty and quiet. My three sons, grown now, don't wrestle each other anymore. They aren't loud or discourteous. They don't argue or disagree. They get along beautifully and I take credit for that - deserved or not. Of course, it was a different story when they were younger. They fought and disagreed like all brothers do. But, they are 'mature' now, and even though they tease me and joke around with each other, there is an underlying respect there that fills my heart with joy. That, and the fact that two of them have given me grandchildren makes me extremely thankful. I think it was P. J. O'Rourke that said, "Grandchildren are our reward for not killing our children." There were times...oh, there were times. But now - peace and love abide. Amazing...

My granddaughter, Miss M, age 7, fills me with wonder. She reads better than I did when I was an eighth-grader! And, The Happy Budda, 7 months, melts my heart with his smiles and thrills me with his laughter and pleasant little personality.

How much will he have changed in two-and-a-half weeks? Miss M told me she missed me on the phone tonight. What new adventures will she have to share with me when she gets home? I can't wait. She becomes so animated when she tells me things.

I can't imagine living far away from them, or Middle Son's twins, age two, MAT and MiMi. The M&Ms are going to Cali for a week in July with their dad and mom and other grandparents. I will miss them just as much, knowing that they aren't a short drive away.

It is good for me, I guess, to experience some separation. If I ever re-marry, will HE want to live here in Arizona or move to Where-The-Heck-Are-We, Montana? Would that be a deal-breaker for me? I guess we'll cross that bridge when, and if, we come to it. Till then, I am going to bask in the love and appreciation I have for my wonderful, bright and precious grandchildren. And I'm going to count the days till they get back here and I can hug them and hug them.

Mmmm...Bacon

I laughed out loud when I saw this cartoon. It is SO true! Craig Ferguson, host of CBS' Late, Late Show, says he was a vegetarian for almost a year until one day he smelled bacon cooking and he quit the vegan life. I can totally relate to that.

There are few smells that compare to bacon cooking. One is coffee perking. I have never had a cup of coffee in my life (believe it or not), but I used to make my dad's sometimes and I loved opening the can of Maxwell House and getting that first whiff of ground coffee, and then, as it percolated in the pot, the smell would permeate the kitchen, and waft through the rest of the house. Mmmm... Good memories. I believe part of the reason I love(d) the smell was because it is so attached to my dad. When I was making his coffee, it meant that he was home from traveling, usually on the weekend. Mom didn't drink coffee, so the house didn't smell of it when Dad wasn't home. Such a sweet association. I still get flashbacks at the grocery store when I walk down the aisle where they have coffee beans and the coffee grinder. Starbucks just doesn't do it. It has to be the freshly ground coffee.

Another smell: burning autumn leaves. I haven't smelled that wonderful, acrid smoke for decades, and probably never will again. Burning leaves like we used to in my youth has been outlawed because of environmental issues. But it was great while it lasted.

Those are some of the smells I recall from my youth. I am much more careful now about eating bacon - knowledge of carcinogens, cholesterol and bad fats have taken some of the fun out of it.

But, ahhh...the memories...

Plan Ahead for Memorial Day

May 26th is Memorial Day. If you are having a get-together with family and friends, as are many of us (Phoenix temperature predicted to ONLY be in the 90s for Monday, after a possibly rainy weekend and 105 yesterday and 110 today), here is a plan-ahead list to jump start the celebration.

Today: Invite your guests and plan your menu.

• Are you going to invite friends and family? Is now a good time for a neighborhood party




• What will you serve?




• Are you going to grill?




• Will you provide all the food or have a potluck?




• What foods are 'outdoor friendly' (a cake with whipped cream frosting is, perhaps, not the best idea)? A large bowl filled with crushed ice with a smaller bowl inside will keep a mayonnaise-based salad - potato, coleslaw,etc. - a little safer outdoors. Where IS that large bowl?




• Does Aunt Opal cook the best baked macaroni and cheese you've ever had? Can your brother fix a terrific pasta salad? If you are going to make potluck requests, call ahead of time to be sure they have enough time to assemble the ingredients and make the dish.




• Do you want to mail invitations or call everyone? It might be little late to use snail mail at this point, but don't wait 'til the last minute to call, either.




• Drinks: soft, hard, or both. Remember that this is one of the holidays when many cities use checkpoints to look for drunk drivers (I know this isn't the politically correct way to say it, but the truth is the truth) so you might want to set an early cut-off point for alcoholic drinks or be ready to offer rides to those who get a little tipsy. A bowl by the front door for everyone's car keys (Make a small sign that says: "Please park your keys here.") is easier than making someone give you their keys if they can get belligerent.




• How much ice will you need? Crushed ice for the large food bowls and the daiquiris, cubes for soft drinks, separate ice cubes for the coolers, an ice ring with embedded fruit for the lemonade, punch or Koolaid bowl, etc. Or try: Counter-Top Icemaker




• Veggie trays and green salads require salad dressings and dips - have a variety of flavors.




• Desserts - what will last outdoors (I mentioned the whipped cream frosting above)? Melon balls, jello cake, fruit pies, etc.




• Go 'green' with your plates and utensils. At least look for recycled paper plates and cups.




• Put out a separate trash container labeled for aluminum cans and/or bottles.




• Will you need citronella candles around the lawn or Tiki torches?




• Do you have folding tables for the food and enough chairs for seating? Rent them or ask friends.




• Will there be swimming, volleyball, badminton, horseshoes, etc.? What needs to be prepared for those activities?




• Last, but not least, utensils, bread machine mixes and gadgets for summer grilling and cooking: The Prepared Pantry
  

And finally, from a terrific blog about planning your outdoor get-togethers, a list of things to do ahead of time:

Rich's Home Blog The stuff that’s not so fun right now but once people are over, you are glad that you accomplished it all:

1. Clean the Grill-Manufacturers recommend that you wipe the exterior of your grill with an all-purpose cleaner, such as Simple Green. And after that our friends at Kalamazoo recommend a degreaser like Goo Gone Spray Gel for any difficult parts, putting in a little extra elbow grease as needed. Don’t forget the inside and check the booklet from your manufacturer for recommendations there. For my old charcoal Weber, I just use SOS pads on the racks, and then rinse them really well. You can also burn off any old grime on the racks.



2. Find your Utensils-Look for the long tools now, my friend. Last minute does not give you time to run to the store if you can’t find one that you need.



3. Mow the Lawn/Weed the beds-No instruction necessary here, right? Don’t forget to let the kids help. Water the flowers too and clean out things from the yard that look like clutter. Don’t forget litter and dog droppings (do this again right before your gathering) too.



4. Clean the House-Especially the bathroom, gathering areas and the kitchen. Divide it up over the next several days so it’s not so daunting and again, the family can help.

This blog is also posted at: http://aznewsblog.typepad.com/az_news/phoenix_quicktime_recipes/index.html

Cause and Effect - Beware!

I went to the doctor yesterday. I've been having some rotator cuff 'issues' in my right shoulder and he volunteered to give me a cortisone shot to help the pain. It has been hurting for a while and has caused some lifting and reaching inability - specifically (I don't want to get too personal, although it is probably too late for that...) when I reach for the toilet tissue in the bathroom. It is an awkward reach to the right and behind and causes a lot of pain. (I know. I know. Waaay too much information!)

As doctors must, he had to recite all of the potential problems this shot could cause. None of them dire but one - the shot could cause some dermatological pigmentation problems. In other words, the area around the injection site may not TAN as well as the rest of me, or it may tan DARKER. Oh, no!!! Well, of course, I refused the shot immediately! What would people think? A woman of my size is acceptable, even with a bum rotator cuff, but only as long as she tans evenly. What were those silly pharmaceutical companies thinking by NOT having a cure for this?
I refuse to walk around the pool (or, however unlikely, the beach) with a spotty tan!

I now have a new cause. I will not accept uneven, unattractive tanning!

Bond with me, Women! Shout it with me: "No more Spots from Shots! No more Spots from Shots!"

In light of this revelation about cortisone shots, we must not take these shots lying down! We must stand up for ourselves. We, as well-rounded women, must not let these shots be accepted with a whimper! We must make our voices heard! Shout! Yell! Cry out!


Well, I imagine some woman really DID cause this to be an issue when she found her tan was uneven and now doctors are compelled to state this 'problem' to prevent being sued. People sue over the silliest things.

I had the shot, my shoulder is already better and I'm considering having cortisone shots for all the other pains I have (does that count for children, I wonder...?).

I am moving back to Mesa, AZ, from Sacramento, CA, next week - around the 23rd of March - so I won't be on here every day for a while. I hope someone cares and is reading these blog entries.

Please let me know, if you have a chance.

Take care, All, and I'll talk to you later...

Love, Karen B-

The Bad Hair Week, Part 2

I get in my car and find myself so distracted by my image in the rearview mirror that I can barely drive. I finally make it home to the safety of my bathroom. Thankfully, my sons aren't here to see me before I can think of an excuse.

I stare at my reflection and try to figure out whom I remind myself of. It has been nagging at me since I got in the car. I know I've seen this hair somewhere. Then, it hits me...

All I need is a tube top, spandex shorts and a doublewide trailer and I am every woman ever interviewed after a tornado. ("Marlene's trailer just up and flew away and she had my good casserole dish!") I am the poster child for 'white trash'.

I am a candidate for 'The Jerry Springer Show': "Evil Hairstylists with Mind Control! Have you been a victim? Call this number to appear as a guest..."

My sons come home and I immediately launch into a ranting explanation about my hair and the evil stylist with her hypnotic coercion. They sense I am unpredictable and on the verge of volatility. Because they value their lives and their freedom, they cautiously smile and pat my arm as they scurry to their rooms.

I call my local beauty supply store and explain what has happened. I'm told I should wait a week, but then I'll be able to tint it at home to a more natural color, something closer to my original shade.

I become a hermit for the next week, leaving home only twice, once to sit in a darkened movie theatre and the other to buy food and the hair coloring kit. I work on a savings plan - the 'Eliminate Pinky Fund'. I am determined to never use a salon coupon again.

Seven long days later, I wait till I'm alone in the house, apply the dye to my hair and sit, listening to the ticking of the timer. No more daydreaming about how I'll look - just fasting and prayer.

I rinse and apply the enclosed conditioner. I rinse again, comb, and blow-dry. I mousse and fuss till I have the right fluff and style, finally standing back to take a hard look in the mirror. At last, I look more like me.

The color is lighter than my own hair, but it is closer to my original shade and the brassy blond streaks have turned into softer highlights.

What a relief! I can have a life again. I can leave the house without a hat and dark glasses.

Once more I wait for my sons to come home. They are my best and worst judges.

When they walk in, I look at them with anticipation. They stare at me questioningly (they are males, after all).

"Notice anything?" I ask, fluffing my hair with my hand.

My fifteen-year-old looks at me a few seconds and says, "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about something."

"Ask away," I say with confidence.

He hesitates, then blurts out, "Is your hair supposed to be cut in a mullet or was that an accident?"

I stare at him in shock for a moment, then hurry down the hall to my bathroom once more. All the worrying and anguish I've had for the last week has been about the color of my hair, not the cut. Had I really been so 'blinded by the bright' that I hadn't noticed Pinky had chopped my hair into that distinctive, 1980's, 'business in the front, party in the back', mullet-style haircut?

I turn my head and angle the medicine chest mirror so I can see my hair from the side. Nooo! This can't be right! It is a mullet. That's why the 'Jerry Springer' look had seemed so familiar! The brassiness of the blond color had overshadowed the style. I had only made a dent in the problem by coloring my hair. I hadn't cured anything.

I open the cabinet drawer that holds my hair stuff and I paw through scrunchies and clippies and elastics and bows. There at the back is what I'm looking for. I pry out the five bobby pins that are stuck to the bottom.

Taking the tails of hair and twirling them tightly around my fingers, I make a 'mini bun' at the back of my head and secure it with the pins. I stare at my reflection from every side, searching for signs of mullet-ness. None. Whew! That's better.

I will have to call and get an appointment tomorrow. I know deep in my heart that I'll probably be disappointed with how it looks, but at least it won't be a mullet, and I'll just have to live with it till it grows out.

Now where did I put those salon coupons...?

The Bad Hair Week, Part 1

"How short do you want it in the back?" my young hairdresser asks my mirrored reflection as she holds the scissors above my hair. She has a zigzag part in her spiked hair. The spikes are tipped with a color just this side of neon pink. The silver rod in her pierced eyebrow catches the light as she looks at me. When she speaks, I see the glint from a tongue ring. Yikes!

"Just to the top of my collar," I answer, hoping she knows where a collar would be, since I'm not wearing one.

The scissors fly in a blur as I close my eyes, determined not to watch. I am resigned. It has been more than a decade since I've had a decent haircut. I've developed the philosophy that, whatever happens, I can live with it 'til it grows out.

There is no one to blame but myself. I am too cheap. I only get my hair cut if I have a coupon, and this severely limits my choice of fine salons.

Someday I hope to be able to go to an expensive hairdresser, sit in his chair and have him say (with a French accent), "Who cut zis mess? It is all wrong for you face. Ve need to trim here and grow here." [He sighs heavily.] "I vill see vot can be done, but I have leettle hope." And then he will perform a miracle and I will have the perfect hairstyle for my slightly heart-shaped, round-ish face, making me look 20 pounds thinner and rich. Someday...

The snickering scissors stop. 'Pinky' (as I've come to think of her) runs her fingers through what is left of my locks and says, "You know, we could frost your hair and that would camouflage all this gray and you'd never even know it's there."

Hmmm... I kind of like my gray hair. I've feel I've earned it.

"Well, I don't know..." I say.

"Really!" She exudes confidence. "It will blend right in and will make you look so much younger! Plus, there's a discount with your coupon."

If I hadn't been so intrigued by the 'look so much younger', I might have been more cautious, but she caught me off guard and then clinched it with the discount coupon.

With enthusiasm, Pinky sets out jars and tubs and a box of aluminum foil. She then starts sectioning, applying whitish goo with a paintbrush and wrapping me in foil until I look like a satellite. She chatters away the whole time about her boyfriend and the concerts they've attended.

Nodding politely at what I hope are appropriate intervals, I begin to daydream about everyone's reactions to the new, younger-looking me:

"Have you lost weight?" They'll ask. "Are you exercising?"

"Have you had a facelift?"

"Are you meditating? You seem to be at such peace."

(And, of course, that's all I really want...a little hair peace... I chuckle to myself.)

Many minutes later, I am brought back to reality as we go to the sink to rinse for five minutes.

"Don't look," she warns when we return to her booth. "Let me get it styled first."

I sit in the chair, facing away from the mirror while she combs and blow-dries and mousses and fusses.

"Okay. Here we go," she says and spins the chair with such force that I almost fly out.

For a couple of seconds, all I see are dark spots and a bright light, then my equilibrium adjusts and I gaze hopefully into the mirror. I'm shocked when I realize that the bright light I saw is my hair. Noooo. That can't be right. I shut my eyes and blink a couple of times, trying to focus. I look closely at my reflection. This is not what I had in mind.

The brassy blond streaks covering my head stupefy me. I open my mouth and realize I've lost the ability to speak. I start to giggle nervously, which Pinky takes as a great compliment.

"I knew you'd love it!"

I can only smile an idiot's smile and walk to the front to pay. I hand her a tip and she beams at me (probably reflecting the light from my head...).

"Come back in about a month and we'll touch it up!" and she waves cheerily as I leave.

To be continued tomorrow...

Reflections on the Dating Game

One of my favorite shows, as a teenager, was "The Dating Game". I would picture myself as the young, debutante-like female asking clever questions and choosing the handsomest, wittiest bachelor on the other side of the screen. (In 1967, an unknown Tom Selleck was one of the bachelors. I could have married Tom Selleck!!!)

Later, I married (and, no, he wasn't the handsomest or the wittiest or the most faithful - but I digress...) and stayed that way for 23 years. One of the reasons we stayed together for so long was because we knew there would be a custody battle:

"You take the kids."

"No. YOU take the kids."

"I'm not taking the kids!"

And so on...

In the end, I got the kids and he got the bird - a cockatiel. We had a cockatiel! I got the kids... he got, oh, never mind.

Anyway, for the last 7 years, I have been mate-less and dateless and I have learned to enjoy it immensely. I don't have to explain my comings and goings. I can stay up late and watch TV or play on the computer. I can clip my toenails in bed (not a good idea even if you sleep alone, I've realized...). I can change my hairstyle without expecting anyone to notice. I can order extra onions on anything I want, 'cause I ain't kissing nobody! It is sooo much fun!

Until today, I had only been approached by one man for a date. He was a 68-year-old widower from my neighborhood in Tooele, Utah, and he had helped install the washer and dryer in my apartment. He came back to my door about a week later and gave me a pamphlet about some miracle juice that helps with weight loss and said he felt he was supposed to ask me out. In shock, and shaking uncontrollably, I told him no, thank you, that I wasn't ready to date yet. Closing the door, I sat on the sofa and had my first anxiety attack. Not long after, I heard he married someone else in the neighborhood. Bless his fickle little heart - I hope she was thin!

My daughter-in-law wants me to find someone to marry. HER mother calls me and suggests different online dating sites, and a friend of mine called to tell me there is a Singles Conference next weekend and that I should go. I'm fine, I tell them. No thanks. I've decided that if Fate wants me to remarry, I'll open my door and there will be someone 6' 8", with a great sense of humor, hundred dollar bills hanging out of his pockets and a letter that names me personally as his bride-to-be. I'm willing to wait.

Today, I called my apartment manager and told her the commode in my bathroom had developed a leak. She sent Maintenance right up.

As the head maintenance man worked in my bathroom, he sent his partner back and forth downstairs to get tools and things. Each time his assistant was gone, he would talk to me about his life and raising two daughters on his own, and how his first four marriages hadn't worked, but he had learned that it wasn't what was on the outside of a woman that mattered (and here he looked at me meaningfully), but what was on the inside. "She has to have a good heart. And I think I'm looking right at her," he said.

Now, let me give you a visual. I am six feet...square (at least for the purpose of this analogy). This thin, little man was at least 12 inches shorter than I - when he stood on his good leg. His fingernails weren't just dirty, they were crusty. His glasses were held together with electrical tape and he had...how can I put this tactfully?...a lingering odor of 'spices' mixed with 'work'. All I could think about was how, if I fell on him, I'd crush him like a clove of garlic.

I admit it. Everyone else is right. I am wrong. If this is what Fate is going to send to my home for my consideration, I have GOT to get out more!

Now, what were the names of some of those online dating sites...?