Eggs, deviled

A year or so ago I met the only person in the United States who has never eaten a deviled egg.  I’m not for sure positive that she is the only person in the United States who has never eaten a deviled egg but I’ve never met any other person who has never eaten such an egg. I was so surprised to learn this fact about her that every time I make deviled eggs I think of her.  And my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary.

Back in 1995 my brother and I planned a celebration honoring our parents  and their 50 years of marriage. As all good celebration menus should, ours included deviled eggs.  And I think of this every time I devil eggs.  I remember my brother and me in the kitchen of the hall we were using, deviling eggs.

And so it was yesterday.  We were having friends over for lunch and I was deviling eggs.  Suddenly I’m 16 years younger, in the kitchen with my brother, deviling those eggs. Why is this memory so strong?  Makes so sense to me but my mind thinks it’s important so I go with it. Apparently it’s like that old song:   “Love and marriage, go together like a horse and carriage” and deviled eggs and 50th wedding anniversaries.

Safely Home

It’s the feeling of completion.  Of satisfaction, safety, wholeness, comfort. Home. Tonight,  everyone will be safely home.

The east-going daughter returns tonight, arriving at the airport near midnight.  Dad will pick her up and bring her home.

The south-going daughter has arrived at her home for the next year and she and her husband are settling in.

My mom and younger brother are back safely at their home, after a trip to Mississippi to visit my other brother.  And that brother and his wife are home from visiting their son in Tennessee.

Me?  I’ve been home.  And tonight everyone else will be, too.

Print Your Name Here

So schools are doing away with teaching cursive. The world is digital. Keystrokes on desktops, laptops, phones. That’s all it takes to be in continual, constant communication with anybody, anywhere.  Bills are paid, homework is completed, friends are contacted, purchases are made, all without ever picking up a writing utensil. Who needs to know, or who has time to use, cursive?  That is so last century!

If defense of abandoning cursive, I submit exhibit A: My handwriting.  It has been variously described as, ” Big and round and very pretty.  I can’t read it, but it’s very pretty”, to just plain, “What the heck does that say?”  Sometimes I can’t even read my handwriting.

But in defense of continuing to teach cursive I submit exhibit B: My handwriting.  In those moments when it counts, like leaving a list of to-do’s for the kids, I can pull it together and make it legible, if not perfect.  And I can sign my name!

If we stop teaching cursive how will people sign their names to legal documents? When they get a loan for a car or a house or sign up for a credit card or apply for college will they just mark an X and call it good? Or will printing be good enough? They  still teach printing, don’t they?  I sure hope someone is teaching kids how to print.

Or else what will happen when the power goes out?

School Zone

(My school then)

I walked through an elementary school playground today. The students aren’t back yet and there weren’t any workers in the area.  It was quiet, sunny and warm. A time for reminiscing about first days of school, new pencils and Pee Chees,  and recess time with other pony-tailed girls running around the  school yard in the late summer sun.  It was a bit dreamlike.

(My school now)

There ahead of me, on the black pavement, was a freshly painted four square outline.  I haven’t seen one of those in years, maybe decades. But I was ready. I was perfectly clad in my 50’s  pedal pushers and soon the game was on.  I started in the new kid square but within minutes I’d bested them all and was  in the server’s place. My famous twist-of-the-wrist-in-the-corner serve was a killer and I was firmly ensconced as the undefeated champ when the whistle blew signaling the end of recess. And the end of my dream.

There I stood in my capris.  I headed back to work.

Herbert

Herbert was living in temporary, transitional housing needing a forever home.  We have plenty of room and time for Herbert so last Tuesday Herbert came to live with us.  He’s had a couple of days to acclimate and tonight he’s all snugged in his very own bed.  He’s going to be fine because this is a place where he can put down roots.  Literally.  Herbert is a blueberry plant.

While out and about last Tuesday a friend and I made an impulse stop at a nursery.  There I met Herbert.  He’s a good looking plant with a number of ripe and not yet ripe berries on him.  But it was his name that called to me. Herbert.  Can you imagine his early life?  All the other blueberries with names like Pink Lemonade, and Aurora, Legacy, Bluejay and Liberty.  Then there’s Herbert.  I bet the other blueberries made fun of Herbert and wouldn’t let him join in their games, all because of his dowdy name.

But it’s gong to be okay.  Herbert  now has a good home.  He’s with a couple of other blueberries whose names I’ve forgotten (or more likely, never paid attention to) and some ordinary rhubarb.  The perfect place for a blueberry named Herbert.

I Don’t Hate My Job. I Just Don’t Want Summer to End

This is it!  Tomorrow is my last day of summer break, the day I most dread!!!

I don’t hate my job.  I like my job.  I’m secretary at a high school.  I enjoy my work.  But I don’t like saying good bye to summer.  Going back to work means summer is over.  If only summer would hang around for another couple of months.  It wouldn’t even have to be a warm couple of  months.  Heck, we in the Puget Sound region haven’t had more than a handful of warm days this entire summer.  And it’s been okay.  I just want the longer days to last. And some sun thrown in would be outstanding.

Alas!  It is not to be.  Time waits for no man and summer isn’t waiting around either. It’s out of here, at least my summer break is out of here.

Okay, I’m done whining.  But there’s still time for another trite quote:  Parting is such sweet sorrow.  

Good bye summer vacation!

Another Corner

2500 miles. 2800 miles.  The difference is only 300 miles.  Not much really.

Except it’s not the difference between the two numbers. It’s the difference in directions they are going. One daughter is going 2500 miles  east. The other daughter is going 2800 miles  south.

We said our last good byes to the south-going daughter, and her husband, on Sunday.  They then headed back home east of the mountains.  In 8 days they leave for Mexico where they will live for the next year.  Or maybe a bit longer. What a fabulous opportunity.  I will miss them and our good-byes were tearful. But I’m also more than a bit jealous and very excited for them.

Tomorrow we will say good bye to our east-going daughter and her boyfriend, whom we  consider part of our family. They head 2500 miles east to take him back to school.  After a short stay our daughter will return to this area, leaving the boyfriend, for now, at school.

South.  East.  2800 miles. 2500 miles.  We turn another corner in life.

Summer Shadows

It’s barely 8 p.m. and the shadows are as long as they can get before being taken over by night. Summer was just warming up and already we are rounding the corner to fall. Last minute vacations and final trips to the lake are being squeezed into our schedules. Soon flip flops and swimsuits will be replaced with warm jackets and school backpacks.  The end of summer. It always make me sad.

In a few minutes I will go for an evening stroll around my yard.  I’ll take in the flowers and trees and bushes and vegetables.  I will try to soak up as much of it as I can, to remember and savor through autumn, winter, and into the start of next spring. I’ll reminisce about warm summer nights as a kid riding my bike up and down the streets, playing hide and seek in the field behind the house, sleeping on the patio and looking at the stars.

But that was many years ago and many miles away.  Reality will set in as it gets darker and colder and the mosquitoes begin feasting on me and I’ll be glad to retreat into the house.  And I’ll be thankful for the summer I’ve had and I will tell myself to stop being sad.  There’s still some summer left to savor.

Rhubarb Harvest Dessert

I harvested my first stalks of rhubarb yesterday.  Heeding the advise I read on the internet I was very gentle. This is really the plants’  first year.  I even took my yard stick with me and measured out three stalks that were over 10 inches long, then reached down to the base and twisted each one off,  just like the internet instructions said.

I’m no pie maker so I went for the Oatmeal-Rhubarb Bars recipe also found on the internet.  I was quite excited with my three stalks until I cut them up and found out they only yielded half the amount called for in the recipe.  But I couldn’t risk hurting my plants by harvesting more.  So I halved the recipe.

That may be why it didn’t turn out as much of a bar. Or maybe the cook erred in the assembly.  In any case hubby wasn’t impressed.  I don’t think he even tried it.  But I think it was great. Organically, home grown, homemade Oatmeal Rhubarb Bars.  Yum.

Rhubarb Harvest

Two years ago I purchased and planted three rhubarb starts.  They started, then winter came.  The next year they started again but then in the middle of the summer, in spite of my love and attention, they quit.  I dug up the remnants and unceremoniously plopped ’em each in a pot which I mostly ignored but occasionally watered.  They apparently liked this abuse and once again they started.  And then winter came.

This spring I got tired of looking at them in their pitiful pots so I  planted them in a new location which had more water, but then again it had less sun than I thought they needed.  But they’ve thrived.  All 3 of them are growing vigorously and tomorrow I’m going to harvest my first rhubarb stalks!

I Googled the harvesting process and learned that you never cut the stalks but rather reach down into the plant and twist the stalk off.  And don’t harvest too much the first year.  I’ll be gentle.

Then I’m going to make rhubarb bars with my homegrown rhubarb. Maybe they’ll be ready for dessert. (And maybe they’ll be good.)