Testing on the new blog update

Hurray!  I could not believe that I was finally allowed access to my blog page today.  Every once in a while I’ve tried to access only to get error messages that my login ID was no longer valid!  Oh well, maybe one of these days I’ll figure out what’s going on! With cold weather and holidays approaching, I’ve wanted to warm-up my writing skills; howsomeever, with a recent torn rotator cuff, my typing skills are lacking both in accuracy and speed, so I’ll just type my little stories on a word document, then paste them on my blog space. This is just a test for today to see how this approach goes.  If you don’t see another post anytime soon, you’ll know that I’m still having login problems!

Thank You for Our Pets

In Remembrance of Tramp

Tramp was on the side of the road in the Fall of 1994 when I first met him.  It was a time when I was renovating an 1860s farmhouse that was moved from a downtown location to river land purchased from money paid to both me and my brother by the State of North Carolina after our father was burned alive in a rest home.  Each weekend I worked relentlessly, gutting old plaster and lath boards and transporting them in the bed of my ’87 red Ford pickup to the local county dumps. It was dirty work, but kept me busy with a project that gave hope for a better future –a home of my own.

Early on a Saturday morning, on one of those trips to the old farmhouse, I passed what seemed like a burlap bag on the side of the road. In fact, I passed it several times throughout the day before I saw the little puppy sitting beside the bag.  Assuming it was a puppy from down the road, I did not think much of him at first, but at dusk, he was still sitting in that same spot.  It finally dawned on me that somebody had dumped him out on the road in the country!  After calling a close friend, Cat, she agreed to ride with me to get the little puppy. So I grabbed a towel, picked up my friend, and we went after that little puppy. Cat brought along a flashlight and spotted a possum, just a few feet from the puppy as we approached.  Excitedly, we rushed to the spot, yelling and waving our arms to scare off the possum – the puppy was frozen in fear; he never moved. Wrapping the towel around him, I cradled him in my arms and headed back to the house.

Poor, pathetic, little creature!  In the light, we saw his red, scabby skin.  His hair had been singed off his body; he had been left on the side of the road in a bag with his litter sisters and brothers who had not survived; and he was in shock.  Cleaning him with gentle strokes and warm sudsy water, I wrapped him in a warm towel as I prepared for sleep.  After two weeks of trying to self medicate his skin with burnt motor oil, I finally took him to a local vet who diagnosed him with red scabies; that was why Cat and I had been itching like crazy – we were infected, too!   When I told Cat that I was only going to nurse him back to health and then find a good home for him, she said, “You’ll wind up keeping that dog, and he’ll be the most faithful dog you’ll ever have.”

At the time I also had two black labs – Millie and Max, so the last thing I needed was another vet bill and mouth to feed. Eventually, the pup was given a name and fuzz began to appear on his little body.  Millie, the female lab, took him under her wing like the loving matriarch she was and taught him his responsibilities and manners. Maybe, due to being traumatized by the possum, he never forgot, and killed any possum or raccoon that wandered into our yard. If someone drove into the yard, Tramp would sneak behind the vehicle and slowly come up behind.  Then he would lower his head, begin a low guttural growl, stopping only when I gave the command.  Even though Tramp had a shyness about him, he grew into a fearless protector and was a loving and faithful family member.  The Lord has always blessed me with smart dogs.

Through the years, Millie, Max, Tramp and I formed a little family unit, and they would ride in the truck with me while I worked on the house. For a decade, as I shied away from society and lost myself in the big renovation project, my dogs, truly, were my most loyal friends. Through the years, each companion slowly passed away until only Tramp and the ’89 Red Ford Ranger remained of the original family unit.  As age took its toll, Tramp began to stay closer to home; he no longer went on long romps though the river hills.  This past year, he rarely went far due to his arthritis. With a regimen of Glucosamine, stress tabs and vitamins, he was able to take short steps to keep me company on my morning strolls.  At some point in time, he lost his ferocious bark, and only little woof sounds emitted from his throat.

On the night of his disappearance, my husband and I were returning from a trip into town.  As I pulled up to the front walk, a loud yelp sounded, and I knew that I had hit something.  No sooner than my husband jumped out of the truck than he told me to back up quickly.  I had run up to the back part of Tramp’s body! To this day, I don’t know why I did not see him. Tony and I helped him up, and Tramp was able to stand, rather wobbly at first, but he took a few tentative steps.  Then we lifted and carried him  to his favorite spot under the cedar tree.  I kept checking on him throughout the night, giving him baby aspirin, cupping water to his mouth and petting his head with soothing words. Every time I opened the front door, his little white face would pop up, looking expectedly at me.  In his pain, he loved me so much.

But the next morning he was gone, and thus began our search. With his injury, I knew he could not go far, but after several days of walking the countryside and calling his name - nothing. On the second night, it began to rain, and I asked the Lord to protect Tramp; I hoped that he was in a sheltered area, but on the third night,  when the temperature dropped to freezing, I prayed that he was no longer in pain.  Losing hope, the guilt, the hurt, and the not knowing where he was bore down heavily. Not finding a way to escape the hurt, I stayed up all night crying and polishing silver for Thanksgiving.

The next day my daughter called and asked me to come over and spend time with her and my granddaughter. Playing with my grandchild and talking with my daughter did my heart a world of good; thank the Lord for daughters. Later, I called home and let my husband know that I would be spending the night with my babies; it was the first restful sleep I had had that week.

Next morning, with Tramp pushed into the back recesses of my mind, I drove into town to pick up some paint for the house and bought a few groceries before heading home.  Later, my husband and I sat on the front porch in our rocking chairs, and as we talked, I began to hear some little “woofs.”  “Did you hear that?” I asked. My husband, Tony,  heard nothing, but I kept hearing it so I took off  walking in the direction of the sound, down a steep hillside to a feeder stream to the river, and thought, “there’s no way, in his shape, he could have come this far.”  Every so often, I would stop and listen for the sound of the woofs, then start walking again, heading in an upstream direction into a thick wooded ravine area.  It was dusk, now, and after a while, I came into a little clearing that I recognized.  It was a waterhole that Tramp and the black labs, Max and Millie, would go to in the heat of the summer many years ago.

And that’s where I found Tramp. He had sought this place in his time of death – a place where he had shared companionship and playtime with the first and only family he had ever known.  I dropped down by his side, and again, cried and cried, knowing, finally, that he had come to this place to seek relief from his pain in the memory of once upon a time.

This morning, my husband retrieved Tramp from the ravine.  We dug his grave in his favorite spot -under the cedar tree overlooking the river.  As Tony cut the lower branches from the cedar tree, I used them as a spray to cover his grave. While piling the limbs, heavily loaded with the blue cedar berries, I thanked the Lord for bringing this animal into my life. I thanked him for the opportunity to care for him and receive his love. Tramp is home, without pain, and his spirit roams free in the river hills with his playmates. God bless him, and thank you, Lord!

Thanks for Nature

Expressing their hunger to be fed, yard dogs woke me early this morning, and as I arose and walked past the glass doors to the deck toward the kitchen to prepare their food, I was caught off guard by the amazing beauty of the picture presented to me on the other side of those glass doors.  Sunrise was peaking, and its early morning beams were blazing the autumnal tree tops into brilliant colors of yellow, orange, red and spice!  I simply stood and drank in the sight. Ah, nothing beautiful lasts. Knowing that my achy body might refuse to cooperate to exercise so early out of bed, I figured I’d better “put a hitch in my giddy-up” before the colors began to fade. So I determined coffee was in order, dogs would be fed, and I would walk – walk in the glory of a beautiful fall morn while it was still available.

The autumnal spices in the trees will soon go fast;

The fall season in all its glory, sadly, will not last.

Our home sits on a bluff overlooking a river, and always provides nice backdrops to some of my photos. Since I live in a rather beautiful area, I decided to take the camera with me for the sunrise constitutional walk so as to take some illustrative pictures, and I was not disappointed.  As I stepped out the front door, it was apparent my old 17 year old dog, Tramp, wanted to go for the stroll, too. So that’s what we did – we strolled, with cool breezies washing over us as the river sparkles urged us on.

Tree leaves swirled like snowflakes yet to come

And old dogs walked through the flakes of autumn

Nature has its rituals with the four seasons

And to watch it unfold is God’s creative reason

With every step we took, the next one was a little easier; I was snapping away while the dogs ran and played, and as we strolled under the canopy of a golden veil, I reflected how such beauty made man-made gifts pale. Lord, on this 14^th day of Thanksgiving, I give thanks for your gift of Nature.

The Thanksgiving Pound Cake

Yesterday, while giving thanks for skills, my thoughts temporarily sidetracked to remembering family and friends who participated in past Thanksgivings  and celebrated with me.  Thanksgiving, a fall seasonal celebration occurring on the fourth Thursday of November each year, usually includes plenty of food and thankful prayers to the Lord.  Originally a harvest celebration, tables now heavy -laden with huge platters  of roasted or deep-fried turkey, dressing with giblet gravy, turnip greens, mashed potatoes,  green bean and sweet corn casseroles, pumpkin breads, rolls, sweet potato pies, blackberry cobbler, and plenty of Southern sweet tea represent the spirit of the nation’s first harvest.

After hours of preparation for these modern Thanksgiving meals, few members of the opposite sex are neither knowledgeable nor fully appreciative of the hours of preparation that go into those fine and delectable dishes. Enjoy, they do, along with morning parades on the television and afternoon football games. Nope, only other cooks truly realize the time and effort spent in preparing and presenting the Thanksgiving “spreads” feasible to hungry eyes – that is, unless you’re one of those who just cook hotdogs.

That’s why, when I received an invitation to attend my first “Gobble, Gobble Post Thanksgiving Get Together” at cousin Pam’s home, I jumped at the opportunity to spend time with relatives.  I normally don’t get the chance to see them often and was really looking forward to their company. This was a “post” get-together – translates into no cooking, just bring leftovers!  However, my husband was a long distance truck driver, and this was, yet, again, another holiday in which he was not able to come home. Earlier, I had cooked a Thanksgiving meal for both mine and my husband’s family at the lake house, and there were no leftovers.

With a show of good Southern manners, I displayed my “raising” by asking, “What can I bring?”  One of the “nieces” mentioned a pound cake; therein, was the beginning of my problem. Now (chest puffed out  with a little pride), I can say that I bake one of the best Cold Oven Pound Cakes that you have ever tasted; so, initially, I saw no problem.  

The next morning, eager to tackle this beloved task,  I awoke early and, with reverence, hauled out the Artisan KitchenAid – Platinum Series (love, love, love that big stand mixer), set out the eggs and butter to come to room temperature, measured all dry ingredients and buttered and floured the tube pan.  I was humming and in my own little bit of heaven, but before long, I discovered the day was going to be a little hectic. First sign was when the cake did not rise; something was wrong with the oven!

 “Okay,” I thought, “Stay calm.” There are enough ingredients.  Just mix another cake batter.  So, this time I watched the cake in the oven - like a hawk; it had to cook an additional 20 minutes.  After ten years, the oven no longer calibrated the heat correctly – you might as well cut off my right arm!  Eventually, the cake turned out fine – just not my best.  After removing the cake from the Nordic pan and placing it on the crystal cake stand, I stood back to admire it and take a picture. Every woman admires a perfectly molded pound cake; they are a work of art.

It was still early afternoon, so I decided a nice warm shower would calm my nerves and put me in a refreshed mood for the evening. When I returned to the kitchen, to my horror…of all horrors, the cake was strewn in little pieces …  all over the kitchen floor! It never dawned on me that when I fed the German Shepherd pup inside the house, he would discover that on this day, Thanksgiving Day, that he was able to stand on his hind legs and help himself to the kitchen counter!  Aieeee!!!  Heart heaving erratically while grabbing the broom, I whisked his little fanny out the front door!

Breathe.  Think.  Pound cakes are not cheap.  If done correctly, the beating of the batter takes time … to ensure that each egg is beaten thoroughly and incorporated into the batter which consists of five eggs, three sticks of butter , three cups of sugar, three cups of flour (in addition to other secret ingredients) – all of which I did not have enough to make a third batter!

Wet-headed from the shower, I threw on jeans, an old sweat shirt, and sandals and headed for the grocery store. Yes, the pedal was put to the medal; I got there in record time, and must have looked like a haint as I zoomed up and down the aisles.  Nobody would look me straight in the face!  It was like the young cashier knew I was there, but pretended not to see me! Thank goodness I did not see anyone I knew, and no one took a picture, for most assuredly, such a photo would have ended up as a post for one of those crazy Wally World shoppers on Facebook! 

Finally, a third cake was baked – with 30 minutes to spare.  After several mishaps in trying to bake The Thanksgiving Pound Cake, I found myself in a pretty thankless mood with a rotten attitude.  As I walked through the door into my cousin’s home … into the welcoming arms of cousins and “nieces” … into a warm home filled with many wonderful and friendly folk, I was so thankful and glad that I had finally made it to the Gobble, Gobble get-together!  Sitting and listening to young people talking and making fun with each other about their likes and dislikes… discussing shopping plans for Black Friday…and watching funny movies (Ernest T. & Don Knotts !!!)  – well, you just had to have been there; it was a scene reminiscent of old-time family get-togethers! Pound cake forgotten, it was just the shot of “family fix” that was needed for this thankful heart!

Days of Thanksgiving

Last year, a group of Facebook friends initiated daily posts of why they were thankful during the month of November, leading up to Thanksgiving Day.  It was a positive writing exercise that reminded us of our blessings.  This year, it began again, with different friends giving voice to daily thanks.  This eighth day of thanks,  I gave thought to my skills; something I don't normally think about but which evolved in to the question, "What skills do we possess?"  We have been taught skills that we utilize practically every day without even thinking about them.

• Cook a skillet of cornbread (Remember my great-grandmother's black skillet?)
• Make a pitcher of Southern sweet tea
• Tie a shoelace or wrap a present
• Care for the less fortunate (Momma says there is always someone worse off!)
• Clean a cut or polish silverware

Every day we utilize so many skills our parents taught us; skills that are essential to managing a home and make life a little easier.  Recently, my husband was involved in an accident, lost his job, and for the past several weeks he has been home doing minor repairs around the house.  We've cleaned out the linen closet and relocated the dog's feed boxes to a more convenient location.  This left ample space in which to build shelves to store household cleaning products.  He painted the double doors and installed crystal door knobs.  Can you imagine what a good feeling that gives me - just to look at this newly organized space? No doubt, some of his carpentry skills were taught by his father and learned "on-the-job" from previous work experiences.

Yesterday, he began cleaning the back sleeping porch and stained half the floor boards with a sealant. He assigned me the task of power washing the outdoor rug. This morning he looks forward to finishing the other half of the floor.  Meanwhile, he has chosen a project for me to begin - staining unfinished wood bookcases which we've had for several years!  Since the six months I've been retired, my daily schedule has been full of minor household repairs and projects that have been long overdue for attention.

Yes, we perform many of our daily activities without giving thought as to how we learned them.  We have skills but don't normally think to give credit for their attainment.  Many of my skills were taught by momma; other vital skills were learned from grandparents, significant others, instructors, friends and by observation. My research skills were learned from specialists and "on-the-job;"  skills that spill over into my daily life as I "google" how-to web sites such as "You Tube."  Recently, I did just that!  A windy rainstorm broke a window; I researched online how to replace a broken window and successfully completed the project - a gratifying experience. My writing and speech skills (I consider speech skills innate) are God given with more than just a litte push from college professors!

We don't normally think about our skills, do we? When was the last time you gave thought to your skills?    Who deserves the credit?  The next time I sort the whites from the colored clothes, boil a pot of spaghetti or fry chicken, change a grandchild's diaper, write a newsletter or successfully follow directions to execute a prize winning recipe, I'll thank my momma!

(thanks to J. Nobles for the idea!)

Life Lessons and Retirement Renaissance

This morning, I felt like a flotsam of flesh and bones with a heavy bag of sand for a head. Rotten!  … and I blame the ageing process, but most importantly, I blame myself!

Get with it, woman!  You know what to do!  This sad mental attitude began before retirement, but retirement has definitely blown it out of proportion.  Attitude toward what, you say?  - MY HEALTH and what I should be doing to feel better. 

Lesson Number One:  This “epiphany” actually hit me in my late 40’s when I helped a dear friend with a building project toward building her home.  It was a New Year’s Eve celebration, and we decided to do something different and special, so we “treated” ourselves to white Russians!!! YUM.  I was feeling no pain at the stroke of midnight; in fact, my body was literally swinging from the rafters … oooooh, so much fun – til morning. This migraine was different … streaks of lightening were zooming across my brain:  ZOOM, ZOOM, ZOOM – Hell. Somehow, I crawled out to the car at 4:00 a.m., drove home, and vegetated with the proverbial “porcelain goddess” for three days!  The DT symptoms were in force!

Later, I learned that a snow storm had felled trees across the road to my friend’s home; they wondered how I got out … I’ll never know. At least, I had the clarity of mind to post a message on the answering machine that I was out with friends and would return calls when I returned. Thank goodness, I had cloroxed the bathroom floor, because I lay there, nauseously writhing, during those entire three days.

We all know what happened next.  I prayed to Lord Jesus that I would never, ever, do that again…and I didn’t, except for one more time. This time, a group of friends went down to the beach with me and Mom to celebrate her birthday.  A lovely little place served the best margaritas in North Myrtle Beach, and we ordered them by the pitcher full. Again, a great old time was had by all, even making new friends with everyone that came near our table, but reality set in the next morning. Finally, I had my fill of celebratory alcoholic beverages, and knew what had to be done in order to avoid feeling that way again.

Don’t get me wrong. I imbibed only at Christmas and New Years.  It has now been over two decades since I’ve drank anything with alcohol, but every once in a blue moon, I’ll take a sip, and BANG – that’s all it takes.  That little medulla oblongata starts ringing a warning bell.  The sugar content in the alcohol goes straight to the back of my head.  I do have a better understanding of my body, and it was because of these “early experiments” that I went to a doctor, then, was diagnosed with hypoglycemia. I simply cannot handle sugar. 

Lesson Number Two:  Sugar. Sugar comes in many forms, but your body can’t tell the difference – thanks to recent research.  It doesn’t matter if you ingest it from alcohol, fruit, sweets, or artificial sweeteners, the body will react. Due to my hypoglycemia, I obviously cannot handle it.  Period!  So, why do I keep “stepping over that same log?”   Attitude!  I love chocolate and fancy desserts (some are not as bad as others) and cooking special dishes in my kitchen –  but, hey, I normally know  how to not overindulge.  Since retirement, I’ve been enjoying the time to pursue many of my interests – one, of which, is baking. 

Returning to the scene of the crime, how did this epistle begin? Oh, yes – the migraine this morning.  Why?  Because I baked beautiful and wonderful Cranberry Pumpkin Bars for the Fall season!  DID NOT overindulge – only ate one modest piece. However, let’s look at some of the ingredients:  cream cheese, 2 sticks of butter and a whole bag of powdered sugar (main culprit).  I can’t stand the thought of eating another piece of that dessert (remember when you ate too much Halloween candy and got sick?). 

Why didn’t I pay attention?  Attitude!  My body is ageing, and the hypoglycemia is more pronounced. So, woman, what have you learned?!  Well, I like to cook, so… maybe, I should start cooking for a healthier life. DUH! You see, I knew this!!!  But I keep lapsing into that old style attitude of how I grew up, and relishing those sacred recipes of how my mom and grandparents cooked….excuses, excuses.

What am I going to do? I am going to be the responsible person I’ve always been.  All my life, I’ve done the right thing.  I have been responsible toward children, family, job, bills, etc.  Once upon a time, I was responsible toward my health by exercising; it’s time to incorporate and accommodate that same attitude toward my retirement years!  My husband and I have started a new program.  We have three date nights a week to work with something that, I hope, will become a third member of our family – Mr. BowFlex!

Also, I need to begin looking at healthy recipes to cook for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and slowly incorporate them into our lifestyle. See, I told you, I know what I’m supposed to do!  Attitude.  Attitude.  Attitude.  Just today, I saw something that caught my eye on FaceBook:  ZOOMER BOOMERS.    According to the article, ZOOMERS are seniors over the age of fifty who exercise and practice preventive medicine to reduce inherited health risks, among other longevity traits.

So, I have hypoglycemia; I can find support from abundant literature on the web. It’s time to put this retirement into a proper perspective, and make it work for me. Time to revamp the old recipes of my youth so they will better accommodate this Boomer body – NO! - make that “soon to be” ZOOMER body.  This renaissance won’t happen overnight, but I’m now developing a focus and a plan. No New Year’s Resolutions, but definitely a Retirement Renaissance!

Keepsakes and the Power of Four

Keepsakes provide good memories and serve as a link to the past. As young girls and boys, we knew that we would all live forever, and therefore, did not place much value to such items during those tender years; but as children grow, and values are learned, indeed, the value of sentiment and good times are also realized. My great-grandmother Kitsy’s black skillet serves as a catalyst for a sweet remembrance.

The black skillet is a tangible keepsake, but intangible keepsakes can exist in other forms such as our own memories and the love we share with special people.  With an interest is genealogy, delving into and researching my family’s history provides immense pleasure.  My paternal grandparents had four children; each of those aunts and uncle had one girl – the rest were boys. During the last several years of our adult lives, the girls – four cousins – deepened our bond with each other by sharing stories, remembrances, of our grandparents.  News is also shared about our individual families:  a mother’s health, a son’s adventure, a new grandchild – more stories to tell and keep for sweet memories.  Just this morning I received a call from one of the cousins to update about her brother’s surgery; she ended the call by saying, “enjoyed getting together with my sisters.” Cousins now reach out and offer words of encouragement and support; these times together are precious bonding experiences – magic!

As a result of our monthly luncheons, we organized the first family reunion in several decades last year. Once again, it’s time to create memories of the best sort – memories that settle deep in the heart as valued family sentiments. No longer four little girls, we are four strong women who have created a memorable bond to strengthen our families, to, once again, bring our extended families back together in order to share the knowledge of our history and to create future memories for the next generation of little girls and boys.  In essence, we have created the power of four – P⁴ - the ultimate keepsake!