Amber or honey?

A wee bottle sealed with brown paper lightly waxed takes up 7/8 of an inch of space on my windowsill. Together the glass and amber-colored contents weigh one ounce. Sunshine warms and melts it.

Amber is fossilized resin, or tree sap, the earth sat on for millions of years. Trapped bugs and nature's trash give it extra value. If you were by the Baltic Sea at ebb-tide, you might find chunks of amber washed up. Lithuaniams call it Lithuanian gold.

Empress Catherine's palace in St. Petersburg, Russia, features the "amber room." It is worth seeing: view it online. My amber-colored substance isn't likely to decorate anything more than a shelf.

Shopping at the open air market in Aswan, Egypt, my sister and I searched out an apothecary. The man behind the counter stepped out to assess her badly swollen feet. He gasped, shook his head and muttered to our guide in Egyptian. We asked for a remedy. Wearing a grave expression, he produced this tiny prepackaged bottle and said, "Rub it on her feet every day." Worried about his gloom and doom expression, we thanked him, paid in piastres and walked away. Being the ever curious fool that I am, I went back and asked what it was. "Liquified crocodile fat."

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

EASTER 2008

This week we cycled out of winter into spring and an early Easter. The weather is still March: warm one day, rain or snow the next. Mom would say Mother Nature is cleaning out her weather closet.

Crocuses that peaked through my front garden during the week are closed tight today--to stay warm, I suppose. Saying we had the last of last winter's something makes winter seem further behind us. It was a corker. Today is gloomy and cold. For lunch we had the last pieces of winter's gingerbread warmed and with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. I love the aroma. It feels substantial, insulating. We won't make it again until fall. When the weather warms we hunger for cucumbers, lighter meals, Greek olives and pasta dishes.

Tomorrow is Easter, Christians day to celebrate the Risen Christ. Imagine finding his tomb empty. Would you be afraid to tell anyone? Would you question your sanity? I saw them put him in. What would you do?

At Easter we acknowledge and celebrate God's gift of salvation for us. Read John 3:16. Whether you make a pilgrimage to a sacred place such as Knock, Ireland, southeast of Castlebar, or Mount St. Michel, France, or the Coptic Church in Cairo, Egypt, the Holy Land, your local church, or spend time with nature, I pray you open your heart and accept the unconditional love God has for you. Feel His love flow around, in and through you cleansing every cell, erasing doubt, fear, and mistakes.

If you don't already know the Lord, I suggest you contemplate Him. Invite Him into your world. Ask for His help. No problem is bigger than the Lord, and He wants the best for you. You won't find a better friend.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY STAINT PATRICK'S DAY 2008

My dear friend, Frances, has taken the high road home. She lived long (93 yrs.) and went down easy. I called her "My favorite Nebraska farmer." She planted a couple of tomato plants at her apartment and loved giving away her roses. She said it made them bloom more. Each summer Sunday she took one to church for the altar.

She had a child-like curiosity about everything. Often she spoke of how she loved the "great mystery of life." Her laughter came quick and easy. I called her every week. When I was traveling and lost I told her I didn't know where I was, but this is what I see.

Fun to be around and positive to the core, people fought for her company. I think she was 93 going on 20. When times were tough she'd say, "The road will straighten out - eventually."

Her father was full-blooded Irish and taught her about the stars. St. Patrick's Day was a favorite holiday. She wore her green suit and favorite hat to celebrate. Her straight back, twinkly eyes and white hair swept up, gave her the appearance of European Royalty.

In Taste of Home I found an Irish recipe for meringue cups she would have liked. The baked meringue nest is topped with a mixture of eagle brand condensed milk, whipped cream and green food coloring. Topped with candied green cherries split to make a three-leaf clover and stem it celebrates the Irish symbol of the Trinity.

March 5th her body was laid to rest in an old cemetery south of Decatur, NE, but her spirit is limitless. She forever and always lives in our hearts and we in hers. I lift my cup to you, Frances. Thanks for everything and Happy Saint Patrick's Day.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Feb. 29th, Freaky Friday

I didn't know what to do with today. It was a bonus. I solved the problem by donating it to Africa. Colorful clothes came to mind. Wearing my red stretchy hair band, I felt slightly Native. It was the best I could do with blue jeans and a red gingham shirt.

In the "Jump Up and Kiss Me" cookbook I found a recipe for North African Lentil Stew. I love cooking with vitamin-rich kale. I peeled and chopped a butternut squash. The base was chopped onion, jalapenos and garlic sauteed in olive oil. Chili powder and ground cumin added the fire. Red lentils, chopped tomatoes and vegetable stock tied it together. Moroccan-Style whole Grain Couscous complimented and quieted the fire.

On the Couscous box, it says, "The Sultans of Marrakech knew how to party. In the countryside around the city walls, they built parks and pleasure palaces designed to set the scene for elaborate feasts and and other festivities. Menara Gardens is a legacy of that era, a place where modern-day Marrakechis come to stroll amid palm trees, olive groves, and roses, and to picnic on couscous and other Moroccan delights."

I raised my bowl in a toast to Africa, "Thank you for your gifts to our world. Grace and Peace to you." Digging in, I shut my eyes and am there. Delicate, olive-skinned young women, wearing tiny bells and carrying large trays of food, wait on handsome, turbaned Sultans seated on cushions in the tent. I smell curry and dates. White silk drapes flutter tickled by a silent breeze. The dry desert heat whisks the moisture from my body. The essence of roses mingles with citrus. Camels grumble in the distance. A custom-made emerald green Mercedes waits just beyond. Merriment and money, side by side.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

There has to be a triple nine in here.

Schatzie dreamed of spring and butterflies, woke up, and it was still winter. Bored, he played triominoes - with himself. Madchen, the obnoxious kitten, was too busy making mischief with the petals of the miniature rose plant. She would rather ski through the triominoes and see how many she could scatter. I call her a push-button cat. Touch her and she purrs.

copyright 2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Africa, Alaska & Australia

We were the country kids. I was painfully shy, awkward and resisted wearing jeans to high school. City kids didn't. "You will wear them," Mom said. "If the bus breaks down, you'll be glad you're warm." We did. It did. South of Colon we had to push it out of a snowbank. But we were warm!

Leona's husband, Richard, and Alice share the same birthday. Over Leroy's roast pork and wild rice and mushroom stuffing we shared our travels. A big-game hunter, Leroy and Alice travel to Africa each year. Alice said, "The Doma Safari Camp is about three hours out of Harare, Zimbabwe in the middle of nowhere. Electricity is generated for about two hours at sunrise and in the evening just long enough for meals. Staff launder our clothes daily and hang them out to dry. Each piece is flat-ironed and folded." Less luggage. Even better than wash 'n wear.

Leroy cooked cashews, raisins and carrots so small I thought they were fava beans. Delicious. Richard and I lived two miles apart as kids and never knew each other until high school. His family hatched thousands of chicks. And I thought two-hundred hogs a year was a lot of work. Richard and Leona visit their daughter in Sweden and have traveled to Alaska where the cabbage grows as big as bushel baskets.

While in Australia I witnessed a preservationist sharing his passion for saving the koalas while it soaked his suit. I wonder if he changed his mind about them. Leroy sent home two of his homemade cinnamon pecan rolls for breakfast. Mine didn't make it to daylight. Krysia loved hers. Alice, he is a keeper!

Leroy's cloud dessert was cream cheese sweetened with Splenda. Piled and mushed in the center it resembled Ireland, but wasn't green. He cooked blueberries sweetened with Splenda for the center. Yum! I ate mine slow.

Traveling tests our ability to adapt, overcome and improvise. Often times it's a huge hassle, but we love to learn, see and do and will keep traveling. Good food, good friends and talk of world travels made my day. Happy travels to you, too.

copyright 2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

I would rather be in Mexico!

We went to Mazatlan, Mexico, to escape weather like we had last week: below zero and unable to drive under the influence of blizzard. Lake Manawa, Iowa has fifteen inches of ice. That's reassuring for ice fishing, but takes muscle and time to auger through by hand. Today we're in the high thirties (degrees).

Late one Mexican afternoon we went in search of grilled seafood. Our restaurant of choice was packed. Over Mariachi music we asked how long we would have to wait. The server said, "No wait." He grabbed a table and set us up on the curb, literally. The high-backed chairs were so low the distance from plate to mouth was minimal. We ordered Mexican beer and grilled shrimp.

A brown-skinned mountain man walked toward us smiling. His teeth were perfect and blindingly white. He had a cloth bag over his shoulder. I can't help myself. I want to talk to most everyone. I smiled back. He stopped, opened his bag and crowded our table with carved Mexican ironwood reindeer and donkeys. I imagined eight reindeer with my mini-wicker sled on my dining room table. We had to buy. Patrons leaving the restaurant took one look at us and our menagerie and bust out laughing. It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

copyright 2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Around the World on a Bowl of Stew

It's snowing out. Three to four inches expected. Dunking La Brea Pane Toscano in my homemade stewed tomato, cod and shrimp stew, I looked around my kitchen, the extent of my travels for the moment.

Framed hundred-year-old colored magazine prints from Hay-on-Wye, Wales, feature chickens. A pair of black and whites with hats hang opposite a pair of black and whites with feathered feet. I can hear the hen's gentle voice calling her chicks and the rooster's bellowing crow over his proud family.

The print of an outdoor Paris flower market at the end of the table fills my mind with scents of lillies and daises. I want to sit at the umbrella table, sip coffee and eat chocolate filled croissants - several. The horse drawing the buggy leaves its own aroma. The pigeons are drawn to the beauty and possibility of crumbs.

My Nantucket switchplate lookes like scrimshaw on whale bone. I think it's plastic. The whaling ship is standing still or I might get seasick just looking at it.

Three two-inch square Dutch tiles display windmills, a small sailing boat, typical miniature houses, marshes and water in shades of blue. The sky is musty grey. Nothing dries outside. We collapsed a clothesline trying. I appreciate the contribution the Dutch have made to the world through flowers.

There's a card on the table with Mississippi cardinals. Brandi says when you see a cardinal, make a secret wish.

I met Mae from Ireland in London at Harrod's fresh fish display. We marveled at the fresh fish nailed up in a sunburst pattern. She crocheted the tea cozy and sent it.

There's a miniature Mexican coastline mural on the wall complete with parasail reminding me of winter vacations spent in swim suit and caftan, cliff divers, table dancers, silver jewelry, too much fresh fruit, grilled seafood and lazy days. Aaaaaahhhhh.

The French espresso cups remind me of Paris - again. At every turn I found a warehouse of information. It was like coming home.

There's a Chinese calendar on the wall. I have yet to walk the Great Wall.

I lift my cup of Chai tea to travels of the past and those to come.

copyright 2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2008!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's colder than a well-digger's destination. Snow and ice linger to reinforce the frigid. Moments like this place a shadow of doubt on global warming. I received an email by an anonymous author that puts a twist on wishes for the new year.

May peace break into your house
May thieves come to steal your debts
May the pockets of your jeans be magnets for $100 bills
May love stick to your face like Vaseline
May laughter assault your lips
May your clothes smell of success like smoking tires
May happiness slap you across the face
May your tears be tears of joy
May the problems you had forget your home address

In simple words.....may 2008 be the best year of your life!!!!

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Mother's Christmas Choir

...and the Angels sang, Glory to God in the Highest, and on earth Peace and Goodwill toward man. We too celebrate the "Good News" of our Saviour's birth.

Mother is immortalized in pasta. Her angels bodies are what I call "garden hose" pasta. The wings are "bow-ties" with arms of macaroni. A small wooden ball, chip off the old block, is the head. I can still see her delicately painting the faces, gluing on the tiniest pieces of pasta for hair and a small piece of colored paper for the songbook. Her timeless, delicate, works of art are part of our tradition along with our Williamsburg wish box, Pinocchios from Italy, ornaments from Mexico, pairs of birds, angels made from hankies, crocheted, porcelain and a variety of other materials, and small ornamental pillows I created by tieing french knots in patterns. In the attic there's a small tree we don't put out because the cats undecorate it's tiny wooden German ornaments. We could do "tree under glass."

Kitchen activity is a constant. We are preparing travel food for friends flying Christmas Day: Bruchetta, stuffed mushrooms, crab dip with water crackers, and dried figs and dates stuffed with cream cheese and roasted CA almonds. I tried making chocolate truffles, just as I had other years. All four batches failed to set up. Basically whipping cream, cocoa, flavoring and Suzanne Somers sweetener, they are non-fattening. I converted them to mousse. Awesome! A couple of plastic spoons and they will still have chocolate dessert.

My gratitude list is longer this year. My daughter is seeing her second Christmas. Medical statistics said she wouldn't see last year's. By the Grace of God she soldiers on toward complete healing. Praise the Lord!

One of my dreams is to visit other parts of the world over the Holidays to see how it is celebrated, or not. Whatever works. May your Holidays be filled with love and joy. Best wishes for a healthy, happy, prosperous New Year. God Bless.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Jewelry Tree

A cameo from the shoe-man's wife started it all. Papa pondered what to do with it. He decided to ask other women a simple question, "I'm thinking of making a jewelry tree. Do you have a pin or a pair of earrings you'd like to donate?" And they came like a flood from friends and family all over the community. Every gift had a story. The cameo sits in the center near the top. The dangling red ones, across from it, were the neighbor, Mildred's, gift the first year she taught school. The turquoise at the base of the tree belonged to Marie from the Fairview Cafe. So much jewelry came in he created five trees. In loving memory of him and them, this one is our treasure.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Claiming God's Abundance

She embroidered both to lay claim to God's flow of abundance: health, happiness, a loving man, a family, satisfying work, friends, and more than enough wealth. A world filled with good food, refreshing rest, beautiful surroundings, great books, awesome trips, dry Southwestern air, sports and strength to enjoy all. By the Grace of God it shall come to pass.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

WESTROADS MALL - Where is the good?

Omaha, Nebraska, December 5, 2007, tragedy at home. Not a war. Not a terrorist. A disturbed young man who wanted everyone to know it. Our Governor Heineman has ordered flags to be flown at half-staff through Sunday.

We were on West Dodge road when seven patrol cars with lights and sirens blaring charged in from the South scattering traffic ahead of us. It had to be horrific to draw that many cops. Our first thought was about President Bush's visit. Not knowing for sure, there was only one thing to do: pray for the Lord to take command of the situation, and call Silent Unity.

Where is the good in killing people at Von Maur?  We have to look for it. We find out what we're made of. People pulled together. Police and fire fighters did their best. Strangers helped strangers. In addition to our prayers and the prayers of many, Silent Unity is providing round-the-clock prayer for thirty days. You too can call them at 1-800-NOW-PRAY. There can't be too many prayers, and none are wasted.

Life. Precious. Not to be taken for granted. To be lived as if this is our last day. When I walk close with the Lord, I am able to get through anything. Do whatever works for you. God Bless.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Chocolate powered dishwashers

Over last summer our three-year old neighbor girl came often to "work" - her idea. Washing our dishes was her priority. Her dad asked why she didn't wash theirs? She said she'd rather wash the neighbors. I think it's the pay. In fact, our dishes have a high neighborhood priority. The kids come in pairs and as many as four at a time. Mid-westerners take their work seriously.

Dishes washed, dried and put away, they line up for pay. I take the small, out of reach dish from the top of the microwave, and they choose a tiny piece of chocolate.

I am so lucky, I have chocolate powered dishwashers.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Butterfingers & Body Parts

MSN photo

It was a blast. The weather was perfect. I dressed all in black, drew whiskers on my cheeks and wore my huge black Mongolian wool hat with turned up brim and pointed top. We decorated our largest tupperware mixing bowl with pumpkins. I sat on the front steps and called to trick or treaters, "Butterfingers and body parts." Lots of takers. Adults too. The choices were ears, eyes, toes, fingers, noses and teeth. Gelatin based, I admit I ate a few.

Spiderman and a pink-haired princess stopped by. "Dorothy" from Kansas wore gingham and flashy red shoes. One kid wore a rubber mask with a rubber cigar stub looking as if he just got off a moving boxcar. The neighbor on the corner decorated to the max with tombstones and body parts emerging from his lawn. His front door was accessible through a black tunnel. Music and moaning could be heard for blocks. It was great fun. Think I'll take a break and nibble an ear.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

The dishwashers are coming!!!!!!!!

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

500 camels and an alabaster egg

Egyptians were fascinated with Minnie's voluptuous body, huge brown eyes, and dark brown permed hair. Some asked if they could touch it. Others just walked up and did. The comments were consistent: they couldn't believe how soft it was.

We crossed the Nile at Luxor to visit the Valley of Kings and Queens, a place as old as time itself. While shopping for camel bone book marks and letter openers, an Egyptian man followed us and became smitten with Minnie. To my surprise, he approached me, "I'll give you 500 camels and an alabaster egg for her (my sister)." I almost had a distant relative.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Leveled at 35,000 feet

It's 4,277 miles from New York to Rome. Minnie and I had the good fortune to fly first class upstairs in a 747. An hour and a half outside of Rome, our pilot woke us, "Good morning, this is your Captain. We have some very bad news." He got the same attention as God.

We raised the shade to see sunlight and snow on the Alps - the same view for all. Our second-floor, extra-wide seats with extra leg room to "recline" didn't give us any leverage. Our previous night's gourmet dinner on linen with "real" dishes, silver and a red carnation had no priority. The caviar, chicken livers with water chestnuts wrapped in bacon, beef chunks, green pepper and pineapple on skewers, mushrooms stuffed with sage dressing, shrimp in shredded coconut, liver pate, lettuce, spinach, artichoke and walnut salad, half a lobster cooked in a cream sauce, twice baked potato, mixed steamed veggies, kiwi fruit and cheesecake had no clout.

I imagine the sky was filled with furious prayers, beggings not to die, anxiety over dieing, meeting the Lord, and not having done what the person came to do, and the rare calm unafraid person radiating peace and light (That wasn't me.). The Captain interrupted our thoughts, "We have no water. We don't know where it went, but it's all gone. It must have leaked out across the Atlantic." Just what the ocean needs, more water.

There was an audible sigh of relief. Distinctions reinstated, I chose a breakfast of peach yogurt, fresh fruit, a sweet roll, and orange juice. A hot lemon-scented washcloth was offered. How they got it wet, we don't know. Maybe we don't want to. Our Pan Am flight attendants handed out souvenirs: emergency toothbrush, etc. so we wouldn't forget our carrier, or the leveling.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

MSN photo

This morning, when I dabbed Egyptian oils behind my ears and on my wrists, I was reminded of our trip to Egypt. Exotic flowers gave of their all. In their pure form, without alcohol added, they do not evaporate. Their fragrance can linger for days, through baths, and indefinitely on the dresser.

The climate is hot and very dry. Humid air is heavy, odors cling. Egypt has very little humidity. The only odor we noticed was from vehicle exhaust.

When we visited the pyramids, we had to have a camel ride. There was nothing quiet about the camels. They grumbled the whole time. I suspect they would rather have been running free, but they can't get water on their own.

Notice the Bedouin is covered up. When the wind blows sand flies and stings on impact. He probably is there to offer tourists a ride. And don't forget the "baksheesh" (tip).

In all our travels, we have never seen traffic to compare with Cairo. Lanes? Optional. Horns? A must. Between the usual means of transportation were old tractors pulling flatbeds of trash to make bricks, herds of sheep and goats, and people trying to cross while we were moving, or trying to.

The Egyptians were some of the nicest people we have met. Minnie and I couldn't find our way to Khan El Khalili, the oldest bazaar in the Middle East. At one point, someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me back. Annoyed, I turned to see I was spared a squash by a city bus.

Stand on a street corner and look lost, somebody will come along and tell you where to go. And he spoke English. "You look lost. I have a fragrance shop just over there. Will you follow me?" He had good eyes. We did. With his cool drinks in hand we began to look around. "No, you don't have to buy anything," he insisted. The wall displayed pictures of him in California selling his products. Our eyes feasted on pretty bottles catching the sun's rays. Our noses sniffed exotic soul-stirring fragrances we had to have. Relieved of our Piastres and Pounds, then he called a cab.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Frank does Repousse

...not to be confused with Debbie does Dallas.

At Lake Charles, Louisiana, we met Frank McDonald. Fun to be around, he has a great personality, quick deep laugh, twinkly blue eyes, can sell anything, and has lots of great stories. In the last few years he has taken up an ancient art form that dates from the Bronze Age (2800-1100 BC) called Repujado (Spanish) or Repousse (French). It is how the Statue of Liberty was made. See his website "The Art of Frank McDonald" for further explanation of the process, the types of finish, and the varieties of fish and other creations. He's good. The Loggerhead Turtle looks like it will eventually crawl off the wall.

He is making me a Black Crappie relief. They are what we fished for in Minnesota for over twenty years. One fall five of us fishing Lake Osakis found them suspended at twenty feet in forty foot of water. Our boat didn't have enough anchor rope necessitating a quick return to camp. The fish were still biting when we got back taking our bait fast as we could throw it. All of a sudden they stopped. Back at camp we poured them on the grass and counted out 76, one over our limit. We ate it.

From the pictures of Frank's work I will want to handle the finished project. It looks smooth, shiny, and won't stink or be slimy. Keep hammering, Frank, you'll get relief!

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Not cable, heart connections

When we lived and worked in Springfield, Missouri, a tall, lanky, former professional Nebraska cowboy, Brad Pitzer, came looking for work. His real love is pencil drawings of horses. The slightest mark on the eye tells the viewer the horse's state of mind. If you're interested in his work, leave a contact number in my comment box.

Through Cowboy Brad I met Teresa. At first glance I noticed her beautiful skin and more cleavage than is legal. I commented just on her skin. She said she was a Mary Kay consultant. If I could have skin like that, I would be, too. Enter Tawnya Krempges from Missouri who is a long-time Mary Kay director with a mile-long title. She also has beautiful skin, a ready laugh, and a wonderful positive manner. She signs her email: with unflinching belief in you. What a friend. When the two of them are together they break into song without warning. I wish I sounded that good.

While Tawnya and Teresa were here we did dream pillowcases. I dug out the stamps and pads, and colored pens. Our dreams and wishes in writing, we sleep on them. I have used this method for years on a sheet of paper slipped into my pillowcase that sounds like sleeping on potato chips. About once a year I take it out, read it, and am pleased to check off results. Miracles are expected.

If I had stayed within my comfort zone, I never would have traveled for work and made these three new life-long friends.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Prayer of Jabez

I said it over and over looking forward to how the Lord would use me to expand his territory. Traveling for work gave us many opportunities. One of my favorite experiences was when we were working in Springfield, Tennessee where dark-fired tobacco is grown.

Each morning I'd tell the Lord I was available. I went to an address to sell cable. An older gentlemen answered the door. "This is an answer to a prayer." Mine too. I was so happy he could finally get what he wanted. We did our business and I left. Down the street I realized I had stopped at the right house number, but I was on the wrong street.

There were times I believed door-to-door work was just a cover. I went to a retired woman's home and noticed her front door hinge pins were coming out. I told her if she had a hammer, I'd fix it. She did. I did. We laughed.

At one door the woman answered almost in tears. I asked what was wrong. She said her husband had passed a couple of days ago. I put my arms around her and cried with her.

One woman had a plate of cheese on the coffee table. When she left to get her checkbook she said, "Now Mike, don't bother the cheese." I looked around for a child. Quick as a flash the cat grabbed the cheese and ran off. She said he had been a restaurant cat and would eat anything, but didn't particularly care for sauerkraut.

We made so many friends those six years, and fed so many hungry people. A Vietnam vet in Nashville befriended us where we parked our motorhome. We saw him again in January. He was ill and in short sleeves. Without a moment's hesitation, JB gave him his coat and some money.

Last Sunday Pastor Patrick read a list of terrible things that would happen around the world in the hour we were in church. He looked up and said, "What are we doing here? We should be out there working for the Lord." I could have jumped up and shouted. In a Southern church, I would have.

When we pay attention and listen, we can be of use expanding His territory anywhere.

copyrigh 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Tawnya & Teresa, True Friends, Food 'n Fun

The last month has been spent tripping up and down the stairs with JB on one floor and Kris on the other. And, yes, I did trip. It was so hot I was thinking of snow, Dr. Zhivago to be exact, and I skied the basement stairs. Not a good idea.

I like to reread Gone With the Wind in April and watch Dr. Zhivago in the dog days of summer. When he studies the frozen designs on the window I remember there's more to life than shoveling.

Confined to "home duty" two of my Missouri girlfriends made a surprise visit. What a delight. We laughed, watched movies, cooked and ate for two days. Tawnya made a baked crab dip to die for with cream cheese, mayo, chopped artichoke hearts, diced onions, crisp bacon broken to bits, parmesan cheese, and spiced it with Worcestershire, chili powder, salt and pepper. We ate it with and without crackers.

For one of our meals we made Suzanne Somers Chicken Piccata with squeezed lemon and capers. We sliced red, yellow and green peppers, mushrooms, zucchini, summer squash and red onion and sauteed all in a smidge of olive oil seasoned with fresh parsley, basil and oregano from my garden. Served on my happy Pistoulet dishes it was a feast for the eyes too.

Tawnya loves breakfast. She scrambled nine eggs for the three of us with onions, green pepper and more cream cheese. I feel so good after a meal of natural fats rather than foods that turn to sugar like potatoes and rice. We had homemade guacamole and put peach salsa on top. Chocolate Velvet coffee tasted great and made the kitchen smell so good.

Teresa really wanted to taste the lemon curd, and fresh pesto, but we forgot. I had homemade gazpacho we didn't get around to either. My decadent dark chocolate Texas sheetcake with cinnamon and cayenne went untouched. That's okay. We're planning a next time.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

SOCKEYE for Six

Alaska isn't on our travel itinerary at this time, but it is for a friend of ours. He and his friends took their "bear bells" to wear, and flew to Alaska to fish. I went to the fresh seafood counter at Baker's in Omaha.

JB said he didn't like salmon. I think it was just my patties he doesn't like. When the Dr. said he had to have Omega3, she recommended lots of fish, salmon in particular. I wondered how I'd get it down him.
They grocer had pond-raised salmon that were pale next to Alaska's bright salmon-colored wild Sockeye. I bought a pound and a half at $9.99 a lb., and baked them in parchment paper according to a recipe from Suzanne Somers Fast and Easy book.

On the paper, for each fillet, I placed two slices of lemon and half a teaspoon of butter, and added a sprig of my garden fresh tarragon. I salt and peppered the skin placing it down on the lemons. Salt and peppered the top, and added a heap of chopped onion to each. Folded up and over, they baked on a cookie sheet for twenty minutes at 400 degrees.

We had a feast. Delicious! What little was left we shared with our two cats. Madchen would have nothing to do with it. Schatzie was thrilled, ate his and raced through the house. Her bites went to the outside cat we occasionally feed, and the balance we mixed with cream cheese to spread on crackers. We got our money's worth. This recipe is a keeper. JB just came to the kitchen looking for more spread. All gone.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series.

Sunday at the pit

msn photo

The 400 mile fishing trip to Alexandria, Minnesota used to be the highlight of our summer. Now we drive twenty to Jim & Carol's cabin on a sandpit off the Platte River and have just as much fun without the work of packing, unpacking, packing and unpacking. We took a lot of food for a ride.

The Platte River ranges from trickle-width to a mile wide. Shallow, but tricky, it has surprised many a person with a swift current that made a deeper pool and stole their life. And there's quicksand - bottomless sucking sand. Crossing the Platte I noticed three air boats lined up on the south bank as if set to race across - about a block. With their powerful and extra loud engines they'd be in North Bend before they could stop.

We are a High Plains state in the "breadbasket of America". Nebraska farmers raise corn, wheat, and soybeans in abundance with the help of irrigation. I'd like a quilt of an aerial photo of our summer fields: shades of green, brown, and wheat gold, center pivot crop circles, the few trees around farmsteads, and straight roads with square sections unlike Minnesota and Mississippi.

Nebraska is one of eight states atop the Oglala, one of the world's largest aquifers (reservoirs). Its estimated age is from 2 to 6 millions years. According to U. S. Water News Online it's the deepest in Nebraska's sand hills in the northwest area of the state.

Our population is concentrated in the east. Sand pits are created by dredging sand for commercial use creating lakes the size of Paul Bunyan's pinky. Legend has it that it in Minnesota he stepped and created lakes - 10,000 of them. Sounds more like he clogged.

Jim and Carol dwarfed their cabin adding an over-sized deck with pergola. They don't do anything small. He's 6'9" with a sense of humor that goes all the way to the top. I stretch to be 5'5" and call him my two-step step-son. I have to stand up two to talk to him. Sweetcorn for dinner isn't an ear or two, it's a dozen. The only thing small in their life is Maddy, a little poodle.

The inner tubes Jim inflated were tractor size. Imagine that. We fiddled around trying to decide how to get in. I opted for the dock. Carol held it while I eased my booty into the middle without flipping and hung my legs and arms over. The water was cold in places and warm in others. Refreshing. Relaxing. Maddy wore her life jacket with leash attached but preferred to sit on Jim's shoulder. Neighbors yards were adorned with moving whirly-gigs to keep the geese from eating their new grass and making deposits.

Hunger nagged. Should we walk to the shallow area and roll out? Jim suggested placing a tall ladder in the water at the dock so I could climb out, up, over the top and down the other side. You first. I moved to shallow water, Carol held the tube, and I popped out.

Carol, our favorite daughter-in-law, is a great cook. Other years we had fresh fried crappie or walleye, new potatoes, peas and dill weed in a cream sauce and peach dumplings with ice cream for dessert. This year I brought fried chicken. She sauteed onion, garlic and portabella mushrooms, added chicken broth and rice. Delicious. Rhubarb crisp was dessert with vanilla ice cream. Sour, rhubarb needs lots of sugar. I love it. The roto-rooter of the bowels, it needs to be eaten in moderation.

It was a great mini-vacation, and I got to sleep in my own bed.

copyright 20007 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY 4TH OF JULY

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Watermelon is as much the 4th of July as fireworks. Bite into it's refreshing coldness. The juice slips down your chin, your elbows, the front of your shirt. Everything gets sticky.

At a picnic we watched a man spit a couple watermelon seeds down the front of a woman's blouse. She didn't say anything, but her eyes narrowed in anger. We could tell she was thinking how to get even. She circled behind him, wrapped her slice around his neck and squeezed.

Whatever you do, celebrate freedom. It's ours and it's precious.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Cause to Celebrate

My daughter had an appointment with her Oncologist this week after a two month break. It wracks her nerves. She worries about the needles and results. I trust she is healing. In my gut I know it.

Dr. Stephen Thome was busy and late, she got bored and walked around the office swinging her purse like we women do. When she returned he was behind her. She looked back surprising him. He was stunned, couldn't believe how easily she was moving. When she told him all the things she'd done in the last two months he looked at me wide-eyed, "It's a miracle". Considering he met her in late August, 2006 when she was flat on her broken back in screaming pain, it is. All I could say was, "By the Grace of God". He jumped up and left to tell the nurses station the good news. Throughout her exam he oohed and aahed at her overall improvement and doesn't need to see her for three months. Much joy throughout. We left amidst a flood of warm smiles.

At home we had a grateful hearts celebration: chunks of cantaloupe wrapped in Prosciutto; sips of James Arthur Vineyard's Seyval, a Nebraska white table wine; homemade organic chicken salad and baby lettuce served in bakery fresh flaky croissants. We took our time. Savored every bite. Smiled a lot. For dessert I served Marscapone in footed crystal with slices of huge, fresh, California, Driscoll, organic strawberries that tasted like sunshine. JAV 2 Brothers white table wine has a little effervescence and slightly sweeter taste. It was perfect sipped over a piece of melting dark mint chocolate.

Dr. Thome has the perfect bedside manner and expertise for her. The Chiropractor who saved her life twice, Dr. Ray Klepinger, continues to work on her with the Pro-Adjuster system used on Olympic athletes. PT Dr. Nick Wissink is outstanding at waking her muscles and strengthening her body. She couldn't be in better hands. There is progress to prove it. Praise the Lord.

Miracles for her are being worked through many people in many ways. We pray they continue. No prayer is wasted. Thank you one and all. God bless.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Remembering

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Memorial Day: the day set aside to remember those who fought and died for freedom; those who fought and survived; those who sacrificed to support them; and family and friends who died unrelated to wars. Thank you all for your contribution to life.

We hang our flag and remember receiving one when Papa died. He did his time in the Pacific Theatre of WWII. For the past two weeks JB has been a patient at the VA hospital in Omaha, NE. He's amazed the operating surgeons visit him everyday. Dedicated staff, they live and breathe their work. Over all, it's been a positive experience. We are grateful. God Bless them.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY 2007

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Mothers of all life, this is our day.

Whether you lay eggs or give live birth,

we are all one.

God Bless

One of our cards read, "It's as if the doors of Heaven have been opened for a while." True.

Baby powder, Johnson's baby soap, tiny warm breaths, red lips, long dark lashes, and a mass of dark hair were just as Grandma predicted. I felt instant overwhelming love, as if I'd known her forever. Her helplessness matched my protectiveness.

Fast forward. Devastating news: cancer broke her back. She wouldn't live to see Christmas 2006. "This is not fatal, it's just a glitch in my system. I am not a statistic," she replied. I believed her. Her late father had come to her in a dream and told her she was not dying from this. He confirmed my gut feeling that she not only survives, she thrives and moves into a full life.

The morning after I received the diagnosis I awoke to see her cradled in Jesus Christ's arms with two tall ministering Angels working on her. Jesus told me he would carry her and see her through. She couldn't be in better hands. Thank you Lord.

To the outer world she and I stand strong in faith, two anchored trees in a hurricane of doubters. I stopped my life to breathe life into hers. Countless prayers from friends, family and people we will never know sustain and encourage us. Humor and gratitude are soul food.

By the Grace of God she not only lives, she improves steadily. It's May. This week she drove for the first time in over a year. No more screaming pain. She weaned herself off pain meds that messed with her mind. Her will isn't tough-as-nails, it's tough-as-railroad spikes.

Our Pastor says it's miraculous what the Lord has done, and is doing in her. The blessings are huge and many, and they keep coming. Her Oncologist, Chiropractor and Physical Therapist are each outstanding in their field. She hopes people see her life and healing as proof that God does care, and works for, in and through us. Without Him we are nothing.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

EASTER 2007

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Easter Preparation 2007

Christ's Cruxifiction and Resurrection are God's gift of Grace to mankind. We celebrate with praise at early youth services with lilies that make us sneeze, and breakfast and/or a special choir presentation at morning worship, our table set with our best cloth and place settings, baked ham, and a coconut covered lamb cake. This year we spread melted chocolate on Matzo and chopped cashews similar to what Martha Stewart did. Of course, there are the colored and decorated eggs to hide and hunt, and displayed hollow ones with purple inked designs.

Wed. of last week our three-year old friend came for a visit. I asked if she had new clothes for Easter church. She said, "No." I asked if they were going to church? Munching a grape she looked furtively side to side before shaking her head no. Assuming I hadn't heard, she leaned forward and whispered, "Jesus is dead." [There's no need to go ] In due time she will learn the rest of the story.

However you celebrate, may your heart be filled with gratitude and joy.

Peace.

coyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

PRE-EASTER PREPARATION

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Who dyed all those eggs?

2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

The Connemara Theatre

HAPPY SAINT PATRICK'S DAY!

Our Galway, Ireland, B&B host was a carpenter. He had traveled to Russia with a group to teach them how to use certain power tools and equipment. First they had to show them how to put the wheel on the wheelbarrow. They were using the 'barrow' without the wheel.

Breakfast options included porridge, eggs, thick bacon, black or white pudding, toasted or fried bread and tea. We bid our farewell and headed for a drive through the Connemara, one of Ireland's thousands of years old peat bogs. At other Irish bogs we watched locals cut brick-sized pieces to heat their homes and cook stoves. No one was cutting here. In fact, we didn't see a soul or a native Connemara pony.

The road is a wavy ribbon. Left, drive left. It feels spongy, as if it has shock absorbers. The terrain is rough, rocky, mountainous, desolate, spooky, timeless, and was saturated in gloomy, damp weather: a blank canvas for life. Only the names change, but it was a field day for our imaginations. Who would come over the rise: medieval warriors, star wars characters, giants or "the little people"? An oasis. We needed and oasis of 'still' mineral water, rhubarb & ginger preserves , teacakes, Galtee cheese, and Cadbury's chocolate. In our imaginations we had it all.

Here at home I'd like to have a brick of peat to make a little fire to roast marshmallows, but if I have to wait for my landscaping to turn to peat, the marshmallows will be too hard. Peat is like sauerkraut, it isn't made overnight.

WE LOVE IRELAND!!!

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Working Rocks

JB is a good provider. He came with a variety of meats: venison hot tamales made in Arkansas by our friend, Hov, a former head Chef at the Silver dome in Detroit, Michigan; assorted wild hog parts the butcher will process; wild hog neck stew with lots of vegetables; venison tenderloin; a two-foot long venison sausage; and two chicken breasts from the motorhome freezer. Our seven-year dormant deep freeze rose to the call of electricity and is working just fine.

He brought his laundry, imagine that, an iron skillet for cornbread - it doesn't taste the same in anything else, and a bag of rocks. They are not gemstones prized for their brilliance, they are working rocks, the suspenders of the earth. In February JB's friend drilled a well at Bobo Brake, Mississippi - not far from Alligator, when the Midwest was colder than a well-digger's destination.

The digger unearthed palm-sized and smaller rocks from one hundred feet. Intrigued, JB asked for some. One is dark orange, another black, one off-white, and the rest are shades of gray. Some have worn marks: water makes. Who knows how old they are.

Everything has a vibration. They bare the sound of rapidly moving water, lots of it. The Mississippi River is thousands of years old. In its unrestrained wanderings across the Delta it left deposits of soil, rocks and God knows what before the Levees were built to contain it. I wonder where these rocks began? My friend, Frances, sums it up best, "They're part of the great mystery of life."

2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Taking our spaghetti for a ride

We had a whiteout blizzard yesterday that dropped a foot of snow. High winds continue rearranging it. Footage of nature's gift to Watertown, NY, puts us to shame. They wouldn't be impressed with our piddly nuisance amount even though it closed the interstates in Eastern Nebraska and 100 miles into Western Iowa. Omaha's Westside High's girl's basketball team HAD to get to Lincoln for the state tournament. Forget hell an high water, they maneuvered snow closed roads and whiteouts to make it, play and win. It will be talked about for years.

When Minnie and I traveled through southern Canada we noticed few garages. A local said it was no use. When snow piled up they couldn't open the doors. Radiator heaters stood ready. Ropes connected houses and barns. Some houses had built-ons connecting to the barn. Rachael Ray says another month of winter means four more feet of snow and three more power outages. We thought it was rough when Minnie lived in St. Paul, Minnesota with its two seasons: shovel and swat. Further north is worse.

Fall foliage of the Northeast was our destination in '98. We had all kinds of plans to see, do and taste, but that's another story. I will say Cracker Barrel in Watertown was the first Cracker Barrel we've stopped at that had a Reuben sandwich. It was good. So was Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream at their plant. We'd reserved a condo at Smuggler's Notch, Vermont, and another at Lake Winnipesaukee, New Hampshire. Kitchens mean we take food. Since it was fall we packed fresh tomatoes unaware they could be confiscated, not leaving the US, but getting back in.

Northwest of Watertown, NY we crossed over the St. Lawrence River's high arched bridge onto an island for customs processing. There was no getting off unless approved. I was driving. The official looking official asked where we were from. Before I could answer Minnie hollered, "Wahoo!"
I gasped.
He asked, "Where we were going?"
She burst out, "Smuggler's Notch, Vermont!"
I cringed
"Are you related?" .
"Sisters!"
He bust out laughing. "I'll bet you two have a lot of fun. Get out of here."
We say Minnie confettied customs.

As for our spaghetti and tomatoes, we never took them out of the box, they were just along for the ride.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, LOVE

ABOUT CHOCOLATE

When you're not around

chocolate must do

confidentially speaking

no substitute

for you!

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copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Hog Hanging Weather

Our weather is brutal -below zero with snow on the ground. The sun is bright, but the snow isn't going anywhere. It's "stay inside and make soup" weather. When we were kids on the farm the bitter cold cured the meat hanging from the rafters of the granary where nothing could reach it, and no flies were stirring.

Our hogs were in the 200 to 250 pound range. I can't image how many buckets of lard were on the long-bodied, short-legged, 1,000 pound hog we saw at the Iowa state fair. The wild hogs we see behind the Mississippi Levee have longer legs, tusks and a lot less lard.

Grandpa and Grandma came out to help and share in the bounty. He made sure the handsaws were sharp to work through the bones. We'd come home from school to the smell of lard rendering on the cook stove, the sound of white butcher paper crackling to wrap around fresh meat for the freezer, the squeaky crayon labeling and dating the packages, and the anticipation of wonderful meals Mom would be fixing. We felt prosperous with meat "put up" and our pantry full of canned and frozen vegetables.

Besides the usual cuts of meat, Mom cooked the head down, chopped all fine and molded it in a bread pan: head cheese. Thinly sliced with a dribble of vinegar it was a delicacy. I prefer the chops, hams and ribs, and pork shanks cooked with beans. At an early age our nephew liked liver and onions and rhubarb pie. I thought they were tastes that took fifty years to acquire.

Another neighbor family canned meat so they'd have a jar for each day of the year. Mom and Dad canned until a jar blew up in the canner. Bits of meat and glass were found on the outside of the kitchen window, behind the cook stove, on the ceiling, and everywhere in between. Fortunately no one was hurt.

Papa liked cracklings, lard with a little meat cooked down tiny bits of crisp meat. Give him a piece of fresh rye bread and some cracklings, and he was happy. During the Great Depression our neighbor friend, Hazel, took lard sandwiches to school. It didn't kill her. She and Hank just celebrated their 60th anniversary.

Mom taught us to make pie crust with lard, fry our fresh roosters in it, pork chops, donuts, and mix it in breads, rolls, and whatever didn't call for butter. Lard still makes the best pie crust, kolaches and seasoning for peas and greens anytime of year.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

Jefferson in a bottle

When Minnie and her family lived in Charlottesville, Virginia, they were ten minutes from Monticello (little mountain), the home of Thomas Jefferson, third President of the United States of America. We visited it in the summer and at Christmas.

Born April 13, 1743 Jefferson died July 4, 1826. A remarkable man, at 33 he drafted the Declaration of Independence. I can hear his quill pen scratch the parchment, and see his brow furrowed choosing the right words to declare freedom for the colonies. My Virginia quill pen sits in buckshot in a sterling silver container. We speak of Jefferson every Christmas season when we drink eggnog from our sterling silver Jefferson cups (no handles).

If I could talk to him, I'd thank him for the Louisiana Purchase in 1803 - Nebraska was carved from it. A man of vision, he encouraged Lewis and Clark's expedition. Go for it, he'd say. I'd thank him for recycling. He created the Great Clock by his front door: a seven-day mechanism of leftover Revolutionary Cannonballs and a ladder to reset it once a week. Passionate about education he established the University of Virginia. Wherever he saw a need he saw a solution.

Jefferson was a gracious host. Whoever stopped by was invited to dine with him. From Marie Kimball's editing of his recipes menu options included pigeon soup, stewed rabbit, fish cooked with potatoes, imported squash and broccoli from Italy, varieties of homegrown beans, or his favorite, English peas accompanied by wine from the grapes in his vineyard. He imported Italian oils and French mustard, used vanilla and macaroni, and had the first ice cream freezer. Vegetables were his preference, meat an accompaniment. With such variety, how many meals were shorted by servants transporting food from the kitchen to the mechanical dumbwaiter before a bell was attached to each transporter? Tinkling meant no sampling. I would have loved to partake and oh, the conversation.

He had a sense of humor. James Monroe decided to build his home on another mountain top. They would communicate with lanterns; no frustration with, "Can you hear me now?" Jefferson designed Ash Lawn for Monroe and had it built while he was away. The design included an optical illusion. Imagine Monroe's surprise when he had to duck leaving his new home. Jefferson said that was so he had to bow to Monticello.

A "can do" man, Jefferson built his bed between two walls, and had it made up with a pole. Depending on his mood he could get out of bed in his library, or in his bedroom. Clever. He is credited with a long list of inventions: a portable copying press, automated double doors, book stand, lap desk, coffee urn, and wooden plow board to name a few. I'd ask him to invent a "silent", light-weight vacuum that sucks.

It would depend which side of the bed he got out on whether he'd talk about his differences with Alexander Hamilton. I'd tread lightly. If he screwed up his face, I'd change the subject. How are your cherry trees doing?

In the heat of summer, amidst hundreds of tourists, we toured the grounds and lost our daughters. Parent panic! Thirty minutes later we found them studying the cemetery. They weren't lost, they said, we were too slow.

Boredom doesn't exist for me. There is so much to learn and do. When I leave this world, I'm going to sit on a cloud, eat seedless grapes, and study the man I'd like to call friend, Thomas Jefferson.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

It was a Happy New Year's!

We ended 2006 with salmon and marinated artichoke hearts over spinach and plain fettuccini noodles drizzled with olive oil; grated parmesan atop.

Rumaging through Mom's old recipes, I found hers for Grasshopper Pie. The 3x5 card is stained from buttery hands. The handwriting is childish, and there's a yellow cookoo clock on the right side with a bluebird on the perch wearing a chef's hat. She let us girls cook as soon as we could pull a chair up to the table. My first baking experience was gingerbread. I mixed it up and poured it in the pan along with the spoon, which she didn't discover until she couldn't cut it.

The Grasshopper Pie recipe calls for 14 finely crushed oreos. I put out extras - for me. Mix the crushed oreos with 2 tablespoons of melted butter. Set aside a small amount for topping. Pat the rest into a 9" pie plate to establish the crust. In the top of a double boiler melt 24 large marshmallows with 1/2 cup milk. Cool. The recipe calls for 1 ounce of white creme de cocoa and 2 ounces green creme de menthe. I half each. When the marshallow/milk mixture is partially set, add 1 cup whipped cream. I whip 1/2 cup of cream and fold in gently. Pour over the crust. Sprinkle top with reserved crumbs. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Thanks Mom for the love of cooking.

I bought the Galway crystal champagne glasses with engraved cladagh when Minnie and I visited Ireland in March of 2000. We really did hear Willie Nelson songs on St. Pat's Day. Kris and I toasted "Good Cheer, Health, Wealth andHappiness", and brought in the New Year sipping Martini and Rossi. Watching the ball drop in Time's Square, and celebrations around the world was a mini-vacation, and we got to sleep in our own beds.

Happy New Year to you, and may it be a year to celebrate.

copyright 2007 Red Convertible Travel Series

No Reading & Rocking On The Porch Tonight

Here in the Midwest Mother Nature blessed us with rain yesterday and snow today just right to make snow angels and snowballs. Hmmm. I'd better not throw them at Dan. He does a good job cleaning off our drive and walks. Maybe I could give the cat a snow bath. Won't faze her, she's part maine coon with snowshoe feet. Ice cream like Mom used to make? Snow isn't as clean as it used to be. Hot tub to snow bath would invigorate. Think I'll just stay inside and drink hot chocolate.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Bring it on - Christmas!

Mexican, hand carved, ironwood reindeer stand guard over my accomplishment. It might look like a turkey with warts, but it is Houska, braided sweet bread with almond slivers, golden raisins and candied fruit. I wouldn't have attempted it, but Jim asked me to. My kitchen has not seen this recipe in nine years, and there's no buildup of yeast in the air. I wouldn't tell Jim unless it turned out right.

I read the recipe five times and measured twice. The first loaf was double this size and perfect. Then disaster hit. My oven was too hot. The loaf was too dark and dry. I was sick. It wasn't edible. The next morning I started the five-hour process at 6 o'clock. Everything went just right. I left Jim's loaf in his truck and waited for the phone to ring. It did. "MJ, this is delicious. I need one a week." Nothings better than a gift someone likes.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Food & Faith

Our lives rearranged. I've moved home to help restore my grown daughter's health. Bears come to mind. My cub went down. We, mother bear and I, will protect and defend our young to death, if necessary. I hold and guard the image of my child healed on every level, and I will not waiver.

With my ears tuned to her as if she were a newborn, I move throughout the house cooking, encouraging, and comforting. From scratch and organic foods are my mainstay. Family recipes with a history of "comfort and healing" are back in action. Rice pudding made with a cinnamon stick, golden raisins and cream is one. Raisin bread pudding served warm drizzled with cream is another. Organic chickens under the "Smart" label convert to chicken cacciatore, roasting, stews, chicken salad and stock. We eat multi-grain breads, use unbleached flour, and cook with butter and cream.

Peas for pain. Sounds like a commercial, but they are doctor recommended. Frozen and bagged they move around the injury independently cooling the hot spot.

Our Pistoulet dishes are bright and cheerful. Food first feeds the eye. Red stem chard cooked in a little butter with fresh ground nutmeg looks good and tastes great. Fennel bulbs cooked in butter with Parmesan cheese lend a mild licorice taste. The root of the celery stock is awesome. It takes effort to get the outside off and the inside chopped, but we'd rather have it cooked and mashed than potatoes. Fresh broccoli, cauliflower and asparagus go into creamy, cheese soups.

A small dish of cranberry relish accompanies every meal: a bag of fresh cranberries, one whole apple cored and one whole orange are chopped in the food processor. Add a small can of crushed pineapple and a little sugar, Somer-sweet, or splenda. I make a batch about every five days: lots of Vitamin C and enzymes for digestion.

Dessert finishes off her meal with tea. To chocolate brownies I add Brewer's Yeast, a smidge of cayenne, walnuts, pecans or macadamias and a scoop of ice cream. As we head into winter gingerbread tastes good served warm with cream. (We should have a cow on standby.) Years ago we spent a Christmas in Virginia at Minnie's. While there we bought a chunk of Hershey chocolate run off, and a lavender sheepskin. Back home I made cream puffs with fresh country cream and melted chocolate. They were wonderful. The food memory is fresh. The sheepskin is long gone.

I just answered my phone. Wrong number, but humorous. The lady asked if we are the family with the dairy? No, but we sure use a lot of it.

Today I made Mrs. Fields chocolate chip, oatmeal, raisin, walnut cookies with Brewer's Yeast added. Great! Kris likes crushed graham crackers, coconut, Eagle Brand condensed milk and chocolate chips made into bars. Can you tell I'm trying to put weight on her?

Kris's appetite is great as is her attitude. We are taking a positive approach claiming her healing: Thank you God for healing Kris. And so it is. It is done. Her health does improve daily.

In this trial, the blessings are huge. We are deeply grateful for the prayers, everything and everyone. It is critical we live an attitude of gratitude. God is good all the time. All the time God is good. The bad news was good news resolving her long standing health issue. And people showed up exactly as needed. We don't believe it was accidental. It was the working hand of God.

If I could give others one gift, it would be trust. Trust that God cares, knows your every need, wants the best for you, wants to help, and He keeps His word. See for yourself. Invite Him into every corner of your life. Put Him to work. Keep still and trust.

Take care and God Bless.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Hunting Season - Rite of Passage

This weekend is the opening of deer season in Mississippi. Today hunters arrived at their camps with provisions. Rifles were zeroed in at the firing range. Tonight campfires will blaze, grills will cook pork roasts, hamburgers, hotdogs, polish sausage, and just maybe some wild hog. Talk will be about where they're going to hunt tomorrow . Deer stands are popular and the game quota strictly enforced.

In the Midwest we mostly work. Second homes/camps are unusual. In the South, most any weekend will find the guys at their second home Fri. thru Sunday. During hunting season no one gets married, and you better not die. One hunter said he's been hunting since he was a little boy. It meant everything to him. He was so excited he couldn't sleep the night before. By the size of the membership, and it isn't cheap, it still means everything to a lot of them.

Bagging the first deer is a milestone for hunters. Traditionally five fingers are dipped in its blood and spread on the hunter's face. All who see him know what he or she has accomplished. Other hunters look up to him/her. We saw a forty-four year old man so proud he glowed.

At age nine, John L. made his first kill. When he was twelve he bagged a nine point with fourteen and a half inch spread, a buck of about two and a half years. "I used a 30-30 Winchester zeroed in at 150 yards. It was a long shot at 170 yards, but I made it." He grinned. "Not only did the local paper do a feature story, it was mounted for free as the largest in its class. It is something that will always go with me, and people will talk about it for a long time. "

John's family splits the tenderloin down the center, puts in chopped bell peppers, onions, and cajun spice. Hickory smoked dry rub is spread on the outside with salt, pepper, and seasoned salt. Sealed in foil, it's placed on the grill to roast or in the oven.

We like our venison run through the tenderizer and soaked in either milk or coca cola to remove any gamey taste. We season it with worcesteshire sauce, salt and pepper, and bread each piece with milk, beaten eggs and flour and fry. Purple-hulled peas, greens and cornbread round out the meal.

They'll go out before daylight to get in their stands, wait patiently for hours, then come back cold and hungry for biscuits and gravy. There will be lots of talk about where they heard a shot come from and did they get anything. The story is the same every year. It's what they live for.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Labor Day

We are One Nation Under God, Indivisible.  photo

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Ole Man River' s many brides

He came from humble beginnings: Lake Itasca, Minnesota, born tumbling over rocks I've walked across. His mission: to travel toward the equator collecting brides. They come from the melting snows of the Rockies across Nebraska joining their sister the Missouri traveling to St. Louis to meet up with him. Like a harem master he selects and collects. From up north, Canadan brides of cold, cold water come to his call.

The St. Croix bride joins him south of St. Paul, MN. The Ohio and Illinois further south. The more brides he takes, the more powerful he becomes through their mingling, joined forces. And he's used. Twenty-seven locks corral him at a level for passage. Barges bringing supplies ride his back to and fro. Local news announce his "level" daily.

Before levee's castrated him, he roamed where he pleased across Mississippi, Arkansas, Louisiana, and more. But when he gets riled up, he spills his guts on the countryside. All are reminded he's still a force to be reckoned with.

Not all about work, he moves the sand leaving huge sandbars. Visitors camp for the day and night. Pontoons pull up between the sandbars and the bank out of his swift current. People put out lawn chairs to sit in the water to cool their booty and feet. Some stand in him to their necks to visit and sip cool drinks. Sand buckets and little kids dot him. Barbecues are set out to cook hotdogs and sausages, vegetables optional.

His fish are legendary. Storytells love him: Mark Twain. The mussels are brought to the surface, their shells cut into tiny pieces, shipped to Japan, and seeded into oysters to produce pearls.

The Lord put twists and turns in his life to slow his pace. It keeps him from a straight shot to the end. He's already fast moving. Some places he twists and a piece of him goes backwards higher than the rest. It looks strange. He's busy all the way to the bottom.

Why do the brides rush to him? What's his pull? Binets? No. They'd be soggy. Freedom. He carries them to freedom, giving them to the Gulf, pleased a piece of him goes with.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Bridge Tails

2006: a reunion was in order. Work had kept us apart.

We met at West Point Lake on the border of Alabama and Georgia. Miles of water invited us to play. JB inquired about renting a house boat. A 200 gallon gas tank and gas at $3.45 made the decision for us. He opted for a pontoon boat with a canopy. We sat on it after sunset watching the full moon play with the water.

Early the next morning we put on our bathing suits and hats, took our lunch, hiked down the steep bank to our dock and eased off. The lake is long, the banks heavily wooded. We took note of specific irregularities to find our way back: a crooked sign, a telephone tower.

JB maneuvered with skill. A cool breeze slipped through my hat cooling the all of me. I dozed. The slow-down, unwind, relax, let-go-of-stress speed worked.

An overhead railroad trestle marked a return landmark. We eased under and noticed it had tails. We'd never seen ropes hanging from anything, and had no idea why they were there.

On down the lake we noticed ropes hanging from an overhead highway bridge. JB spotted a bass boat tied to a tail. He grabbed one and tied up our pontoon to the tune of cars whizzing overhead. The breeze and water twisted us around, but we stayed under the road grateful for whoever thought of hanging tails. In this delicious state of limbo we picnicked on fried chicken, coleslaw and honey biscuits in two times the shade: canopy and bridge.

2013 Red Convertible Travel Series

My Chocolate Mousse and Her Big Plunge!

Sitting in the living room of our Bavarian friend's home with after dinner coffee and chocolate mousse, I looked above the drapes at the names of their children carved in the wood valances. Our host came back into the room with home videos. Family vacations? No. He owns and operates a commercial crane that he also uses for bungee jumpers.

A pretty woman came on the screen. Somewhat amazed he explained, " She came down off the mountain dressed this way." Her hair was braided and fastened tight to her scalp. She wore a fitted white, laced top with short sleeves and a full skirt of plaid. I could imagine her milking Swiss cows and making cottage cheese pastries, but not bungee jumping. By all appearances she was a settled down, family woman. It was her enthusiasm that startled. Our host exclaimed, "She came to jump!" You go girl!

The video showed the crane lifting the Swiss Mrs. to its full height like a mighty dinosaur. I was scared for her and dipped deep into my chocolate mousse. With but a slight hesitation she stepped off. She must have thought about this a long time. I gasped halting my spoonful in mid-air. Over she tumbled with her skirt in her face and her pantaloons holding tight. The bungee cord stretched to its max bouncing her up and down and up and down. I wonder if that feels good? Gently the crane lowered her to the ground. Standing up she huffed and puffed and beamed. Her cheeks were red red, but she was proud. She did it!

Her dream isn't mine, but I will forever associate chocolate mousse with bungee jumping, and one woman's determination to fulfill her dream regardless of her age.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Two Times the Parade

When in Germany, do as the Germans do: walk! "It's just over there." The local man gestured northwest. "...just walk." We could do that.

Fueled for the day on a marvelous breakfast of dense bread, cheese, lunch meats, fruit, juice, coffee and a sweet roll - a far cry from our usual bowl of cereal - we headed out. At home "just over there" means a block or a few, not miles, and here we would have to walk back. Balanced on the edge of the road and in the ditch, we tromped. Cars passed. No one stopped. After an hour we spotted a crowd of people and tents.

Just in time for the start of the parade we looked for a place to sit. Park benches? Heavens no. Stand. In the sun. Smile. Perspire. Water? What's water? The huge beer stein (one size fits all) required both hands. "You hold the beer, I'll hold the pretzel," I instructed. It was dinner plate-sized. We weren't hungry, but alcohol and I don't get along. I have to be extremely thirsty to take a small sip, and there wasn't anything smaller to nibble on.

At this Bavarian horse parade two kinds of horses stood out. A pair of huge draft horses, with their heads down, pulled a wagon. A local couple dressed in traditional costume graced the wagon seat. The lady looked pretty in her fitted white bodice and full skirt. The horses knew they were created to work pulling heavy loads. Built for it, they accepted their lot.

A black stallion with English saddle and rider took our breath away. He walked with his head high radiating pride and superior intelligence. Long-distance Aquarius vision shown on his face. He could see the "larger" picture of life. Not meant to work pulling wagons, we half expected him to take off running and fly. No, a few sips didn't influence us. The rest of the horses were so-so, but this one was magnificent. We stood in awe.

A variety of nondescript horses paraded by, more draft horses looking down pulling their wagon and people, and another magnificent black stallion. "He's just as beautiful as the last one," Minnie stopped in mid-nibble. The parade had gone around twice.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

The water snake that wouldn't...

Dot tapped on my bedroom window, "You've got to come see this." Her wide grin suggested I'd learn something.

The backyard above ground swimming pool has a small window above the waterline for the water filtering system. Inside the pool, on the top of the mini-window frame, lay a folded over baby snake, it's head's about the size of my index fingernail. Clearly it did not want to get in the water, but it's store-string sized tail kept falling in. I suspect it hasn't yet learned control of it's "back end." JB says the spots indicate it's a water mocassin--anti-water is more like it.
Maybe it was just on an adventure and wanted to cool off, not jump in - yet. Water 101. It's so hot in the midwest, my friend, Nancy finds garter snakes draped over bushes to cool off.

Dot decided to remove it from the pool with her long-handled grill tongs. She lifted the frame from the outside of the window, reached in, and grabbed its middle. "Now what do we do?"

Beyond her fenced in yard the woods are dense. "Throw it over the fence. Send it home. It's mother is probably looking for it. Boy, is it going to get a cussing. She'd be embarrassed it wouldn't get in the water. Bet he'll be grounded." Wasted humor. She had but one thing on her mind and that was to get it out of the yard and over the fence. Mind you, this is "hog fence" with open spaces between the wires at least 6" square. The snake is about a foot long and half an inch wide. It's the principle.

"Shall I rinse off the tongs?"
"Nooooooo, put them in the dishwasher!"

Only one of us was amused to meet a waterless moccasin.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Where my suitcase dropped:

Alabama. Seagulls land in the parking lots, storms come up quick and violent, and the countryside is steep Iowa-type wooded hills. I used to hit every shoe sale until I ran out of closet space. Now I can't pass a fresh fruit and vegetable stand.

We cook fresh string beans with new baby red potatoes, onion and bacon. Delicious. Non-slimy okra cooked in a little v-8 juice, with fresh chopped tomatoes, summer squsash, zucchini, shallots, onions, and chopped fresh basil is wonderful with a slice of toasted garlic bread. I'm going to try it cold with a chopped cucumber and some sour cream - gazpacho of sorts. Breakfast is a ripe peach sliced with blueberries, strawberries, a mini-banana and plain yogurt: clock food. It keeps my sytem on time.

I've learned Crawfish are edible if they're curled. If they're straight it means they were dead when cooked, and they're poisonous. My first experience with crawfish wasn't good. They tasted muddy. Since I learned how to shuck them and remove the vein, I like them.

My gracious friend Dot's motto is: if it's NOT broke, I can fix it! And she'll paint it and move it. Shop tools are her passion, and she can sense a yard sale for miles. She seems to have a hotline to the Universal storehouse. Her needs aren't always voiced aloud, but whatever it is, it shows up: ie, a tall lamp for the living room. A couple of days later she came home with one somebody threw out, and the bulb still works.

To beautify her yard, Dot wanted a saga palm. Without her saying so, a friend brought her one that was "left behind." Pathetic. The shape of a pineapple and dead. She planted it by her back deck, talked to it, and watered it daily. Weeks went by before a sign of life appeared. "It's a miracle," she exclaimed. Send birth announcements. When it displayed a dozen leaves each a foot long, her riding mower got away from her crashing into it with blades a whirling. She exploded in tears apologizing to saga.

Her son came running. "What's wrong?"

"I killed my saga." Big tears.

"It'll be okay," and under his breath, it's just a plant.

"It's my baby." More Dot tears.

Daniel tilted the mower and dislodged the pulled-from-the-ground saga. Sad story. It's no longer round. The east side is flat. They planted it back in the ground, added water, and the last time we looked, six leaves survived, three more are scarred - paint won't help, and three are missing.

We celebrated the 4th early picniking on the deck with seafood gumbo, dirty rice, seafood salad, (We can't get enough fresh seafood when we're near the sea.) watermelon, brownies, and loving concern for the saga palm. On the 4th we're going to a Mississippi goat roast. That's another story. May your 4th be equally as pleasant.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series

Happy 4th of July, 2006
Celebrate Freedom!!!!!

MSN photo

The Master Flower Maker

Girls of any age can have a tea party. I watched as Jani "organized the kettle," as the Irish say, and placed it on the stove. "You know, there is a trick to boiling water. Don't boil it too long or the air will boil out and the water will taste flat. And warm the teapot with hot water while you're waiting." Tea 101. With great care she filled her imported Belleek, traditional design with hand-painted signature shamrocks, china teapot.

When the water grew "mad" Jani emptied the warm teapot, put in three bags of Earl Grey, one for each of us and the pot, one cup of hot white grape juice, and the mad water. Patience, Prudence, let it brew.

She placed a silver teaspoon in each matching Belleek china teacup to take the heat off the cup. At precisely three minutes, we don't like it too strong, she poured the hot tea. Can you tell tea is as much ceremony as refreshment? On her imported Belleek lunch plates she served fresh-baked King Arthur traditional scones.

A dollop of imported English clotted cream spread on top a scone makes for a working marriage between the Northern Irish and the English with strawberry preserves the cap. "Oh, Jani, this is wonderful!" Our wee drop of Scotch/Irish heritage thrilled at sipping tea and talking nice with our pinkies up - Hyacinth Bucket (Boo-kay) style.

"Minnie, do you remember when we were in the "green bowl"? The mere mention of traveling in the North tightened our stomachs and made our mouths go dry?"

"Yes, but we wanted to see the world-famous Belleek Pottery factory on the River Erne. We shut our minds to violence and kept going. President and Mrs. Kennedy were gifted with one of their tea sets, and we wanted to see them up close."

Holding our cups reminded us of our visit to the village of Fermanagh on the River Erne. We spotted empty tour buses, and knew we were at the right place, forgot about the local problems, and concentrated on shopping - a great remedy. The Belleek gift shop had us ordering in no time. They would ship our Christmas ornaments, Irish blessings and Jani 's tea set. Delicate yet serviceable pieces. In America we search for four-leaf clovers for luck. The Irish depict the three-leaf clover in their work as representation of the Holy Trinity.

Our guide took us past the large, 100-year old bell used in the past to call staff to work. The Belleek business began in 1857 with "sanitary" pieces: sinks and pots. They've come a long way. Now they make delicate woven china baskets that won't hold water, but they're exquisite works of art, no two alike. "Jani, can you feel the hands-on effort that went into the making of your pieces?"

"I can. They have an energy of their own I don't feel in mass produced pieces. Have you noticed how happy King Arthur flour feels?"

I nodded, "... flour with an attitude. I love to have it around. It bounces with happy energy."

"Minnie, do you remember the man at the workbench?"

"Oh, do I! ... those hands. Have you ever seen bigger hands? He could have passed for a lumberjack or a wrestler with his huge shoulders."

"I remember he cut a quarter-inch piece of spaghetti-sized twisted clay off a large spool, used a long-handled miniature spoon tool to press it in his palm, and made a flower petal. Some flowers have over 100 petals. The process alone is amazing."

"You told him you thought only God could make a flower. He never looked up, but he did smile just a wee bit recognized for a job well done."

"It was neat. We witnessed a master at work."

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series