Is it a who or a what dragging the chain?

Roads are narrow here in TN and without shoulders. I parked my car at a vacant house to walk a half dozen homes hoping to find people I could help save money on their cable, internet or phone. Rare sunshine warmed my shoulders. I had had a fresh tomato sandwich for lunch and felt right as rain, except I shouldn't say anything about rain here, it's rained almost every day of May.

As I approached the second house I heard the clanking of a chain. Cause for pause. I turned to my left and froze. A large, grey short-haired dog was loping toward me I knew I couldn't outrun. Clutching my yellow work box to my front, I stood still and prayed. It kept coming dragging 7' of links as big around as my finger and two to three inches long. Time seemed slow motion. I shot a glance at the house to see if it had pulled bricks out. No.

Years ago a Rhodesian Razorback raced toward me showing all its teeth. The lady of the house stepped out just in time and shouted, "Don't go, I want cable."
I shouted, "Call your dog off!"
She did. The dog wilted.

Chain-link dog kept coming without showing teeth. Oh, dear. Its jaw looked smaller than a pit bull. At my feet it stopped and bounced around wanting to play. It's head as high as my hip, I relaxed a smidge and remembered to breathe. Talking softly I told it what a good dog it was as I walked backwards to my car. It was determined to go home with me. I slowly drove away so as not to get tangled in its chain. A quarter mile up the road I looked back and saw it still clanking down the center line after me. I hope and pray it gets the care it needs.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

MEMORIAL DAY 2009

...remembering the brave who have kept us free, and do keep us free . . . to camp in the rain or not; to worship or not; to speak our mind, and do as we please. Life without suppression, the ultimate.
Thank you.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Porch Posts & Penny Pillars

Life in the South.....

We moved to Huntsville, Alabama in April, the best time of year to read "Gone With the Wind." Nebraska's High Plains have few trees. Alabama's forests shelter and shade. White porch pillars stand out quietly shouting, "You're in the South!" Some homes have solid wood porch posts, capable, unadorned, doing their job holding up the red tin roofed porch. Other porch posts were turned and shaped proudly proving they can do their job and look beautiful. In the pillar category, new-built miniature pillars, penny-pillars I call them, are slim shadows of the regal, magestsic, statement of wealth, grand masters large enough to hide valuables and children.

A month ago we moved north across the border to Fayetteville, TN. Bumps on the horizon are distant mountains. According to the usgov site, "The wispy, smoke-like fog that hangs over the Smoky Mountains comes from rain and evaporation from trees. On the high peaks of the Smokies, an average of 85 inches of rain falls each year, qualifying these upper elevation areas as temperate rain forests." We could qualify for rainforest status. It rains so often we light a bic to light a match to light the stove.

LBJ's first visit to the East left him unimpressed with the Great Smokys. "I've leveled bigger hills with my tractor (Ford)." I see them as squaw's teeth worn down from gnawing buffalo hide to soften it. The Rockies are the incisors and the Tetons, fangs.

Nights are cooler at 647' above sea level. Our neighboring roadside stand has first Georgia peaches and peaches and cream sweet corn. JB likes his cut off the cob, cooked in the skillet with a little butter and finished with cream. Who wouldn't? Heaven!!! Fresh strawberries, yellow squash, small zucchini, peppers, okra, baby red potatoes, green beans, vidalia onions, cucumbers, round watermelon, cantaloupe, jams, honey and more keep us pleasantly and healthily supplied in the world of porch posts and penny pillars.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

MOTHER'S DAY 2009

. . . a day set aside to celebrate the one who birthed us and all who nurture us.

My mother: My right thumb has a small rise on the knuckle exactly like hers. I see her rolling balls of yeast dough in her hands making buns; creating the divinity I've never been able to duplicate; serving grasshopper pie after a large meal; playing the "The 12th Street Rag" on the piano; hands folded in her lap when we needed to tell her something; creating my tap dancing dress from yards of lavender gingham; canning green beans; putting Denver mud on my chest. In my mind she is always there, alive, well, helpful and beautiful. Love knows no bounds. It connects hearts forever.

Grandmother Mae: My namesake, her cut finger wrapped in a white cloth. Work didn't stop, she maneuvered around it making apple dumplings and fixing chicken and dumplings for Grandpa and I when I was in high school. Quilting is her testimony to salvaging the beauty of the worn and frayed.

Aunt Bobbe: My cheerleader who laughed at my jokes. She'd "do" my nails and take it off before I went home. Not acceptable for little girls, according to Dad. I missed her the most. She passed before I understood we shed our body to live in changed form; she's still my cheerleader.

My sister, Janis: Slim fingers with polished nails. I see her as a child holding a baby chick to her ear to hear it peep. Her home is large enough for all of us for dinner. It thrills her to cook for Thanksgiving, as if feeding an army, and she gets excited making travel plans. No matter what she's into, her hands stay soft and smooth.

Corrie: My favorite second child. "Mom," she'd say exasperated, "you can't have more than one second child." That's why she's my favorite. Her hands have slim, smooth piano fingers that make great music and fluffy crochet. I see her lovingly cupping their dog, Maggie's, face.

Krysia: Her hands were small with wider knuckles like mine and Mother's. She used her index fingers to type, made quiche and remodeled. Her hands stayed smooth. What bothered her most about my caring for her was what it did to my hands: frequent washing made them rough, crack and bleed.

Carol, more than a daughter-in-law, a friend: Large hands, large heart, good cook. She takes her time, makes a mean shrimp dip, perfectly fried fish, creamed asparagus, rhubarb crisp. Always kind, she is a there when needed.

To all who nurture here and from beyond, thank you, thank you for uplifting life. God Bless and Happy Mother's Day.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Myrtle's Mom

msn photo

Friends who raised sheep called and asked if we wanted to raise a spring lamb? Excited, sister and I pleaded, "Mom, Dad, can we?" Living in the country, we had lots of room, and we'd never raised sheep. It would be an adventure. They nodded in agreement.

A few days later our friend arrived with a long-legged bundle of curly white wool in his arms. We frowned at how little she was and asked why she was taken from her mother. He said, "She wasn't taken, her mother wouldn't feed her. She was rejected."
Our jaws dropped. What? We thought all mother's were like ours. It was unimaginable a mother, any mother, could/would turn her back on her own.

Dad fixed a place in the cellar with a heat lamp. We traipsed down first thing in the morning to bottle feed her and after school. Mother fed her during the day. The heat brought out the ticks in her wool. One moved over to my sister's head. Mother found it when washing her hair, removed it and placed it in a pint jar where it lived more than 30 days off sister's blood. Yuk! And it wasn't even Halloween.

When the weather warmed, Myrtle graduated from the cellar to the yard bouncing around stiff-legged, as if on springs. She liked to be chased. When we caught her we rolled around on the grass. Squeezing our fingers in her wool put lanolin on our hands. Mother appreciated it the most. Under her fertilization our lawn improved, and she became our watchdog. Guests at our gate didn't try to enter when she bobbed her head in butt mode.

Being an active 4-H family, Myrtle became my project for the county fair. Hours were spent training her to walk with my left hand under her chin and my right on her rump. Many leaps were attempted before she learned to cooperate and stand still with her feet evenly spaced.

In August I bathed and curry combed her until she was fluffy. We gathered our sewing and baking projects and Myrtle and went to the fair. I walked into the ring holding her under the chin and on the rump and stopped in presentation. She stayed calm. I knelt on one knee. The judge felt her hind quarters and fingered her wool. We waited. Low and behold we earned a blue ribbon for showmanship. I still have it.

Fair animals were sold at the close of the fair, unless they were champions and going on to higher competition. Not Myrtle, she lived with us several years. Wherever we went she was right behind us.

The smell of wet wool reminds us of our friend and pet. I've not eaten lamb or mutton since. Spring lamb means a bouncing, playful bundle of wool in our yard, not on my plate. And mint jelly is fine on toast.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Post St. Patrick's Day Cabbage Math

After weeks of cold, rainy, gloomy weather reminiscent of Ireland, 3/17 was a sunny blessing. For me, no sun equals no sense of direction. JB points and says, "That's north." Nuh-huh, that's east. Nebraska's roads are generally square miles. Mississippi roads follow old Indian trails, creeks, and around stumps.

On the 17th, friends of JB's stopped by for a chat. Lawn chairs were pulled out and placed in the shade at the nose of the motorhome. They reminisced hunting and drag racing, while I pondered how to feed them with a single head of cabbage .

Hunger interrupted their tales; God knows they will never run out. Hilton said he had some fresh slab (2 lb.) crappie, hushpuppies and potatoes. Cecil had a fry daddy. Derek said coleslaw would taste good. I volunteered our cabbage. He offered tomatoes, onions and mayo. JB setup the table.

Cabbage + fish + friends = a tasty feast with leftovers.

©2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Easter 2009 AD

Mother Mary relieved
He's alive
overcame death
the world changed
forever
He did it
for us

Thank you.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Fresh Fish and a Tea Cozy

I love hot Earl Grey with fresh homemade Irish soda bread Southwestern style. Walnuts and japlaenos added. The recipe is from "Jump Up and Kiss Me" spicy Vegetarian Cooking by Jennifer Trainer Thompson. From her I learned to add cayenne and cinnamon to my chocolate Texas sheetcake.

Hand washing my tea cozy I remembered a faraway friend. My pale blue and white striped cozy was handmade for my navy teapot with a hole for the handle and one for the spout. A white and a pale blue puff ball are attached to the top. Crocheted or knitted? I can't tell. I started knitting a blanket before Krysia was born and finished it three years later when I brought Corrie home from the hospital. I knit too tight. Corrie's nimble piano fingers make her knitting look like marshamllows, gorgeous.

While in London I purused Harrod's, if we haven't got it, you probably don't need it department store. Yes, they have a dress code. A shopper in torn geans and flip flops might be turned away, even though Harrod's might sell the items at the store. People dress up to shop.

I had worked my way through the thousand thread count bed linens to the foods. At the seafood department I was stunned to see a fresh fish display of arranged rows of hand-sized fish in a sunburst pattern on an upright 5'x5' panel with cold water tumbling over all. Overhead lights made tiny rainbows. Admirers of all ages paused, nodded to each other and shook their heads in amazement. The display is changed weekly.

The best part of travel is meeting people. Mae was from Dublin, Ireland, the place of brightly painted doors. She had come to London to shop. We metat the fish display. A world traveler, she had been to the States four times, to the European continent eleven, Russia four, Australia six, to five African nations, and two South American countries to name a few. Her favorite place? Home. We exchanged addresses.

Months later a package arrived from Ireland. Mae made and sent a tea cozy. Every time I use it, I think of her. Here's to you Mae, my far away yet close in heart friend. May we meet again, on this side or the next.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Signs of Spring

in our corner of the world. Flushing out the season, Krysia grew narcissus bulbs in a bowl of rocks. Garden books replaced winter books of polar bears and snowy Alps. The summer picture of her and Schatzie is a constant.

Hardy red, yellow and white tulips come up in our landscaping. A high school science project inspired me to cross-pollinate my grandmother's tulips. Pollen from a red tulip was tapped onto a knife and sprinkled into the center of white tulips. The next spring they boasted red stripes. It took three seasons for the red to fade out. White remained white and red remained red.

Krysia liked tea and scones for her birthday. Tomorrow I will enjoy them in my mind remembering her.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

PALM SUNDAY 2009

Holy Week begins
Mother Mary's ordeal
even if she knew
the plan
of what
was to become
of Him/Her son
it still hurt

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Zimbabwe, Africa

photo by Leroy & Alice Patocka-Fortner

I have not been to this area of Africa, Alice and Leroy have.

At the base of this monstrous Zimbabwe, African Baobob, we strain to see our friends, Leroy and Alice. He has been a big game hunter all his life. Alice and I went to high school together. A country kid, she didn't expect to travel the world. Together they have been to the Dark Continent numerous times and driven to Alaska.

Baobob or Boabob? I found it spelled both ways. Africans call it "the upside-down tree" and "the monkey bread tree." One folklore tale says the tree was planted upside down accidentally by a hyena.

Football-sized seed pods house seeds Leroy says taste like cream of tartar. Acording to The Illustrated Guide to EDIBLE WILD PLANTS Dept. of the Army, a mix of pulp and water cures diarrhea; cut into strips and pounded, pulp is made into rope; young leaves are a soup vegetable; for a refreshing drink, a handful of pulp is added to a cup of water; seeds are roasted and ground to make flour. The hollow trunk is a source of fresh water. Its circumfrence changes as water is absorbed and released.

Without bark and rings, the tree's age is determined by carbon dating. This one could be 2,000 years old or older, in spite of elephant and smaller animal damage. At about 1,000 years, the trees start to hollow out. The most famous Baobob, 3rd largest in the world, is located in Limpopo, South Africa. Limpopo shares borders with Botswana, Zimbabwe and Mozambique. An average of 10,000 visitors a year visit the carved-out pub and wine cellar of Doug & Heather van Heerden.

In her long-legged life, Alice never dreamed she'd visit Africa and sleep in a thatched roof lodge under a mosquito net and be glad for it. She and Leroy took anti-malaria medicine two weeks before leaving the states, the duration, and two weeks back home. It worked. No sweats to flash freezing.

Meals were prepared according to old English ways and without electricity or refrigeration. White bread was baked daily in wood burning ovens. Alice said, "The wild kudu stew was delicious with locally grown organic potatoes, carrots and onions. It reminded us of our beef stew. The kudu are antelope-like with tall corkscrew horns. Custard or pudding was dessert. The local sudda brew tasted bitter."

Expecting to see John Deere tractors, they were surprised to see natives with oxen work the land around abandoned farm equipment. Included in the rusty graveyard are Nebraska irrigation systems. When the government expelled white landowners, they had three days to leave. Anything related to the farming operation could not be removed. They left with the clothes on their back and some personal items. Natives used the equipment until it ran out of gas or the batteries died. Where it stopped, it stayed. The modern was replaced by people and oxen. Square one, back to methods as old as the Baobab tree.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Ladybug Bushouse

In our absence ladybugs moved in to stay, play and propagate in our rarely visited Mississippi motorhome. They don't leave an odor; they are just everywhere and inside things, as if they studied building ships in bottles. I'd sweep up a few and more would drop. They're stuck to the ceiling, in drawers, on everything, and between screens I can't vacuum. We think they're responsible for the clogging the sink.

I found three vacuums to cleanup the deceased. The handheld dirt devil inhaled and exhaled through the cloth bag rearranging the dust. No collecting bag inside. One upright electric broom wasn't worth a push, the other sounds pneumatic, asthmatic. There isn't one good suck between them. In my trunk is the mother of all suckers, my Kirby, and I can't get to it. It has rained nonstop since Wed.

We adjust. Madchen and Schatze have new scenery and spaces to explore. They lie on the foot of the bed watching the space heater turn red and fade out. JB reads "Ripley's Believe It Or Not." I'm into a mystery. We are soothed by the rain on the roof and nap. No TV. Simple snack meals of sliced veggies, apples and leftover KFC. A pair of beagle coon dogs whoop mournfully. Peaceful. This is country.

I suspect 99.9% of the ladybugs are deceased. The few remaining tickle my neck walking the rim of my collar, light on the cat's noses, and crawl up JB's fingers encouraging us to be light hearted.

If ladybugs are good luck, we ought to have bushels.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Was it the luck of the ...

...Irish, draw, rabbits foot, salt over the shoulder, Friday the 13th, prayed up or spared?

Friday the 13th of February, JB got the call no parent wants,"Your daughter has been in a car accident and won't make it through the night."

Pray first, put pants on second. We left at midnight to drive the 800+ miles on Valentine's Day. No time for romance and cards, it was crackers and peanut butter and smoked oysters that left a smelly, greasy stain on the passenger's plastic floor mat. Daylight revealed the oil had spread to the shape of a heart.

Hour by hour the details unfolded. Brandi was riding with a girlfriend on the narrow, twisted roads of Mississippi. The white line is about 2" from the edge and the shoulders aren't graveled. The driver went off the road and over corrected causing the car to flip end over end. Brandi was pinned beneath in the mud.

A nearby homeowner heard the crash, slipped into her shoes and ran to the scene dialing 911. Brandi's face was in the windshield on the outside of the car. The frame of the door rested on her neck. She wasn't breathing, believed dead. The engine was smoking. The woman helped the driver out and away.

Chuck, a Deputy Sheriff, happened upon the scene and organized volunteers to lift the car off Brandi. She took two deep breaths. An ambulance rushed both girls to the hospital. Doctors told the family Brandi would not make it. The driver had a broken wrist and torn ligaments at her knee.

Brandi's vitals stabilized. Too foggy for a helicopter, an ambulance transferred her to Elvis Presley Trauma Center in Memphis, TN where people go to die. Non-responsive, doctors again said she would not make it.

We arrived at the hospital at 2 pm. Little John warned us about the size of her head: basketball or watermelon. But she was awake and asking the same question over and over. More tests. At Elvis's wall outside ICU, the line of concerned family and friends grew longer.

Sunday she announced she was hungry. Later in the day she started walking. Monday pm she was dismissed from ICU to go home. Not one miracle, many. Praise theLord! Is luck Divine intervention?

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

How does love find us?

Our maternal grandparents were unacquainted in Illinois. As young children their families packed up their covered wagons and headed west in the late 1800's. Grandpa's family homesteaded in southeast Nebraska, Grandma's in northeast Kansas.

Settled on the prairie, Mae took piano lessons at home from a traveling pianist. All was well until he made unwanted advances. She and her girlfriend switched two of his buggy wheels making the buggy lopsided. He left and never came back. At sixteen Mae took the teaching test and was certified as a teacher. Several of her students were older than she, typical of a farming community and the times.

LeRoy learned to play the fiddle and harmonica for himself and dances. In 1910 he joined a wheat threshers crew to work from Nebraska into northern Kansas, about 100 miles. One of the crew's favorite meals was roasted prairie chicken. Of course, they had to catch and kill it, coat it with thick mud, dig a fire pit and roast it.

Near Linn, Kansas they set up their machinery for the Simons. Mae, her mother and two other women cooked for the crew four times a day for two days. Resting in the shade of the thresher, LeRoy stopped mid-bite on his thick slices of fresh bread slathered with sweet cream butter and quince jam when a young woman crossed the farmyard carrying a pail for water. He had to meet her.

Mae was cutting cake when she noticed a man ride through the yard toward the watering tank. That was odd. The thresher was the opposite direction. He took off his hat and wiped his brow. Dark wavy hair flowed over his collar, a young man.

Music drifted up to the house at dusk. Mae peaked out through a curtain. Some thresher was playing Turkey in the Straw on a harmonica. A pleasant distraction, soothing after a long hot day. Dancing music. Toe tapping at the least. She sighed. If only. Her father was concerned no one had asked her to wed. 'Ought to be married by now,' her brothers said. Not even a promise. Two locals were interested, but she wasn't.

When the threshers finished and were packing up to move to the next farm, a man came to the house and tipped his hat. "Thank you ladies for your hospitality. We'll be going now."
Mother was surprised and pleased, a man with manners. "Do come in. Mae, come fix a sack for, what's your name?"
"LeRoy, Ma'am."
Mae saw him and gasped. The dark-haired yard rider had twinkly, dark eyes. Handsome. He nodded, "Afternoon Miss." It was all she could do to shut her mouth and nod. Heart pounding she gathered two loaves of fresh bread. If he could just look into her eyes, he could see if she was interested. She handed him the bread, looked up quickly and blushed. He could see her heart pounding through her high-necked blue dress. So was his. "I'd best be going. Much obliged, Miss." Breathless, she followed him to the porch. He mounted his roan, looked softly at her and said, "I'll be back." A half-smile crossed his face.

Stunned, she watched him out of sight, her heart filling with hope. Doubt crept in. He doesn't know I'm too old. It would never work. He lives in Nebraska, but if he comes back, it's meant to be. I'll keep busy with school. Her fourth year.

January of 1911 Mae was in the kitchen, as usual, when her father answered the door. A man asked for her. She frowned, wiped her hands on her apron and went to the parlor. It was him, LeRoy. She could have fainted, but Simons' women didn't. Her father saw her blush and excused himself.

When they were alone, LeRoy's eyes pierced hers. "I said I'd be back." She blushed and nodded unable to speak. A knot the size of a loaf of bread sat in her stomach. Flustered, she asked, "Would you like some feefee and tea take?"
He laughed. "I don't know about the feefee, but I'd drink some buttermilk and taste your tea take." She shut her eyes in embarrassment and tried to stifled a laugh.

Two days later they were married in her parlor. He took her back to his home in Nebraska where they loved, laughed and supported each other 58 years. This year would have been their 98th anniversary.

How does love find us? Love finds a way.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Energy Follows Attention

I was caught up in the blahs of winter's long nights and gloomy days, snow and ice, grief and uncertainty. Follow along and I'll tell you why I put them in past tense.

Sorting files I came across "The Golden Key," a five-page booklet by Emmet Fox (1886-1951), New Thought leader and writer. It is available at http://www.unityworldhq.org/. I made a cup of mint and green leaf tea and sat down to read. My poem inspires sharing what I learned.

The wisdom given

at the lofty peak

included the instructions,

'It's not yours to keep.'

Emmet Fox said, "Stop thinking about the difficulty, whatever it is, and think about God instead."

Practice The Attitude of Gratitude.

Mother Theresa said she would not demonstrate against war, but she would march for peace. She understood energy follows attention.

I was reminded, yet again, to get out of my own way. Putting attention only on God allows Him to go to work resolving my problems. At bedtime I surrendered my boat load of troubles and fell asleep praising Him..

I awoke this morning at peace.

Whether you believe in a Higher Power or not, it works. Go ahead test it, and let us know what happens.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

Dreamers

George Washington had dreams of opportunity for our new nation. I suspect Betsy Ross stitched our first flag with dreams and prayers for our country's women and children: nurture, don't destroy.

Martin Luther King Jr.had a dream of equality. January 20th Barack Obama will be installed as our first African-American President. Dr. King would be proud. President Obama's "can do" spirit
inspires. He is forthright and honest. God bless and protect him, his family, his administration, our country.

I dream of world-wide good health and abundance ; inexpensive, renewable energy; Earth healed; all people living in peace.

What we think, feel and speak we bring into existence--positive and negative. Peace cannot be dictated, it is personal. When we take responsibility for our thoughts and feelings, purge the negatives and reprogram with positives, the puzzle pieces of peace fall into place.

What positives do you want to bring into existence in your life and world?

The last word in all of this is.......love.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

January on the Farm

msn photo

Wrapped in my rose, flannel-covered duvet, I remember childhood winters on the farm. Night captured the sun and its sundog shadow signaling Nature to slide open the deep freeze door. Bitter cold waltzed out to test animals and people.

Evening's fist of coal warmed the resting cook stove. Overnight both cooled down causing freezing of the teakettle on the stove and the faucet across the room. Outside, wheat straw bales lined the north side of the house providing minimal insulation. Inside walls felt icy. Pale blue and white striped wallpaper over layers of newspaper, over lathe, didn't stop a blizzard, it strained it. The house begged for warmth. Dad's laundered long johns leaned against the dining room wall frozen stiff, ghost-like.

Standing close to the stove, Jani and I shucked out of school clothes into warmed, red flannel pj's. Socks stayed on. Clinging to the warmth, we scurried up the steps. The sheets warmed just to the shape of our spooning bodies.

The wind argued furiously with the plastic on the windows. The house shuddered. Subzero nights moved Dad to light the oil stove in our room. It took the sting off our second floor. Yuk! Stinky, oily-smelling. flames leaped behind the glass showing off their "hot stuff." If they got out, everything could be destroyed, including Myrtle, our pet lamb in the cellar. Terrified, I couldn't sleep; I had to keep watch.

Morning was announced by squeaks and clatters. Mom was in the kitchen lifting the lid on the cook stove; wood thunked in feeding its hungry appetite. We rushed to use the icy-rimmed chamber pot. Quick as cats we dashed down the steps sideways. Huddling near the cook stove's 'safe' fire we changed into school clothes. The phone rang, "No school today." Yeah!

Dad said he would take care of the livestock. No chores and no homework equaled a free day. Icicles hung from cattle's coats and steamy breaths. The axe made a hollow sound with each chop toward moving water. Chips flew. Cattle flinched. Dad's hands grew numb and stiff. His nose dripped. He cussed the weather.

Mother fixed cream of wheat with raisins and slathered scratchy slices of oven-toasted homemade bread with fresh butter and last summer's peach jam. The view from our kitchen table was eye-popping. Even the wind paused. Between our house and windbreak Nature had delivered feet of snow. Winter's diamonds sparkled in the sunlight.

Jani and I bundled in our Christmas boots, navy-blue coats, hats and gloves to make "first tracks" pioneer-like. Stomping and squealing we played fox and geese and threw snowballs at each other and the wash house. Dad went rabbit hunting while we built a lopsided snowman Mom could see from the kitchen window. Our gloves soggy and our faces rosy ,we fell backwards making snow angels.

Mom called out, "Come get this bowl and fill it with snow." We did. Warming by the fire we watched her stir in sweet cream from the cellar, a small amount of sugar and vanilla. Smiling, she spooned it into bowls and handed us each one. We hesitated. "Try it," she insisted taking a spoonful, "It's snowcream." Rich and creamy mini-crystals tickled my tongue. Delicious. She put a dish aside for dad. We three giggled and ate the rest. Snowcream, a yesterday pleasure.

2009 Red Convertible Travel Series

The New Year 2009

msn photo

At Microsoft Clip Art I typed in "World Peace." The search stated: "can't find it. No results were found matching World Peace." I chose three pieces of artwork instead: the globe in God's hands; a descending dove; and children holding up the world. None would upload.

Why the goat? We are in Capricorn: money, details, conservatism, determination. The goat takes tiny steps, keeps going and makes it to the top. It overcomes. So can we.

Best wishes for a great New Year.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

JESUS CHRIST

msn photo

The why in Christmas.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

WHAT TO FIX FOR CHRISTMAS?

A family Christmas tradition was the cracking of the nuts: three pounds of hazelnuts, walnuts, Brazil nuts and pecans. Pop. Crunch. Plop.
Chop 2 lbs. of pitted dates
Drain 8 ounces of cherries and chop
Lightly dust all with flour

Mix together 5 eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla
Add 1 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt

Combine with nut mixture using your hands to thoroughly mix. Bake in a lightly greased angel food pan or loaf pans at 325 degrees for 1 hour. Cooled, I cut it with an electric knife.

Rich and dense, I want to hide it and eat it all by myself. Instead, I slice off slivers for presents, and I am judicious about who gets them. If you haven't been blessed with it lately, don't feel bad, I haven't made it lately, and chances are slim I will. Remembering is calorie-free.

Maybe I should make Rusted Nuts, Southern for roasted. Pecans trees are plentiful in Mississippi. One Christmas we drove through the countryside and picked up a bag full of windfalls by the road. Private drives are covered with crushed pecans.

Sprinkle shelled pecans with garlic powder, Worchestershire, melted butter and salt. Stir until all are coated. Spread on a cookie sheet. Bake at 325 for 35 minutes or until crispy. While baking stir every ten minutes.

Corrie will get rice pudding. We could make gingerbread with chopped, fresh ginger; it makes the house smell alive, and is sumptuous with whipped cream. I could make Boston baked beans spiced with cloves for dinner, or we could do like the English and have them on toast for breakfast, on a baked potato at noon, and on pizza for evening. I'd have no friends.

Boston baked beans need steamed brown bread. They are a couple. The bread is made with cornmeal, rye flour, whole wheat flour, buttermilk, dark molasses, salt and baking soda. I lined my springform pan with foil, poured in the mix, turned to place it in the steaming pot on the stove, and the spring let go exploding the dough like a shotgun blast. The mess was horrific, and we were having guests for dinner. While I cleaned and started over, my husband ran to town for more molasses. Springform pans should be sold with duct tape.

May you have fun with your Christmas recipes. You are welcome to share them in comments.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

THANKS GIVING 2008

I hope you have a pleasant Thanksgiving. Making a list of what I am thankful for would take days. I'll just pick one something to expound upon: grapenuts in a box.

In my "experimental" days, I made soap, not out of necessity, out of novelty. Squatting on the ground, stirring an enamel dishpan of lye soap with a leg bone, I felt very pioneerish/Indianish. Bring on the drums.

Corncob jelly was another venture. The recipe: start with clean corncobs. Did they think I'd use any other kind? Where were they getting theirs? Boil them down and add sugar. It was clear, red and tasteless. I filled two half-pint jars and set them on the shelf for decoration. No one ever asked for a taste.

In 1898 Charles Post developed a natural cereal he called grapenuts. I love them. When I came across a recipe, I had to make some. Graham flour mixed with brown sugar, buttermilk, salt and soda was spread on a cookie sheet and baked at 375 degrees for 15 minutes, then cooled. I mounted the meat grinder on the picnic table--it was a nice day. I couldn't bend or break up the baked grapenuts. I found a mallet in the garage, wrapped a tea towel around it and whacked away. Sharp-edged pieces flew. The stubborn remainders made my hands sore trying to keep them in the grinder. My effort netted about half a cup. Disgusted, I nibbled a few and ditched the rest. And that, my friends, is why I am thankful for grapenuts in a box.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

ONE Noodle Soup

My grandmother, Mae, half my namesake, made noodles. I watched her roll the dough on a floured tea towel. With great care she cut narrow strips with her paring knife while Parkinson's messed with her coordination. I helped lay the uneven strips across the top rung of the back of the chairs to dry, or not, depending on the humidity. In a day or two they graced a chicken soup.

In my well-worn recipe box I found a recipe for Animal Noodles from Parents Magazine Dec. '69: 1 egg beaten, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 2 Tablespoons cream, 1 cup flour. Mix. Roll. Cut. My problem is my cookie cutter. It is a ghost large enough to put both hands through -- no pun intended. I would have to find a soup tureen to cook it in and make at least 20 cups of soup. I would need help: company. Do you want to come for ghost soup?

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Krysia Takes the Big Trip

Before I was married, or even thinking about it, I read about a Polish Dr. whose daughter's name was Krysia. I saved the name and gave it to my first-born 4-6-64. We pronounced it Kris-e-ah. Years later she said it is pronounced Krish-a, Kris for short. Mom was the last to know.

Preparing her memory board, we found her "First Class Scouting Award" -- give her a list and she accomplished mountains of work. Ballet, flute and Rock to Bach were favorites. She appreciated and defended animals. An avid reader she donated many of her books to the local library. In appreciation they gave her a gift certificate to Barnes & Noble. That's looking ahead. She loved instruction manuals, the "keys to the kingdom." A graduate of Wesleyan University with a BS in Business & Psychology, she worked in the family small business consulting firm.

When diagnosed with cancer in Aug. of 06, she did not buy the prediction she would live three weeks. She prepared to live, not die. Live she did, and defy further doomsday predictions of not making it to Christmas '06 or '07. She asked her Dr., "What have you got against Christmas?"

I brought her home as an invalid in Sep. 06. With the prayers of many and 24/7 care, she improved to feed herself, get out of bed, walk, climb stairs, shower, do her makeup, laundry, drive, and walk 15" on the elliptical at PT. You can see she was not a quitter. She told her Dr., "Until my relatives come and tell me it is time to go, I fight." They came Sep. 27, 2008. Timothy 4: 7 sums up her life: I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Her fighting spirit and sense of humor in the face of severe adversity were great achievements.

Kysia's dream to live and work in New Mexico was unfulfilled. She traveled from this dimension to the next to continue her healing and her journey, a trip we all will take sick or well. Comedian Red Fox said, "Those health nuts are going to feel mighty silly lying there dying of nothing."

I know death is an illusion. Her life goes on uninterrupted. She has a new body in Christ. But the tears still come, and without warning. The good news is: love connects hearts forever.

Praise and criticism came my way for giving my all and my everything to care for her -- I would have given my last breath. I loved her unconditionally, with abandon, as God loves me and everyone else: the good, the bad, the indifferent.

This is not goodbye, Krysia, I'll see you later. Love, Mom

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

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Mischievious as these two are, I'll bet they'll get the begeebees scared out of them tonight if they're in our yard. JB made a ghost. It isn't a Nantucket "set-stiller" that waits and spooks people who walk past. This one has a basket for a head covered with a white plastic bag. Strips of black electrical tape make slits for eyes and mouth. The shoulders stay straight with a piece of rake handle and my missing garden gloves attached to the ends. 2" board legs are secured with twist ties. The feet are sponges. Draped in blinking Christmas lights and attached by a rope, it hangs suspended from our Red Leaf Maple like a horse thief. JB intends to "drop it" near the unsuspecting. Beware.

Happy Halloween

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

PARAKEET MOON

Starbuck and T-Bird are fortunate to live with an "open door" policy. Freedom of movement not only increases independence, it encourages self-expression. And their home is mobile -- a 5th wheel currently parked in the shade in Lindsborg, Kansas.

Deborah is recovering from knee replacement surgery with PT and Emmi-T, part beagle, part angel, empathetic to the pain of necessary exercise. When Deborah cries so does Emmie.

Parakeet empathy might be harder to identify, but they are aware, talk alot, have opinions on everything, and are always good for a laugh. Living "on the edge," both like to dive bomb Emmie who knows they'd be just one bite, but she restrains herself. Luckily the birds are "behind bars" when Pastor and Deborah are away.

For thrills Starbuck flies through people's hair giving a whole new meaning to "teasing." Even looking down at T-Bird there's an illusion of looking up. His feathers are white, cloud-like, with a sky-blue underbelly. He chases the cursor at the top of the screen when Pastor Peter is at the computer. Whether dizzy or disturbed by Pastor's sermon work, without warning he moons him, a blue moon, no less. Who says parakeets have no sense of humor?

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

LABOR DAY 2008

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How are you celebrating? A parade? A party? Camping? Fishing? Boating? Biking? An amusement park?

We used to clean the school grounds and have a community picnic. It wasn't a picnic without scalloped corn, green beans with bacon, fried chicken, apple and peach pies. The adults cut the grass, picked up debris, swept and scrubbed while we tested the equipment. Dad looked at the swing and said, "Stay off. That pin will come out." Well, what did he know?

Two days later Lois asked me to pump. I loved to swing, and I couldn't refuse an upper classman. We were just sure we could get so high we could go all the way around. I pumped higher and higher until . . . oh, no, the pin came out. She lit on top of me on all fours, unhurt, but sprained. The swing seat broke my leg.

Grandpa and mother stopped canning pears to rush over. He made a barnwood splint. She tore up her apron. They put me in the car and took me to the hospital. All the way I begged, "Don't tell Dad. Please, don't tell Dad."

Whatever you do, have a safe and happy Labor Day that keeps you out of the Emergency Room.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Sun Followers

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I love how they wake up in the morning and face the sun in appreciation. All day they follow it across the sky. At noon they turn up to look it square in the eye. In the afternoon they bow their heads in thanks.

It's when they have soaked up all the sun and earth have to offer that they hang their heads in a final sunset. And wait. Wait for the gigantic and noisy guillotine. It's not a bad thing. They are glad to be, just be, bird and people food. A legacy of seeds will escape the header to sprout next year, and gardeners and farmers will plant more, perpetuating the circle of life.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Airlifting Apples

The kids are back in school. There's a cool undercurrent in the air. Crickets and locusts are sounding off. Summer is fading. Our neighbors shared their sauce and pie apples. I intend to make handpies of puff pastry filled with apples.

Working in my front office I noticed a couple of fallen apples in my yard and a squirrel trying to lift one up the tree backwards. A foot off the ground he lost his grip. After several tries he gave up. A bit of apple flavor must have touched his tongue because he stopped, picked up the apple and ate half of it. Half is a lot easier to hoist.

Apple halves lay in my yard one day and are gone the next. Did he haul them up the tree, or bury them? I won't know until spring. I'm just glad I got my apples before the squirrel did.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

A walk with Lincoln

We were far from his home and mine when we strolled the asphalt parkway along the Mississippi River northwest of the Twin Cities. Born at Lake Itasca, the River was still and in its adolescent stage. When it takes on the big boys, like the St. Crois, locks are needed to keep it and its gang in check.

Abraham Lincoln, our 16th President, will be 200 in 2009. At 6' 4" and 180 pounds in his early life, he looked like a pencil in a big hat. He has improved with age, is better looking, better fed, still chivalrous. A gentleman. Gentle man.

Never have I walked so with living history. The only sound the scuff of our shoes. Even the trees were silent, listening, eager to know. I had to ask, "So, Abe, tell me something about your childhood."

Anguished, he replied, "My mother died from milk disease when I was nine. The cows ate a weed that was poisonous and passed it through their milk. Others died too. I stood at her cold grave crying; I couldn't leave her there." We walked a spell in silence, mulling his predicament.

The River is outlined by woods on either side. Excited I asked, "Abe, could you help me build a raft? I could surprise JB. Can I get to Louisiana in a week?"

Recollecting his river memories, he frowned, "I think it's too many twist and turns for a week's journey." A foolish hope. A brief imagining of a long pole, a sack lunch, and adventure dissipated.

Eager to extract all I could from his memory bank, I proceeded, "Tell me something funny from back then."
In a grownup, tired voice he replied, "Well, I was walking down a dusty road one hot August day on my way to a trial, when a fellow driving a buggy happened along. I sure needed to get off my feet. I waved."
"Need a lift?" he asked with a smile.
"Could you take my coat to the next town, Sir?" I asked politely.
He took his hat off and scratched his head, "Yes, but how would you get it?"
"Why, I intend to be in it."

The walk ended too soon. But I must tell you, I met his wife. She is beautiful, kind, capable, accomplished, mentally sound. And the children are fine.

Lee Williams is an offical Abraham Lincoln presenter. The first time I saw him I noticed the natural resemblance. He speaks at schools and reenactments, and has presented in Dubai. You can contact him at abelincoln.org

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

The 4th Report

No goats roasted. Some folks toasted.

Host Ben is a river boat Captain and a master of Southern Hospitality who lives in the hills of Mississippi. In the shaded pasture near his house, Boston butts, barbecued ribs and chicken parts were grilled on a special-made king-sized double grill. Big families require big accommodations. The come-hither scent traveled throughout the acreage and into the house. About 100 people came with food in hand and healthy appetites.

Ed shucked pecans from their yard and made two delicious pecan pies. A neighbor made a two-layer chocolate cake presented on a pink Depression glass plate. Tina brought deviled eggs and beans. Ben's wife, Jimmy Nell, passed in '07. To include and honor her we dug out her '06 bread and butter pickles and pickled tomatoes.

Patty and I made potato salad, deviled eggs, doctored pork 'n beans, purple-hulled peas and cornbread. Brandi made coleslaw and her famous corn salad with all kinds of fresh veggies. Patty squeezed lemons and made two refrigerated lemon cream cheese pies. Bubbles brought an ice cream dessert. There were chocolate cupcakes frosted by a child who licked the edges before I noticed. Laughter could be heard in all quarters. Jimmy Nell would have been proud. Life is going on.

Meat goats, turkeys, a variety of small black and red chickens and a pair of Barbados black-belly, no wool sheep watched from a safe distance. I suspect the tropics affected their coats. They definitely weren't dressed for a Midwest winter. Feeling bold and safe with the grill cool, the goats came around at cleanup time expecting change-of-menu trash, but willing to eat the beer cans, if not. We made sure we didn't turn our backs on them. They can't resist a sneaky butt over the fence. What are they thinking? I know, a goat rodeo. They win.

Sunday we took Ben's pontoon boat out on man-made Enid Lake. In the distance I saw what looked like a forked campfire stick with a burnt marshmallow on top. A closer look revealed a dead tree sticking out of the water topped by an eagle's nest. The mother and two young did not want to be bothered. We didn't.

And I had my picture taken. Nobody will believe it. Sharon Osborn tells all before the media finds out. I'm not famous, but I'm telling before you hear it. Imagine this: I was sitting in the middle of the pontoon, the go between for cigarettes and beer. When I had one in each hand, I heard a click. For the record, neither touched my lips.

I hope you had an enjoyable 4th.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

July 4th, 2008 Fireworks & Fundamentals

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Our freedom to worship as we please, speak our mind, go where we please, become all we can be is what the United States of America is about. Democracy allows us the opportunity to be represented. I pray our United States of America stays united forever.

Over the 4th I'm going to Mississippi for a goat roast. And probably some goat rodeo, too. There's a story or two in the making.

I hope you have a safe, Happy 4th of July. God Bless.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

What did you say to make the bride cry?

I've known Jennifer since she was child. We talk often. She called when she met Darren, when they got engaged and kept me informed of their wedding plans. It was 300 miles away, but I really wanted to go.

Getting there was no big deal; I'm used to driving hundreds of miles a day. My "outfit" was the problem: dress, shoes, hose, purse, hair, lipstick, nails, tan, perfume, jewelry? Lamentations of Biblical proportions and slump-shouldered sighs left me clueless.

Krysia searched her closet and found a never-worn silk dress: pale blue/grey background with muted fuchsia and pale rust flower petals with self-fabric ruffles at the neck and diagonally on the front; fully lined with pale blue silk.Gorgeous. Up to now its life had been limited to decorating her closet suffering the snubs of the sturdy blue jeans. Nanner. Nanner. "Here, try this on."
Well, I knew it wouldn't fit. To humor her I slid it over my head and gasped. No only did it fit, it felt delicious, light weight, French. Pearls and a dab of Chanel #5, and I was set.

The groom's father, David, passed away recently leaving a collection of watches his wife graciously shared with family and friends. Just before the brides attendants entered, the groom, groomsmen and the Pastor pointed to their "David" watch to acknowledge his spirit presence. Timing. It was all about timing.

Each bridal attendant floated in tanned and coiffed wearing an electric blue gown with spaghetti straps. Two pre-school girls with flowers in their hair and in their basket shyly made their way to the altar scattering a petal here and there. The little boy carried the rings like a pro.

Everyone in their place, Henry Purcell's "Trumpet Tune" exploded from the organ. We rose and turned for "the grand entrance." The doors opened to Jennifer on her father's arm. Both were beaming; the happiest day of her life, and the proudest of her parents. Her halter top gown was an exquisite work of art beaded to below the waist of her full skirt and train. She glowed.

Pastor blessed and sealed their commitment for life. Forever. Jennifer and Darren lit the unity candle to cement their lives as man and wife, a single unit. An impenetrable gold circle formed around them.
Bride and groom greeted guests as they left the pew. I congratulated them. She didn't recognize me. It's been fifteen years. When I told her who I was she gasped, shuddered, grabbed me in a bear hug and burst into tears. Me too.

The people behind me were miffed they didn't get such a greeting. Throughout the reception people asked what I said to make the bride cry? Just my name.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Traveling Furniture

Ours has logged more miles than we have. Occasional furniture it's called. Occasionally we need it for a project or an illness. We move tables, chairs, benches, anything we can mange, from attic to main floor, to basement, garage, back into the house, up to the attic. Portables would be a better name.

Then there are those pieces that won't go away. A 3 x 4 oak library table has been in the office, garage, basement, for sale and is currently in the basement holding my Eiffel Tower clock.

Covered wagon travelers carried their most prized possessions as far as they could. Some made it all the way to Oregon. However, the trail was littered with what didn't: furniture, dishes, linens, musical instrument, tools, and books books books to name a few. An empty wagon would have been the way to travel.

I can tell Krysia is feeling better; her furniture is on the move.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

MAY 2008 MEMORIAL DAY

Each flag represents a fallen veteran from our community, Leonard and George included. Leonard shook his fist when he said, "Freedom is worth fighting for." He should know. He was drafted before WWII and came back when it was over: 4 years, 2 months and 27 days total.

My grandparents called Memorial Day Decoration Day, which it was until 1971 when Congress declared Memorial Day a national holiday. Decoration Day was declared May 30, 1868 to commemorate the sacrifices of Civil War Soldiers.

We decorate our graves with fresh peonies, if we have them. Cool weather can keep the buds from opening and makes the ants work harder. In nature everything has a purpose/job.

My ancestors came from Sweden and England to make a better life. Leonard's came from Moravia. They traveled by covered wagon, broke sod and built barns with pegs not nails. Their dead were buried in unmarked graves along the trails.

As I decorate and contemplate where family "rests," my late husband, Leonard, my parents, grandparents and Aunt Bobbe lived a total of 463 years. Methuselah lived more than 900 years. We are living longer than our ancestors. Do you want to live to be 100, or 150? If I could be assured I would look as good as I did at thirty and feel even better, I might. But what would we do with 40 or more years of retirement? Would we get everything done? Can we afford it?

Contemplate this: It's your 150th birthday. All your descendants come for the party, and the Fire Department, really. Don't worry about accommodations for sleeping, they won't. The problems will be parking, having enough food and toilet paper, and the neighbors. Better invite them too. And have a Happy Birthday!

I hope you have a pleasant and safe Memorial Day.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

Mother's Day and Creeping Clocks

Happy Mother's Day to all who mother. It is sunny, windy and cold here in Nebraska. The windchill is thirty degrees. An old-wives tale says not to plant garden before May 15th.

Spring is showing off its colors. A profusion of fuchsia flowers explodes from the neighbor's redbud tree. Beside our front door our flowering crab is covered in white blooms sweet-scenting each inhale.

A couple of weeks ago we opened windows for the first time this year and heard cries for mulch from neglected landscaping. I moaned; inside work wasn't done. To do a "bag count," I had "to walk" the yard. Pre-school Aja saw me and came to help. I said it could be 100. She said, "I can do it." There isn't anything she thinks she can't do. After Simons' Lawn Service power-raked, she stomped over, "Did you know somebody was mowing your yard? Why didn't you ask me? I would have done it."

Menard's had a cypress mulch sale. I loaded my 4-door buick several times. Forty-two was the most a yard-man loaded and didn't obstruct a mirror. Great job. My car smelled like a Florida swamp.

For a minimum of handling, I unloaded the bags where I wanted them placed. To my surprise the neighbors offered to help. One took a small shovel to remove the weeds. I ripped the bags and the other one spread it -- twenty-eight bags worth. Their parents were shocked. You see, Aja is four and Ryker is six. What great neighbors.

Landscaped plants happily "tucked in," I am back working in the house with occasional weeding visits to the yard. Tomatoes won't be planted until next weekend. When we had a warm spell I shopped to update my phlox garden. The clerk frowned and said, "Creeping clocks?"

I looked at my creeping clocks garden and saw, you guessed it, a clock. It is completely surrounded by lavender phlox close to the ground. From 12 to 2 a shrub obstructs lunch and nap time. However, I think I'll get rid of the shrub; winter split it from a ball to a bowl.
The daffodils at 4 did their bit and have stepped back. 5 has an unusual gift that doesn't show up every year. I love its name: fritalari aliagris (phonetic spelling). Tickles the tongue, doesn't it. One to two-inch tulip-shaped checkerboard flowers hang from a short stem. This year the checks were maroon and cream.
Tulips and daffodils do their thing at 10. A pair of deep pink and one yellow tulip stand guard over break time. Large rocks and pebbles hold down the center. A few wild purple violets have popped up here and there painting happy reminders of childhood May baskets.

To Mother's everywhere: May you find the joy in little things; May you know your place is important in the larger scheme of life. God Bless.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

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