Day 2 Day radishes

September 30/ Can football be good?

This grandson, Gabe, the boy on the right, is the first in our family since my father to want to play football.  Several weekends ago I went to see him play.  What fun!  Indian Summer did not hurt either.  I was very impressed by this particular football program.  I watched how many adult males were involved, and how they handled the boys.  I was impressed by how focused the boys were.  My grandson has left four different  jackets at school in one year, but on the football field and on the bench Gabe’s helmet was always in his arms, when not on his head.    But the aspect that I liked the best, is that in the current feminization of boys, here on the field they were able to be male, using their DNA and starting to act like men.  They were a team.  Each player had their position, which had it’s specific duties.  The boys are learning that what they do affects others.  If they miss a block the quarterback will be sacked.  Whining was not in evidence.  I thought what a gift this was for the boys without a male influence in their life.

Yes, I saw him at the bottom of the pile. 

Need  anyone be worried that this boy is out of touch with his inner self, yesterday he started viola lessons.   

September 29/ Don't want no Fruit Loops

This morning we had breakfast right off the freeway in Centrallia, WA at Country Cousins, which sells old fashioned food.  Four of us breakfasteers, and four great breakfasts: waffles, scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage. My friend ordered the “ one hundred fifty mile breakfast”. I downed biscuits and gravy.  Good biscuits outside of a home are  a treat. Our waitress was jolly, looked like she also liked the biscuits and gravy.  Our conversation was good,  and meaningful.  The youngish employees wiped down the real antique bikes, and actually washed down banisters. Candy was piled in jars waiting for us to buy. Prices were right.  We had our own coffee carafes so we never ran out. There all the employees, everyone, seemed to do their best.  Everyone had an investment in the restaurant.  

We could have had breakfast buffet for free at the motel.  But they did not brew decaf because not enough people were staying at the hotel to warrant it.  And the multi-colored fruit loops simply did not make it.  I may come to accept the Fruit Loops, but today was not the day.  

September 28/The Radish on sausages

Dear Radish, 
I have  just returned to the working force.  I have two young boys and a husband who are eager to eat when I get home from work.  Do you  have any thoughts on quick evening meal that are nutritious.

 MRVC HERE

DEAR MRVC,

You may notice that I have rewritten your request.  That is what comes from a quick hand with my delete button.

 I have actually been thinking about your subject because so many of the elderly are in the same boat.  No one wants to cook anymore.  People want to eat out, out, out.  But who wants to eat out with sniveling little boys in hand.  Especially when they spill the milk.   Better to eat at home.

 
Sausages.  Italian sausages.  Just the thing. Sometimes I forget about this recipe,  and when I remember it, and cook it, I astonish myself with my brilliance.  I do not even remember the quantities: use what you think best.  The list is Italian sausages, onions, marinated artichoke hearts (the ones you girls all buy at Costco), and olive oil.  We did not come here to measure, we came here to cook.  Put what ever amount you like in a skillet, cast iron is best.  Break up the sausages, and use largish pieces of onion, what ever that means to you, with artichokes (about a third of the amount of sausages) in a slight amount of olive oil.  Sautee until everything browns up.  You don’t have marinated artichokes? Use red bell peppers.  This all takes the time of a slow glass of wine.   

Bon appetite!

September 27/ Blog commenting

While I am on the subject of commenting, I must say that I have been remiss in taking care of commenter’s on my blog.  Four and a half years ago, I did not really want people commenting.  I wanted them to say, ”Oh I love your post”, but I thought if I get one critical comment, what will I do? I sometimes wrote about politics, for example, and I thought if a Democrat writes back, how the hell am I going to get out of this one, I‘ll have to say something. Little did I know that if they do not like what you write, they will not come back, and that is their comment.  
Without a doubt my daughters have been the best commenter’s and the most frequent.  I think they have a secret plan that they take the calendar and parcel out the weeks so I will always have someone commenting.  I am so grateful that they will read my blog, as  some of this stuff I is what I want them to read.   I may not verbalize all that I want to say to them.   Very nicely they sometimes call me up to have me correct my errors.  And my poor husband, my syntax drives my him crrrazzzy. He has to give up reading for a week.  
After my daughters, 425 Heidi has been the most loyal follower.  She sometimes comments, but now all her children go to school, and she has a life.  But she still reads.  She, along with my daughter’s, have read this  for almost five years.  Here’s to Heidi. 
On an ordinary day, I do not expect anyone to comment.  People have lives, and frankly hanging around your computer as I do, may not be the way to live.  On the other hand, I take that back ,in the sense that we used to read newspapers. Reading blogs can be invasive in your life.  You have to make an effort, and  that is why I do not expect much. It is enough that you have looked at the site.  I do see how many people come by.  Even that I am going to try to curtail.   But a nice comment is a little attachment to a real person. Someone is out there in the universe.  Someone who may be in South Africa or Kansas. Who knows where the spirit will take a comment, and in this day and age of electronics,  human attachment seems  a good thing.  

Under no circumstances should anyone comment on this post.  And I mean it.  

 

Above is a blue moon.

September 26/ On being touched

Today my heart was  touched.  I am taking an ecourse on blogging.  Through this class I have gained a lot information, tools, and techniques.  Some of it is technical and some inspirational. One  part that is very important in the class is the forum.  There we ask questions and answers in the open and privately.  And we comment directly on others blogs. I have spent a lot of this week reading blogs, stories, and comments.  This week everyone was to try something with a different emphasis.  I worked on my Dear Radish column.  

Last night I went to bed and I was a little down.  I wrote quite a few comments on others blogs. Commenting is one way for people to get to know you, and build community.  One blog I even brought myself to give some criticism.  But at night I thought to myself, really, where are my comments?  Where is my feed back?  Never mind that only the day before I had said to myself, what do I care how many readers I have, or how many comments, if I can help, delight, provide beauty to someone through the day, that is enough.  You  never know whom you will touch.  

This morning I got up, and because I need to bring myself back to clarity, I opened the computer and went to the forum.  There I had two private messages.  I laugh because I think they were two people from Australia who were still up.   In any case, the first one was from the woman I had given the criticism.  She was profoundly grateful.  She said that she would take care of the problem as soon as she got her computer out of the shop.  

The other commenter said she had read my story of my life in the forum, and how she was glad that I had shared it.  She liked my humor on the blog.  She said she loved that I was continuing to expand my life.  She said that I was a “shining example” of not retiring from life.  Tears dribbled out of my eyes.  

The moral of this story is: I love comments.  No, No.  The moral of this story is that you do not know whose heart you will touch.  My heart got touched.  Somehow she got touched.  But, if you do not reach out, no one will be touched.   

September 24/ Snow Goose Produce

 This is a farm stand in the Skagit Valley, Washington.  I took these pictures about two weeks ago.  The owners drive over to Yakima to collect the peaches.  They grow a lettuce which is named French Crisp.  This lettuce is huge and it lasts a week.  The Skagit Valley is a wonderful place to grow lettuce in the coolness of the Sound.  If you have cool summers plant French Crisp.  It is my favorite.  

September 23/ Clays Pots

This is a photo of the window of a shop in La Conner, WA named THE STALL.  Aside from me in the background,  the important element are the clay pots from Columbia. These pots are not easy to find.

I am recently enamored of the cookbook, MEDITERRANIAN CLAY POT COOKING, by Paula Wolfert.  I love to hold the book, and I take it to bed as a novel.  The cooking of this book is really for stay at home people. It is grandmother cooking.  It is embarrassingly easy cooking.  For example, something is covered for two hours and then should be uncovered for an hour.  Or you need to add the next ingredient.   There is a depth of flavor that  relatively new cooks strive for in modern ways, for example, with herbs or  brines. This weekend with company I made pork shoulder, with garlic, sage leaves inside,  and smothered with mustard and tomatoes. Although it took four hours, the pork coming to room tempature, and three hours in the oven, and I did really nothing.  

The key here is the pan and about a half of the recipes in the book should be cooked in a pot similar to the one on the lower left corner. It is the clay that the makes the recipes work.   These pots, if care is taken, are able to go on the top of the stove.  If you can find the real pots which come from  all over South America are not necessarily expensive. One place to order is the Spanish Table. I will say that these pots are fragile. Protect your baby.

 

September 22/ Dear Radish

 Dear Radish, 

At church I keep being asked to do chores that I do not want to do, for projects  in which I never wanted to participate. I do not know how to handle the situation, it stresses me out.  

Sally  

Dear Sally,

Church. . .   ah yes, that one  puts you in a bit of a spot, as we all want to do our bit for God. Some people could not mind less if they are shirking their duties.  But I know you want to “do your part.” 

This I do know, God  wants you to mind to your own spiritual gifts.  So if you have artistic, and wisdom gifts, not skills necessarily, it really doesn’t help with making deviled eggs for the refreshments after church no matter how much they say yours are needed, or how much they say, the tarragon in yours makes the dish.  

I feel your pain,  but woman up.  First pray to God for help with your voice on the phone  so you will say the right thing, not have a crack in your voice, or the very worst, cry.  Then telephone the recruiters (generally the nicest of people) of the irritating jobs,  say that you no longer will be doing the aforementioned chores.  It is probably good not to hang up right then. A “Thank you very much for understanding”, would be appropriate. You could tell them about your migraines, your broken ankle, or the husband leaving you for another woman if you must, but this is totally unnecessary. You do not need a reason.  When you hang up say, “thank you, God”. Send your guilt to time out, and don’t let it out until it can behave.  

Radish

September 20/ On holiday

This is a short note to say this blog will return on Wednesday.    I think this is a fanciful and creative ornament from four year old Teddy. 

See you Wednesday.  

September 18/ At the boarder

The Peace Arch at the Blaine, Washington borderl   

 

Yesterday after the Life After Working Retreat Mr Radish and I  drove over to White Rock, Canada for lunch. These are photos of coming back to the US boarder.  We were in line and I wanted to take photos with my turquoise and pink cell phone and a US boarder guard came up and asked me for my camera, and not in a nice way.  He asked to see my pictures, which he proceeded to review.  Thankfully, he handed back the iphone, and very gruffly said never to do it again.  "Don't be taking pictures around here."  Now I guess you know.   There had been no signs saying not to take pictures.   All this on my  Freedom Friday.