Pumpkins, Apple Pie and Kick the Can

I’ve tried real hard to keep summer in my heart, but the natural order of things is messing me up. Like the pumpkins from our garden. In the spring Farmer John (aka hubby) bought a packet of seeds called Halloween Mix and planted them. There was plenty of room for the things to grow and boy did they. In the mix were several white pumpkins - not quite sure I like them. But now that they’re all picked of course they pull my mind to all things autumn.

Even though winter follows I’m always happy to bring out all the fall decorations. Last Tuesday while I was clearing out the attic, I hauled out the plastic storage box full of the stuff. Sierra, three, helped. Out came the bear figurines adorned with tiny pumpkins, squash and their fall hats. Out came the Indian corn that I’ve somehow kept intact for several years. Felt pumpkins from the dollar store, ceramic ones for the mantel and the scarecrow napkin holder. Up it all went around the house. We even found an old Dracula Pez dispenser.

Naturally this got me thinking of all the season brings in the way of food. Since our kids were going to be helping with the new patio installation this weekend, I told them I’d cook. A huge lasagna, garlic bread (mine is superb), and a robust salad with the last of the garden tomatoes and cukes became the menu. The daughters –in-law brought apple goodies, pie and a crisp. We lit some candles for atmosphere. There was even a jug of pumpkin ale to test.

And then after supper, Melodi, six, asked if we could play Kick the Can. Well, how fun is that old game? There were six of us who were up for it. All the kids, oldest son, Eric, and me (aka the tortoise). It was dusk so we didn’t have a lot of time. The can kicker, the guard (otherwise know at “it”) and the rest of us set to. Sam was a fierce guard. I tried my best to draw him away from the can, but he tagged me out in jig time. Then Eric and the two youngest, Sierra and Melodi, teamed up. Tough call. The tortoise got tagged almost immediately and the rest soon followed. I think we played longer than we supposed we would.

Time zoomed by. School day tomorrow. The kitchen needed cleaning up, the air had a nip and the game had to be called. Funny how in the midst of family fun and frolic the whole bad world seems to fade. There’s just you and the players, pumpkins and lasagna and apple crisp. What a delight to roll into autumn in just this way.

I pray the same for you even if it comes in only a bright, brief moment or two.




Image: Free Digital Photos 

Burden of Imagination

I’ve been blogging for a while now and  every so often someone will ask where I get my ideas. This question usually comes from a person who hates to write. Okay, maybe they’d sign their name to the Prize Patrol check, but other than that it’s a no go. So, I smile and try to explain.

And here’s where the temptation  to answer in an outrageous manner comes in. I want to say things like:

“This morning? I looked under the bed and there were six ideas skulking there. They were arguing like mad about who would be the first to trot out and make my acquaintance. So, in order to prevent bloodshed, I reached under and grabbed one by the throat. I said, “YOU! Get out here, it’s  your big day.” And then I shook off the spider that rode out with the idea, sat down at the computer and got busy.”

But usually I don’t say such things because I know it can cause eyes to glaze over when I go all long winded on them like that.

Ideas come from everywhere. Like last week when I was out shopping with my retail Power Pal, Karen. We hit Kohls, Harbor Freight (for our hubbies) and right next to HF is a great little hole in the wall pizza joint called La Familia. They have 20 or so kinds of pizza on display, under glass, and we love it. We sat to savor our slabs and were very thankful to have gotten there ten minutes ahead of the mob that usually storms the door at noon.

Just as we were finishing up a nicely dressed gentleman came in. He was maybe in his early fifties, slim and graying at the temples. He went straight to the counter – not even glancing at the goods on display – and paid for his small takeout order. I watched by stealth his trip back to the exit and then he did something that made me suspicious. Instead of using the door handle he reached way up on the door frame and pushed with two fingers. Aha! I’ll bet he was one of those CIA guys and he’d reached up to plant an invisible camera or the latest doohickey in bugging technology just developed by the Pentagon.

This caused me to look around the room and wonder who he was after. Had some poor pudgy patron ordered the buffalo wing pizza instead of the veggie and the guy was from the Food Police unit of the CIA? Wait, I don’t think the Pentagon would waste a good agent that way, would they? Or could there be payoff money wedged into the crust of the ham and pineapple variety? I was willing to wager that Meathead Mulivich was on his way to claim that slice completely unaware that a camera was mug shoting him. No, that’s part of the plot of my latest mystery. But my mind was reeling as I watched the agent head straight for his silver Lexis in the parking lot.

Ahem, you see what I mean? One good looking germaphobic guy comes into the joint where Karen and I are feasting on our ranch, bacon and tomato pizza and off goes my imagination like a double barreled shotgun. It’s like a disease with me.

Be glad you don’t have outrageous imagination  syndrome like I do, it’s a real burden. And don’t even think of rooting around under my bed for ideas. I put them under lock and key and the key is snug in my . . . Hey! I’m not telling you that.

But do have a great day.  

Image: Free Digital Photos

Transition Recipe

Today the morning air is a bit chilly and that always puts me in mind of the foods of autumn. Like beef stew, roast chicken, lasagna, warm chocolate chip cookies, and – okay – I’ve got to stop or I’ll gain two pounds just thinking of this stuff. But here’s a good transition recipe from my daughter-in-law, Heather. It’s a crockpot delight and has a summery feel, but it could get you into fall quite nicely. Served with rice it’s a keeper.

Island Kielbasa (go ahead and choose your own island – I’m going with Tahiti)

Two kielbasa cut into 1 inch pieces

2 cups catsup

1 cup brown sugar (you can use ¾ if you want it less sweet)

1 can chunk pineapple with juice

Stir them  together in the crockpot and let it cook for about 4 hours.

I made this last night and didn’t have enough catsup. So I used some Peruvian sauce instead. Chili sauce would work to replace part of the catsup, too. I didn’t have rice either so I served it with some leftover parsley potatoes and buttered corn. Yum.

This will serve at least 4 people.

Image: Free Digital Photos

School Days

Sometimes it seems as though I can look back at my whole youth simply by watching my grandchildren. They range in age from three to sixteen. And school has begun. What they’re going through now draws a slew of memories from somewhere deep in my little gray cells.

The three-year-old, Sierra, starts pre-school tomorrow. Truth be told, Sunday School was my pre-school and I remember little of it. But they do things these days that my generation had to wait until kindergarten to do. Play with wooden blocks, sit in a circle on the rug, sticks and triangles at music time and of course, recess. They sing the days of the week and examine the weather, go on field trips. Nice.

I remember getting my first pair of glasses when I was six, the same age as Melodi is now. She’s off to first grade this year. She’ll be at a desk learning to read, write and cipher (oops, I mean, do math). She learned some of that in kindergarten already. These kids are so advanced nowadays.

Speaking of glasses, Anna, who’s nine,  got hers over the summer. She looks like an American Girl doll in them, adorable. I’m glad glasses are fashionable and no one will call her “four eyes” like they did me.  It’s her first year in private school and she’s already made friends. One thing she confessed to me.

“My locker is right across the hall from the classroom door.”

“That’s good,” I said watching her face.

“Yeah, I don’t have to go down the hall and around the corner and maybe get all confused.”

She echoed my fears from long ago when I first got a locker – in seventh grade.

Lillie, ten, will be riding the same bus as her big sister, Elaina, sixteen. There’s six years between them and a small bone of contention arose when they realized they’d be together. Little sister hogging the conversation with big sister’s friends makes for some tension. I gave them some grandmotherly advise along the lines of “your sister will be with you for the next 50 – 60 years and your friends will disappear after high school.” I don’t know if it hit home, but it’s true for me. My sisters and I are closer than two ply toilet paper and I have no idea where any of my friends from high school are.

And Sam. I always tell him he’s my favorite grandson and he always says, “I’m your ONLY grandson.” But he grins when he says it. He’s dropping his saxophone playing this year. Too much mandatory practice time – 140 minutes a week. So he’ll be in chorus. Yay! I dropped viola in favor of chorus and I’m still singing. Of course he could do like his uncle Carl and simply mouth “ham and eggs,  ham and eggs” at his first concert, but I’m not going to tell him that story.

School days. Wonderful times. Bless you my grandchildren. May all go well this year.  

Image: debspoons                                              Free Digital Photos

Hard to Find!

Several years ago, for Christmas, my grandson Sam put a small tube of hand lotion into my stocking. The fragrance was called Butterfly Flower and I. Loved. It. It really did make you feel like you were in a fragrant field of butterflies. It was light, too. Didn’t clog my sinuses. I asked his mom (okay, she’s the one who bought it as Sam was only about 5) where she got it and she told me. Well, didn’t I go to that store in the mall to buy a big bottle? Yup. And did they have it. Nope. Discontinued.

Same with white lipstick. If you’re a guy , you can stop reading right now. Anyway, I need to wear lipstick. Got addicted when I was 16 and look pale and sickly without something on my kisser. Most of the colors I prefer are a bit too dark so I like to soften them with white lipstick. Very hard to find. The last tube I bought was in the local grocery store, but when I opened it I found that halfway down the color turned to  light pink so I think it was an old one. Sheesh. Maybe if I went to a Goth website or something?

Egg beaters. Remember those? Two beaters with a wooden handle and a crank. Light and portable. Used to run about $1.99 at Woolworth’s back in the day. Wire whisks came along and knocked them out of the water. Or so I thought. Yesterday I was in Kohl’s with my friend, Karen, and there on the wall sat a modern version of the egg beaters. I grabbed it off the wall and hugged it. And then I saw the price. Ten bucks. I put it back. I’m too cheap to let nostalgia rule my buying habits.

Some old wisdom has disappeared, too. Or so it seems. Consider these.

A fool and his money are soon parted.

Waste not, want not.

Always wear clean underwear, in case you get into an accident.

I’m really careful about that last one – a clean thong every day for this gal. (KIDDING)

Any thoughts on this absorbing subject?

Image: Free Digital Photos

Odd Bits of a Week

A few days ago I was in the grocery store – only had ten items or so – and I made a beeline for the quick checkout. Only one person was ahead of me and as I unloaded my cart the exit door swung open. A woman with a huge cart full of groceries had come back into the store for some reason looking annoyed and amused at the same time. At the bottom of her cart sat an enormous bag of dog food. I couldn’t figure out why she was coming back in until I left the store by the same exit and saw the perfect rainbow of dog food. The bag on the bottom of the cart had sprung a leak and when she came back through to ask for help a trail of multi colored nuggets was left in her wake. About two inches of Beniful in a perfect arc. It made quite a spectacle.

“Are you making catsup this year?” Farmer John asked.

“No,” I said. “I’m sick of canning. I’ll just give the tomatoes away.”

He was disappointed as was our oldest son, but homemade catsup, as good as it is, is a project and a half and I just wasn’t up to it. Maybe next year.

Our oldest granddaughter, Elaina, has just returned from Germany. Yesterday she and her sister, Lillie, were on Skype with us. They modeled the dirndl dresses Elaina found at a cheap tourist trap (her words) and now they’ll both have something to wear for Halloween this year. She was eager to impart the whole experience and I was glad to listen. I love Skype and I’m so glad my grandchildren have such rich lives.

Now I have something to confess. There was a murder in our yard on Sunday. Yup. I’d thrown down several chewed up corncobs near the birdbath in the yard.  Soon the area was black with crows. That’s what a gang of crows is called – a murder. Scared ya, didn’t I? Or maybe you knew that’s what crows in a bunch are called and are groaning at my little joke. Whatever.

Hope you have a great week with an odd bit or two to keep it interesting.

PS: The winner of the giveaway over on Karen Lange’s blog, Write Now, is Jessica Haight. Congratulations, Jessica!

Image: Free Digital Photoa

Summer - Going Fast

Today I’m feeling all poetic just because summer is drawing to a close. I know because everything looks kind of dusty and worn out. And yet the air seems a bit expectant, like something is coming. Fall. Felt it in the crisp air this morning and I had to put my fuzzy robe on before I went downstairs for coffee. Feels kind of nice and a little sad.

Here’s a poem you might enjoy. It appeared in Good Old Days back in 2009.

Last Picnic of Summer

By Susan Sundwall

Before she sheds her flowered dress

sweet Summer grants one last caress

and wraps her suntanned arms around

the peaceful place my heart has found

She bids me listen just once more

for water lapping on the shore,

and children thumping on the sand

to music from the oompa band

Picnic tables piled high

with buttered corn and cherry pie;

fireflies are sheer delight

blinking, winking through the night

We find some marshmallows to toast

then through the flickering fire, the ghost

of Summer who, with gentle laugh

goes slipping down bright autumn’s path

Thanks for reading.