Are you looking for a new or different drink to serve at your Christmas open house or New Year's Eve party? In the "spirit" of the holiday, let me pass along a tasty option that some friends shared with me over twenty years ago. (Shout out to the Schafers and a nod to "The Waltons" for the name!) It's become a tradition in our house - perhaps it will in your house too!
This tasty drink can be served formally in a festive punch bowl or doled out one drink at a time straight from your freezer and fridge. (Sweet and smooth, it packs more of a "punch" than you would expect, so warn your guests to be cautious if you serve it using the never-ending punch bowl approach.)
Enjoy! Happy holidays to you and yours!
The “Recipe”: A Sheffield Family Holiday Tradition
Ingredients:
4 teabags
7 cups water (divided)
1 large can frozen lemonade – thawed in refrigerator
1 large can frozen orange juice – thawed in refrigerator
2 cups granulated sugar
2 cups Amaretto (you can use the cheap stuff for this)
Additional items:
Two-liter bottles of Sprite or 7-UP
Four 32-oz plastic cups (like the kind that extra-large drinks come in at fast food restaurants) or similar sized containers for freezing the mixture
Directions:
Begin by boiling 2 cups of the water and steeping the 4 teabags for 10 minutes. Remove teabags.
In a very large bowl, mix the hot tea with the thawed lemonade, orange juice, and sugar. Add the Amaretto and the remaining 5 cups of water. Mix thoroughly.
Divide this mixture by pouring equally into the four large cups. Cover the top of each cup with plastic wrap and then aluminum foil. Freeze the cups for at least 12 hours.
To serve:
By the glass:
Use an ice cream scoop to place one scoop of the frozen mixture into a large glass. Top with Sprite/7-UP and stir.
As punch:
Run warm water over the sides of one plastic cup to slightly thaw and loosen the frozen mixture enough that it will slip out into a large punch bowl. Mash or chop with a large spoon or whisk. Cover with a full 2-liter bottle of Sprite
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Sugar Scrub - A Quick Handmade Gift Idea
Pinterest is an addiction. A time suck. A wonderful world of recipes and craft ideas that you'll never have time to complete. I wrote about it on my blog as an obsession in July.
One of the recurring ideas I had seen there over the past few months is homemade sugar scrub. If you don't know, sugar scrubs are scented exfoliants that typically sell in small jars for anywhere between $12 and $30 (and up). There were so many versions of this gift idea floating around on Pinterest that I began to collect them all, sorting through the different versions to come up with a combination I could call my own and give as gifts to my female coworkers and friends. (I don't want to be sexist here - just because my recipients were all gals doesn't mean that the men in your life might not want to receive this too!)
I finally got around to making this over the weekend and was really surprised at how nicely everything turned out. The fact that the house smelled like peppermint on Saturday was just an added bonus! Since everyone who has received a jar so far has seemed pleased, I thought I might share my version of this idea with you.
Note: I actually ordered my supplies online, but I think you could probably find everything locally with some effort.
One of the recurring ideas I had seen there over the past few months is homemade sugar scrub. If you don't know, sugar scrubs are scented exfoliants that typically sell in small jars for anywhere between $12 and $30 (and up). There were so many versions of this gift idea floating around on Pinterest that I began to collect them all, sorting through the different versions to come up with a combination I could call my own and give as gifts to my female coworkers and friends. (I don't want to be sexist here - just because my recipients were all gals doesn't mean that the men in your life might not want to receive this too!)
I finally got around to making this over the weekend and was really surprised at how nicely everything turned out. The fact that the house smelled like peppermint on Saturday was just an added bonus! Since everyone who has received a jar so far has seemed pleased, I thought I might share my version of this idea with you.
Note: I actually ordered my supplies online, but I think you could probably find everything locally with some effort.
Dodie's All Natural Peppermint Sugar Scrub
Ingredients:
- 3 parts sugar
- 1 part sweet almond oil (can sometimes find at Walmart, but is always available online)
- Peppermint essential oil (not extract [for cooking] - the aromatherapy kind)
Directions:
- Mix the sweet almond oil and sugar thoroughly using a whisk.
- Add several drops of peppermint oil to the level of scent of your preference and stir well. (I used about 10 drops per 1 cup of sugar.)
- Use a funnel to place in clean mason jars with tightly sealing lids (preferably the plastic "storage lids" that are sold separately from the jars).
Notes:
I used 6 cups of sugar, 2 cups of sweet almond oil, and about 60 drops of peppermint oil, which made enough to fill 12 4-ounce small quilted jelly jars.
Packaging:
I designed and printed front and lid labels using Avery oval labels:
Notice the "don't sue me if you slip in the shower" disclaimer I added to the directions!
The end result:
I had some unused treat bags in a drawer from last year's after Christmas sales and found some pink ribbon in my wrapping stash, all of which I think ended up as a cute, but simple, presentation:
Other ideas:
The sweet almond oil seemed to be preferred in most of the iterations of this idea that I read because it's typically used as a skin moisturizer, is all natural, and doesn't have a scent. Some of the recipes used olive oil, but I think that might be too heavy. One even used canola oil, but I had some of that in my kitchen and didn't like the smell.
If you don't like the natural color, I suppose you could add a drop of liquid food coloring to the mixture, but one of the reasons I liked this gift idea was that it is all natural. I'm not sure I'd want to tamper with that.
Now that I think about it, you could also use any combination of essential oils that you like. I think that some sort of citrus combination would be wonderful in the summer. Maybe a lavender/rosemary mixture for its calming properties? The possibilities are endless once you master this simple technique!
Isn't creativity fun?!
I designed and printed front and lid labels using Avery oval labels:
The end result:
I had some unused treat bags in a drawer from last year's after Christmas sales and found some pink ribbon in my wrapping stash, all of which I think ended up as a cute, but simple, presentation:
Other ideas:
The sweet almond oil seemed to be preferred in most of the iterations of this idea that I read because it's typically used as a skin moisturizer, is all natural, and doesn't have a scent. Some of the recipes used olive oil, but I think that might be too heavy. One even used canola oil, but I had some of that in my kitchen and didn't like the smell.
If you don't like the natural color, I suppose you could add a drop of liquid food coloring to the mixture, but one of the reasons I liked this gift idea was that it is all natural. I'm not sure I'd want to tamper with that.
Now that I think about it, you could also use any combination of essential oils that you like. I think that some sort of citrus combination would be wonderful in the summer. Maybe a lavender/rosemary mixture for its calming properties? The possibilities are endless once you master this simple technique!
Isn't creativity fun?!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
“The Hunger Games” Trilogy
A society in a repressive and controlled state in which the conditions of life are extremely bad and people lead dehumanized, often fearful, lives.- The opposite of utopian.
If you can pull yourself back to days when you were a student and the required reading list included books such as “Fahrenheit 451,” “Nineteen Eighty-Four,” “Brave New World,” and “Lord of the Flies,” you will find that you are actually familiar with the concept of “dystopian.”
As an English major and English teacher in a previous life, I’ve read more than my share of these types of stories, so I wasn’t too enthused when I started to hear rumblings about a series of young adult novels referred to as “The Hunger Games” trilogy. It was early 2011 by the time I decided I needed to take a look, after I’d heard several people reference the books and had seen the covers of the three novels on coffee tables, bookshelves, and in the hands of people whose literary taste I trusted.
- “The Hunger Games” – 2008
- “Catching Fire” – 2009
- “The Mockingjay” – 2010
The series is anchored by the first-person narrator, Katniss Everdeen, a 16-year-old girl who has grown up in a post-apocalyptic, dystopian society in the poorest of the 12 districts of the country of Panem. Because of her father’s death in a mining accident, Katniss has long been providing for her family (her barely-able-to-cope mother and her sweet sister Primrose) by sneaking out of the fenced-in district to the forbidden forest to hunt for game with her slightly older male friend, Gale.
The impetus for the action (and the constant driving theme element in the series) is the Capitol’s yearly Hunger Games – where one teenage boy and one teenage girl from each of the 12 districts is chosen to fight to the death in a televised reality show that the entire nation is required to watch as a reminder of the power that the Capitol holds over the people of the districts. Of course our narrator ends up as District 12’s female representative for the 74th annual games (although she isn’t the girl who was chosen – an important plot point I won’t explain further). Her male counterpart is an intelligent, artistic, and gentle young man named Peeta Mellark – the son of the district’s baker.
Yes, there’s a love story and a triangle, although Katniss is too stubborn and independent to let that consume her (or her story) completely. There is violence – teenagers have been tasked to fight-to-the-death for the enjoyment of the viewing public. But there is so much more. There is rebellion, war, psychological torture, alcoholism born of horrors witnessed and experienced, and the battle between good vs. evil when the narrator (and the reader) isn’t actually sure which side is worse than the other. Such strong, universal themes and messages in three books that are all far too well-written to be disregarded as simply “young adult fiction.”
A movie adaptation of the first book is coming in March 2012 and the first full-length trailer for the film has recently been released. Although the movie is getting all of the typical hype of a future “big series” like the “Harry Potter” or “Twilight” films, I have high hopes for it. It’s very well cast and the initial glimpses into District 12 and the Capitol seem mind-blowingly true to the books and different than anything else we’ve seen.
Link to "The Hunger Games" movie trailer on YouTube
Trust me. Pick up the first book of the series, “The Hunger Games,” and see if you aren’t hooked after the first two chapters like I was. It’s not often that I find a book that keeps me up past my bedtime, but these three did that. I didn’t expect to be moved by them the way that I was – but I think you might be too.
Link to "The Hunger Games" trilogy on Amazon.com
Happy reading!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Autumn
Autumn is my favorite season, although my allergies might beg to differ. Today is the ideal example of a perfect fall day. The temperature is in the low seventies. The sky is a clear, cloudless, bright crystal blue. The leaves on the trees range from pale green to yellow to orange to deep red.
Although it’s sad to see the withering of the last summer blooms, it is so rewarding to plant hardy, colorful mums in their place.
Football season is in full swing and we can look forward to basketball season.
Pumpkins, gourds, and Indian corn adorn front porches and steps throughout my neighborhood.
Visiting the orchard is rewarded with fresh-from-the tree crisp apples, a caramel apple or two, and a gallon of tart apple cider for the fridge.
Cooler weather means you can dig your favorite old sweatshirt out of the back of the closet and slip on its comfortable softness to chase away that autumn chill.
Both the aroma and taste of coffee and hot tea are so much more enjoyable when there’s a slight chill in the air.
Weekend days not spent raking leaves are spent at craft fairs and fall festivals.
Candy corn!
Pumpkin is infused into everything – lattes, cookies, muffins, bread, cakes, pies, and more.
And finally, I love every single thing about Halloween, including my husband Phillip and his over-the-top front yard cemetery, complete with fog machines and scary sound effects!
Is fall your favorite time of year too? If so, what would you add to my list?
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| (c) 2009 Dodie Sheffield |
Here are just some of the reasons why I love this time of year…
Although it’s sad to see the withering of the last summer blooms, it is so rewarding to plant hardy, colorful mums in their place.
Football season is in full swing and we can look forward to basketball season.
Pumpkins, gourds, and Indian corn adorn front porches and steps throughout my neighborhood.
Visiting the orchard is rewarded with fresh-from-the tree crisp apples, a caramel apple or two, and a gallon of tart apple cider for the fridge.
A lifelong rush of weenie roast and s’mores memories hits you the first time you step out of your backdoor at night and smell the wonderful scent of wood smoke from someone’s fire pit or fireplace.
There is soothing, calming, added joy from a neighborhood walk when the leaves are crunching beneath your every step.
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| (c) 2009 Dodie Sheffield |
Cooler weather means you can dig your favorite old sweatshirt out of the back of the closet and slip on its comfortable softness to chase away that autumn chill.
Our wedding anniversary (18 years on October 30th)!
The slow cooker makes its way from the bottom kitchen cabinet to the countertop and wonderful roasts, soups, and stews greet your family at the end of the day.
Weekend days not spent raking leaves are spent at craft fairs and fall festivals.
Candy corn!
Pumpkin is infused into everything – lattes, cookies, muffins, bread, cakes, pies, and more.
And finally, I love every single thing about Halloween, including my husband Phillip and his over-the-top front yard cemetery, complete with fog machines and scary sound effects!
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| (c) 2010 Dodie Sheffield |
Friday, September 16, 2011
Janie
Vera Jane Robinson was born on April 15, 1936, to George and Martha Robinson.
George was a farmer by trade (working other people's land) and the Great Depression was still in full swing, so times were tight with another mouth to feed, but she grew up strong and happy. She loved animals, particularly riding behind their team of Belgian working horses.
When she started school, she had to fight the boys in her class who called her "Vera" instead of "Janie." She was a good fighter and her schoolmates soon learned that calling her Vera wasn't worth the trouble it caused.
After WWII, parts of Europe were in need of working horses and her family's Belgian team was sold at quite a profit and shipped overseas. A tractor was purchased and she took to driving it very quickly. She was better than her brother, Farrell, at driving the tractor, but he was better on horseback, so things evened out in the end.
Janie had a Border Collie named Wags who helped her father on the farm, but was completely her dog. She loved him and he loved her. Whenever she sat or stood still, he would lay with his head on her feet. There was also a barn cat who frequently had kittens. One of these kittens became Janie's other best friend. His name was Beanie. Wags knew that Beanie was part of the family, so he would carry him around the farm by the scruff of the neck, even when Beanie was an adult cat. Wags would make sure Beanie was safe on the porch at the end of the day, bringing him in from the barn or yard.
Janie's first car was a 1951 Chevy. The girl who'd been driving tractors her whole life had a lead foot and made a name for herself by drag racing with her male classmates, often beating their better cars because she was a better driver.
Janie was a good student. She wanted to be a doctor, but there wasn't money for college. She went to business school instead and became a bookkeeper. She happily did bookkeeping for car dealerships in Indianapolis after graduation and one of her proudest moments was when the Chevy dealer she worked for at the time let her drive the two official 1955 Indianapolis 500 Chevrolet Bel Air pace cars from the delivery truck to the garage upon their arrival.
In 1955, a family friend named Evelyn Jane arranged for Janie to be at the same basketball game as a young man named Ralph Reeves. Ralph didn't even like basketball, but he went anyway because Evelyn Jane (who he knew through DeMolay and Job's Daughters (Masonic organizations for young people)) insisted that he needed to meet this girl named Janie.
They liked one another immediately and he asked her to go to the movies the following weekend. He borrowed his brother-in-law's car and sports jacket and took Janie to the Indiana Theater to see James Dean in "Rebel without a Cause." From that evening on, they were inseparable. Against Janie's mother's wishes (she thought she should wait awhile), they were married three months later!
Although there may have been "some talk" and people may have assumed that Janie and Ralph "had to get married," they tried for six years before they had their one and only child, a daughter.
Ralph worked for General Motors and Janie stayed home taking care of the house and their little girl. She was quite popular with the neighborhood kids because, unlike the other moms, she could repair broken bicycles and loved to see everyone's dogs when they came to visit. Plus, she appreciated Matchbox cars and dolls equally.
As their daughter and her friends got older, Janie and Ralph's home was always open to all of them. Many teenage Euchre sessions, special viewings of television music specials (John Denver, Barry Manilow, etc.), and movie parties centered around classic movie musicals happened in their living room and kitchen.
Janie eventually went back to work once their daughter was in high school, in part to ensure that their little girl could go to college and fulfill some of the dreams that Janie never could.
Straightforward and completely honest, you always knew exactly where you stood with Janie. Never pretentious, she wore jeans wherever she went. She never carried a purse and rarely wore a dress.
She unapologetically loved her husband, Ralph, and they did everything together as equal partners, even before this attitude was considered to be the norm. The couple that got married against her mother's wishes merely three months after meeting was married for 55-1/2 years, until Janie passed away on September 2, 2011.
I'm far more reserved and tend to internalize things like my dad instead of being straightforward like her. I always admired that about her, but it just wasn't in me.
I do have a lead foot like her and inherited her love of animals, cars, and sports. (She taught me everything I know about basketball and football and retaught me how to drive after my driver's education teacher did an abysmal job of it.)
Although we didn't always see eye-to-eye and she could get under my skin like no one else, I loved her with all of my heart and will miss her every day for the rest of my life.
George was a farmer by trade (working other people's land) and the Great Depression was still in full swing, so times were tight with another mouth to feed, but she grew up strong and happy. She loved animals, particularly riding behind their team of Belgian working horses.
When she started school, she had to fight the boys in her class who called her "Vera" instead of "Janie." She was a good fighter and her schoolmates soon learned that calling her Vera wasn't worth the trouble it caused.
After WWII, parts of Europe were in need of working horses and her family's Belgian team was sold at quite a profit and shipped overseas. A tractor was purchased and she took to driving it very quickly. She was better than her brother, Farrell, at driving the tractor, but he was better on horseback, so things evened out in the end.
Janie had a Border Collie named Wags who helped her father on the farm, but was completely her dog. She loved him and he loved her. Whenever she sat or stood still, he would lay with his head on her feet. There was also a barn cat who frequently had kittens. One of these kittens became Janie's other best friend. His name was Beanie. Wags knew that Beanie was part of the family, so he would carry him around the farm by the scruff of the neck, even when Beanie was an adult cat. Wags would make sure Beanie was safe on the porch at the end of the day, bringing him in from the barn or yard.
Janie's first car was a 1951 Chevy. The girl who'd been driving tractors her whole life had a lead foot and made a name for herself by drag racing with her male classmates, often beating their better cars because she was a better driver.
Janie was a good student. She wanted to be a doctor, but there wasn't money for college. She went to business school instead and became a bookkeeper. She happily did bookkeeping for car dealerships in Indianapolis after graduation and one of her proudest moments was when the Chevy dealer she worked for at the time let her drive the two official 1955 Indianapolis 500 Chevrolet Bel Air pace cars from the delivery truck to the garage upon their arrival.
In 1955, a family friend named Evelyn Jane arranged for Janie to be at the same basketball game as a young man named Ralph Reeves. Ralph didn't even like basketball, but he went anyway because Evelyn Jane (who he knew through DeMolay and Job's Daughters (Masonic organizations for young people)) insisted that he needed to meet this girl named Janie.
They liked one another immediately and he asked her to go to the movies the following weekend. He borrowed his brother-in-law's car and sports jacket and took Janie to the Indiana Theater to see James Dean in "Rebel without a Cause." From that evening on, they were inseparable. Against Janie's mother's wishes (she thought she should wait awhile), they were married three months later!
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| Ralph and Janie on their wedding day, January 13, 1956. (Friday the 13th!) |
Although there may have been "some talk" and people may have assumed that Janie and Ralph "had to get married," they tried for six years before they had their one and only child, a daughter.
Ralph worked for General Motors and Janie stayed home taking care of the house and their little girl. She was quite popular with the neighborhood kids because, unlike the other moms, she could repair broken bicycles and loved to see everyone's dogs when they came to visit. Plus, she appreciated Matchbox cars and dolls equally.
As their daughter and her friends got older, Janie and Ralph's home was always open to all of them. Many teenage Euchre sessions, special viewings of television music specials (John Denver, Barry Manilow, etc.), and movie parties centered around classic movie musicals happened in their living room and kitchen.
Janie eventually went back to work once their daughter was in high school, in part to ensure that their little girl could go to college and fulfill some of the dreams that Janie never could.
Straightforward and completely honest, you always knew exactly where you stood with Janie. Never pretentious, she wore jeans wherever she went. She never carried a purse and rarely wore a dress.
She unapologetically loved her husband, Ralph, and they did everything together as equal partners, even before this attitude was considered to be the norm. The couple that got married against her mother's wishes merely three months after meeting was married for 55-1/2 years, until Janie passed away on September 2, 2011.
Janie was my mom.
I'm far more reserved and tend to internalize things like my dad instead of being straightforward like her. I always admired that about her, but it just wasn't in me.
I do have a lead foot like her and inherited her love of animals, cars, and sports. (She taught me everything I know about basketball and football and retaught me how to drive after my driver's education teacher did an abysmal job of it.)
Although we didn't always see eye-to-eye and she could get under my skin like no one else, I loved her with all of my heart and will miss her every day for the rest of my life.
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| Ralph, Janie, and me on their 50th wedding anniversary in 2006. |
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
50
There it is. In print. Two little numbers. A 5 and a 0.
I will turn 50 this month. I am surprisingly okay about typing it, saying it, being it. I just wish I could figure out how in the world it happened so quickly.
My parents were married in 1956, less than four months after they met. They laugh because they married so quickly that some people assumed they "had to" get married. I'm sure those same people were quite surprised when I didn't come along until 1961! When I was born, my mom was 25 and dad was 28 - practically ancient by the standards of the day.
I grew up as an only child in the 1960s and 1970s.
I clearly remember asking my mom how it felt to be "half a century old" when she turned 50. (I was a smart-mouthed 25-year-old.) Ironically, my 75-year-old mom remembers that comment too and reminded me of it recently. I honestly think I'm a younger 50 than my mom was then. My life hasn't been nearly as hard as hers. I didn't live through the Great Depression and World War II. I've routinely had vaccines and medical treatments that weren't even an option for her.
So, I'm not sure what 50 is supposed to feel like, but I don't think I'm feeling it and I guess that's a good thing. I'll admit that I appreciate it when people tell me I don't look 50 either, but I'm not any clearer about what 50 should look like than I am about what it should feel like.
Oh - by the way...
Did you know that you start getting mailings and propaganda from AARP about a month before your 50th birthday? : )
I will turn 50 this month. I am surprisingly okay about typing it, saying it, being it. I just wish I could figure out how in the world it happened so quickly.
My parents were married in 1956, less than four months after they met. They laugh because they married so quickly that some people assumed they "had to" get married. I'm sure those same people were quite surprised when I didn't come along until 1961! When I was born, my mom was 25 and dad was 28 - practically ancient by the standards of the day.
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- I could play outside with my friends anywhere "within yelling distance" (my mom's parameters) until the lightning bugs came out or the streetlights came on - whichever happened first.
- My friends and I played with Barbie dolls and Matchbox cars. We played board games. We played freeze tag and kickball. We rode bikes. We stopped only long enough to gulp down some Kool-Aid that someone's mom brought outside in paper cups.
- My first television memory is watching the Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show on a tiny black and white TV with my parents. Honestly.
- I remember when we got our first color television and how beautiful the June Taylor dancers (on The Jackie Gleason Show) were in color.
- Since my little town was strategically located between Grissom Air Force Base in Peru, Indiana and Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio, sonic booms would rattle me on my swingset at least once a week.
- My best friend, Dawn, lived a couple of blocks down the street and I probably spent as much time with her family as my own. I couldn't begin to count the number of times they fed me or how many nights I spent at their house.
- We watched the Vietnam War play out on the television news and my mom wore a POW bracelet for one of her high school classmates until the day he came home. She then gave it to him at their class reunion the following year.
- Apollo and the Saturn V rocket were always in the back of my mind. I watched the moon landing and followed the coverage of Apollo 13 as my parents prayed for the stranded astronauts' safe return.
- My dad went to work at a factory every day and my mom stayed home and took care of me, going back to work once I entered high school.
- We took a road trip family vacation every summer. We stayed in motels (not hotels), brought along a cooler in the trunk, and ate bologna sandwiches for lunch every day; but I saw amazing amounts of the country from the backseat of that station wagon! Beautiful places - national parks, cities, parts of Canada too!
- I walked every single day to elementary school, junior high, and high school.
- My mom and dad and I put together five different jigsaw puzzles during the Blizzard of 1978 when there were only four channels on television and even those weren't working part of the time because of power problems.
- My first car was a Pinto and I didn't get it until I saved up the money from a summer job (at the factory where my dad worked) to pay cash for it. (I was a second shift gear cutter for three months!)
I clearly remember asking my mom how it felt to be "half a century old" when she turned 50. (I was a smart-mouthed 25-year-old.) Ironically, my 75-year-old mom remembers that comment too and reminded me of it recently. I honestly think I'm a younger 50 than my mom was then. My life hasn't been nearly as hard as hers. I didn't live through the Great Depression and World War II. I've routinely had vaccines and medical treatments that weren't even an option for her.
So, I'm not sure what 50 is supposed to feel like, but I don't think I'm feeling it and I guess that's a good thing. I'll admit that I appreciate it when people tell me I don't look 50 either, but I'm not any clearer about what 50 should look like than I am about what it should feel like.
Oh - by the way...
Did you know that you start getting mailings and propaganda from AARP about a month before your 50th birthday? : )
Friday, August 12, 2011
Our State Fair is a Great State Fair…
With a nod to Rodgers and Hammerstein for today's blog title, Phillip and I made our annual trek to the Indiana State Fair yesterday evening. The weather was perfect and it was a great night to eat ourselves silly and visit the livestock barns to see my favorite of all of the animals on display, the miniature donkeys!
The Indiana State Fairgrounds is in an odd location by most estimates, smack in the middle of a fairly rough urban neighborhood that, at one time, must have been the edge of the city. It’s a beautiful facility that’s been thoughtfully maintained and upgraded, especially in the past fifteen years or so. It houses innumerable events throughout the year – home and garden shows, car shows, flea markets, gun and knife shows, etc. – but by far its claim to fame is the weeks in August when it is home to the Indiana State Fair.
We knew the fair would be crowded on this particular evening because, following a record string of 23 90+ degree days, the weather had broken. Low humidity and temperatures that barely topped 80 would mean a beautiful, breezy, fall-like evening. Little did we realize that the night’s concert was some pre-teen boy band sensation from Nickelodeon that we’d, of course, never heard of (clueless): Big Time Rush. This meant that the fairground was full of moms corralling gaggles of excruciatingly excited 8 to 10 year old girls carrying posters and signs. Luckily, these girls weren’t interested in the same things we were (miniature donkeys) and they opened the grandstands a little early since the concert was sold out.
Any trip to the State Fair has to be at least partially about the food and our annual ventures are no different. However, we’ve never been a big fan of the crazy gimmick food that they come up with every year (this year’s was deep fried Kool-Aid – huh?). Phillip always says that they take something wonderful (Snickers, Oreos, Brownies, Twinkies) and ruin it by battering it and deep frying it. I wholeheartedly agree. Another big one this year was the specialty burger stand that was selling heart attacks, I mean, “donut burgers” (a bacon cheeseburger on two Krispy Kreme donuts instead of a bun), “Eggo burgers” (waffles as the bun), and “French toast burgers” (you get the idea – gross). Instead, we settled on our usual - a tasty Hoosier ribeye sandwich from the Indiana Cattlemen’s Association tent with no sides to take up precious snacking room for later.
Dinner obtained, it was now time to visit the horse barn to see the miniature donkeys! Why miniature donkeys, you ask? Have you ever SEEN them? Oh my goodness! They are adorable. About the same height as a large German Shepherd and weighing about 200 pounds, one or two of them can pull a cart and eight of them can pull a large wagon.
The Indiana State Fairgrounds is in an odd location by most estimates, smack in the middle of a fairly rough urban neighborhood that, at one time, must have been the edge of the city. It’s a beautiful facility that’s been thoughtfully maintained and upgraded, especially in the past fifteen years or so. It houses innumerable events throughout the year – home and garden shows, car shows, flea markets, gun and knife shows, etc. – but by far its claim to fame is the weeks in August when it is home to the Indiana State Fair.
We knew the fair would be crowded on this particular evening because, following a record string of 23 90+ degree days, the weather had broken. Low humidity and temperatures that barely topped 80 would mean a beautiful, breezy, fall-like evening. Little did we realize that the night’s concert was some pre-teen boy band sensation from Nickelodeon that we’d, of course, never heard of (clueless): Big Time Rush. This meant that the fairground was full of moms corralling gaggles of excruciatingly excited 8 to 10 year old girls carrying posters and signs. Luckily, these girls weren’t interested in the same things we were (miniature donkeys) and they opened the grandstands a little early since the concert was sold out.
Any trip to the State Fair has to be at least partially about the food and our annual ventures are no different. However, we’ve never been a big fan of the crazy gimmick food that they come up with every year (this year’s was deep fried Kool-Aid – huh?). Phillip always says that they take something wonderful (Snickers, Oreos, Brownies, Twinkies) and ruin it by battering it and deep frying it. I wholeheartedly agree. Another big one this year was the specialty burger stand that was selling heart attacks, I mean, “donut burgers” (a bacon cheeseburger on two Krispy Kreme donuts instead of a bun), “Eggo burgers” (waffles as the bun), and “French toast burgers” (you get the idea – gross). Instead, we settled on our usual - a tasty Hoosier ribeye sandwich from the Indiana Cattlemen’s Association tent with no sides to take up precious snacking room for later.
Dinner obtained, it was now time to visit the horse barn to see the miniature donkeys! Why miniature donkeys, you ask? Have you ever SEEN them? Oh my goodness! They are adorable. About the same height as a large German Shepherd and weighing about 200 pounds, one or two of them can pull a cart and eight of them can pull a large wagon.
To make it even worse (or better – depending on your perspective) this year there must have been a specific class for mothers with babies because there were several tiny, fuzzy youngsters in stalls with their mamas.
It’s a really, really good thing we live in a downtown area in the heart of the city. If we lived in the country, we would have a menagerie and it wouldn’t all be my fault. Animal lover Phillip would be just as guilty. However, the miniature donkeys would be ALL MINE. I’d have to have at least a pair with a fancy harness and cute little cart. I can just picture them taking our German Shepherds on rides in the cart. I am obsessed with this idea and seeing them in person every year at the State Fair only serves to rekindle my minifarm longings.
Primary objective accomplished, we spent the rest of the beautiful evening wandering around the fair, checking out the other animals, particularly the newborn piglets and hours-old dairy calves in the special nursery area. We also focused on snacking. We split an elephant ear (yummy!), Phillip bought some cotton candy (yuck!), and we bought a pound of taffy for the road.
Then we left the fairgrounds with everybody else (including the car loads of still-screaming tween girls) in a massive traffic jam that got us home way past our regular bedtime. But that was fine. Riding home with the windows down and the sunroof open, enjoying the comfortable breeze and nearly full moon, gave me plenty of time to dream about my future minifarm and miniature donkey team.
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| Look at that FACE! |
Then we left the fairgrounds with everybody else (including the car loads of still-screaming tween girls) in a massive traffic jam that got us home way past our regular bedtime. But that was fine. Riding home with the windows down and the sunroof open, enjoying the comfortable breeze and nearly full moon, gave me plenty of time to dream about my future minifarm and miniature donkey team.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
A Loving Life Well-Lived
Abby came into our lives in the spring of 2000.
After our previous cat, Beanie, died unexpectedly, we had initially decided that we didn't really need another cat. But I missed him dearly and our dogs (at the time Opal - a White German Shepherd and Ruby - a red and black German Shepherd) felt the loss as well. Opal especially, since Beanie was really "her" cat.
The thing about cats (the ones I've had anyway) is that they're cuddlers. They sneak up and purr on your lap. They lay by your pillow and knead it with their paws. I had to admit that I missed that stuff.
Beanie had been a dog-like "big fuzzy cat" and I knew that's what I wanted, so I started to do some breed research online and decided that I needed a Maine Coon. I found someone local with a litter of Maine Coons and went to visit her. I sat in the middle of her living room floor surrounded by 7-week-old kittens. It was bliss. One of them chose me, a beautiful gray girl. She climbed right up into my lap and curled up. The breeder immediately grabbed her and said, "I shouldn't have shown her to you. I'm sorry. She's already spoken for." I couldn't make another decision, so I brought Phillip back the following day. This time the beautiful gray girl was with the bunch again and she climbed right up in Phillip's lap and curled up, but I knew she wasn't available. We narrowed our choices down to a couple of others and said we'd decide that night and call the breeder back.
Phillip's guidance was, "If you can't get that little gray one, don't bother with this litter."
As if by fate, the breeder called me the next morning to tell me that she'd thought about it and had decided that we would be a better choice for "the adorable little gray one" because she was so gentle and the other family had small children. Since the family in question didn't mind choosing a different kitten, "the adorable little gray one" who had CHOSEN US could be ours if we wanted her!
I picked her up and brought her home to meet the family. The dogs took to her at once, being used to a cat, and she held her own immediately. Ruby quickly became very attached to this nameless gray kitty and it was obvious that, this time, SHE would be the one who had a cat.
That night, the new kitten didn't want to sleep. She wanted to lay on our heads, meow in our faces (over and over again), and lick our hands. Just our hands. Phillip said something like "this darned cat may not be normal" and, being the huge "Young Frankenstein" fans that we both are, she suddenly had a name! ABBY-NORMAL!
Abby never was a normal cat after all. She would always run to the door to greet you when you came home, tail in the air, meowing and chortling (a Maine Coon cat noise) loudly. She demanded to be fed quite vocally first thing in the morning and right before bedtime. She could back an 80 pound German Shepherd down a hallway with no front claws and without using her teeth. She loved to run full speed and slide sideways around the corner in the kitchen for fun. She would lie in wait under the bed, only to pounce out and grab an unsuspecting dog leg (or person leg). She demanded to be petted and cuddled every night at bedtime, every bit as loudly as she did that first night as a kitten, and insisted that I hold her paw like a hand in my hand until she grew tired of it or I went to sleep.
In her lifetime, Abby mourned the loss of both Opal and Ruby and took on the responsibilities for bossing around two totally different dogs in Maya (black German Shepherd) and Greta (White German Shepherd).
Over twelve pounds and always healthy as a horse, things suddenly started to change a few weeks ago. Her eating slowed down and she started to lose weight. Lots of tests didn't give lots of answers, but an enlarged spleen was removed in the hopes that, whatever it was that was slowing her down was confined to that organ. She bounced back for awhile, but then started to decline again. It became obvious in the past two weeks that something bigger was happening. Some sort of lymphoma or something that she just wasn't able to kick. You could see it in her eyes. She'd finished fighting.
We had a good talk last night in bed, she and I. I talked to her about how glad Ruby and Opal would be to see her and how they might even bring along that cat Beanie that she's heard about but never met. Sounds silly, I know, but while I talked to her about this, told her how much I loved her, and cried, she started to purr and lick my hand like she did when she was a kitten. I don't care what anybody else thinks, she understood what I was saying and I have to believe that she knows we did everything we could to help her, but it just wasn't going to make any difference.
So, 11-1/2 years after "the adorable little gray one" chose us, we chose to let her go this evening at the vet. We held her and petted her and kissed her while she purred and went to sleep for the last time.
Thank you for being such a wonderful friend, Abby. I know that Ruby and Opal were glad to see you and that you're probably curled up next to Ruby in your old favorite spot. While I'm devastatingly sad tonight, the image of you being all together again makes me smile.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Obsessions
I tend to get obsessed with certain things. Sometimes these are long-term obsessions and sometimes they are fleeting, but once I latch onto something, I tend to go into it full-force.
My latest obsession is Pinterest. If you've not jumped into this, think long and hard before you do. It's a wonderful world filled with recipes that I'll never actually use, crafts that I'll never really have the time to do, and home improvement ideas that I'll never have the money to fulfill!
The concept is that it's like an online bulletin board or binder. You know how you rip recipes out of magazines and stuff them in binders, drawers, or cookbooks? Maybe you tear out pictures of rooms decorated in beautiful color schemes that you'd like to try someday? This is an online place to capture things like this that you find on the internet (and SHARE them with everyone else on Pinterest). Others see your ideas, like them, and repin them to their own boards. You can keep track specifically of your friends' ideas or just peruse everything that anyone has found worthy of pinning. There are so many amazing ideas floating around out there!
You need an invitation from a member to pin things, but you don't need to pin things to look around. Warning: Once you start looking around, you're going to want to start pinning things!
In honor of my newfound obsession with Pinterest, I thought I'd share some of my other, longer-term, obsessions...
I have quite a collection of these, started when I inherited some of my great-grandmother’s costume jewelry when I was in college and added to from my grandmother’s jewelry chest, flea markets, and antique stores. The more rhinestones the better! I have “good” ones (Eisenberg) and cheap ones, but tend to love them all equally. Sometimes I’ll go on a tear and will wear a different one to work every day for weeks. A particularly virulent subset of this obsession is my collection of Christmas brooches. I can’t resist these and have such a large collection that I could wear a different pin every day between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Eve and never repeat. Again, some of these are high quality, most are not, but they are all lovely.
CorgisI love our spoiled-rotten pets (two German Shepherds and a Maine Coon cat) with all of my heart, but am obsessed with Corgis – specifically Pembroke Welsh Corgis. (There are two kinds of Corgis – Pembrokes and Cardigans.) I love that they are big dogs disguised in small dog bodies. I love their looks and their attitude. I love when Queen Elizabeth walks surrounded by a swarm of Corgis. After seeing the Corgis in the movie "The King's Speech," I decreed that I will have two Pembroke Welsh Corgis someday and that they will be named Bertie and Lionel.
Vintage Holiday Decorations
Why yes, we do have a six foot antique aluminum Christmas tree with a vintage color wheel. Is that odd? It's not our only Christmas tree, but it's definitely a favorite. I love all kinds of antique and vintage holiday decorations, especially Christmas ornaments and Halloween decorations.
(The Walt Disney World monorail set running around its base is linked to an entirely different story of obsession!)
Penguins
I have no idea why, but I've always loved these beautiful creatures and still do. They make me smile, waddling in their little tuxedos. Back when I was teaching high school, I accumulated a huge collection of penguin-themed Christmas ornaments as gifts from students over the years and have enough to decorate a penguin tree every year.This slightly scary almost 20-year-old photo shows me from my teaching days with a GIANT penguin lawn ornament that someone had given me. He was my classroom mascot and I can't tell you the number of times he disappeared, only to be found "up to no good" somewhere else in the school. (Yes. I still have him and, yes, that is a penguin crossing sign in the background.)
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
What do I really want to “be” when I grow up?
I’m nearing 50, but still find myself asking this question. I sometimes wonder if that’s “normal?”
What I know for sure:
It seems that I always need to be learning something new, doing something different, or exploring other options.
I’ve had four careers thus far: teaching, office management/legal assistant, corporate training, and HR. I’ve gained something from each one and have continued to advance professionally as I grew personally. I really enjoy the work that I do now (and am, of course, grateful to be employed), but I also yearn to continue to learn new things, "try on new hats," pursue additional paths. Do I bore easily? In a different time, would I have been diagnosed with ADD?
I am happiest when I’m doing something artistic or creative.
I mentioned when I started this blog that it was because I had discovered I no longer had a creative outlet and I know that I need one. I am really enjoying delving into writing and have even pulled out a 50 page skeleton for a novel that I started about five years ago – thinking about tinkering with it in my spare time. I love crafting, but don’t seem to have the time or the room for the constant mess. (I enjoy electronic scrapbooking for that less-messy reason.) I love to make wreaths and flower arrangements. I often look at things at art fairs and think to myself, “I could do that. Why would I buy that when I could do it myself?” I used to draw, but haven’t picked up a sketchbook or pencil in years. I love making music. I took piano lessons for years, but haven’t played in a long time and we don’t have a piano now. I used to be in choir and show choir in high school and still love to sing.
I honestly think that, whenever I try to conform and force myself to do work that isn’t in some way creative, I’m fighting genetics.
This is my great grandfather, Charles William Read, and his business card. He painted ornate murals and decorative art in theaters all around the country.
This is one of Charles' daughters, Grace Pearl Read Pollard, my grandmother's sister. She played piano with Hogey Carmichael and was a touring musician in a small band with her husband. It is family lore that she was the first person Carmichael trusted to play his newly written song,"Stardust." She played piano by ear and I was in awe of her as a child. (Wasn't she beautiful here?)
This is Charles' mother and father (my great-great-grandparents), William English Read and Harriett Isadora Martin Read. He was blind, but was still a professional pianist, and she was an opera singer. They met when he was playing piano for an opera in which she was starring.
So, although there's not much point to this particular blog post, writing it has been a bit cathartic. Thanks for reading along. In the meantime, personally, I think I'll just continue to look for creative opportunities on the side to help me feel more well-rounded and purposeful.
In any case, I would be interested in hearing if others still muse about what they want to do "when they grow up," even though their path seems to be fairly well set?
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Truly "The Greatest Spectacle in Racing"
When I was growing up in Indianapolis in the 60s and 70s, the Indianapolis 500 was in what some consider to have been its peak years. It was the days of the Unsers, Rick Mears, A.J. Foyt, and Mario Andretti. Names that even non-race fans still recognize years after-the-fact.
We never went to the race when I was a kid and it wasn't (still isn't) broadcast live on television in the Indianapolis area. We either went on a little vacation that weekend to Illinois, Kentucky, Michigan, or Ohio and watched it on TV or we did what people all over the world had done for years before the event was televised - we listened to it on the radio. I vividly remember my mom sitting in a lawnchair with a glass of iced tea and the scorecard from the "Indianapolis Star" newspaper, tracking positions of the drivers at key laps during the race.
The first race I actually attended was with a high school friend and her family in 1979. Rick Mears won the first of his eventual four victories that year. (Only Mears, Foyt and Al Unser have won the Indianapolis 500 four times.) I was immediately taken by the grandeur of it all. It's almost indescribable to be in the same place with 400,000 other people (the Speedway doesn't release actual attendance numbers, but those were the estimates during those peak years - now it's probably closer to 300,000 - which is still also amazing) watching the same event. It's difficult to understand the enormity of the 2-1/2 mile oval and all of the grandstands. But the thing that makes it the Indianapolis 500, and the thing that NASCAR and other sporting events have tried to copy but have never been able to quite replicate, is the tradition and beauty of the pre- and post-race ceremonies.
Until you've been there in person, you have no idea how moving it is to feel the pride when the trucks and trucks of service men and women take their laps to a cheering standing ovation, witness the 21 gun salute, hear the playing of taps, actually hear the crowd roar with appreciation when Jim Nabors sings "Back Home Again in Indiana," and feel the tears in your eyes and rumble in your chest during the military flyover that goes straight down the front straightaway and across the yard of bricks.
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| 2011 Indy 500 winner, Dan Wheldon, takes a bath in the milk after taking his swig from the bottle. (c) Indianapolis Star |
The past decade has been tough for open wheel racing. The league split into two different warring factions (CART and the IRL) for awhile, leaving neither circuit with true superstars that people could get excited about and sometimes making it difficult for even the Indy 500 to fill a field of 33 drivers. NASCAR picked up the slack in fan support while open wheel racing floundered. But the split is now mended. The big racing teams (like Penske, Ganassi, Andretti) are all back with multiple drivers. Some of those drivers actually have names that are recognizable, due either to good PR moves (i.e., Helio Castroneves and Danica Patrick), success, or because they're second or third generation drivers like Graham Rahal and Marco Andretti.
It's easy to forget that this race in the little town of Speedway, Indiana (now surrounded by Indianapolis) was the single-most important sporting event in the entire world for years, beginning in 1911.
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| The Marmon Wasp that won the first Indianapolis 500 race in 1911 was on display prior to the 2011 race (and actually made several laps during the pre-race ceremonies). |
We don't get to attend every year, but my husband and I wanted to make sure we were there for this one and I'm glad we were. It was everything the Indianapolis 500 used to be and more.
If you're any kind of sports fan at all, the Indianapolis 500 is something you need to attend in person once in your life. It has rightfully earned its titles of the "Greatest Spectacle in Racing" and the "largest single-day sporting event in the world."
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
"Castle" - the best show you may not be watching
Let me start by saying that I've been a longtime fan of actor Nathan Fillion.
My fascination started with a silly little sitcom in the late 90s called "Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pizza Place." The geek in me loved the Joss Whedon science fiction series "Firefly" for the single season that FOX gave it in 2002 and the movie spin-off from that series, "Serenity." (Browncoats anyone?) Then there was an amazing independent film called "Waitress" starring him, Keri Russell, Jeremy Sisto (from another one of my favorites, "Six Feet Under"), and Andy Griffith. I've reference this movie in a previous blog. It's a good one.
Of course, Castle is friends with the Mayor and the Chief, so he manages to get permanent position to "study" Detective Beckett by continuing to follow her, even after the copycat murder case is solved. Thus, a television series is born.
I am here three seasons later to tell you that, if you aren't watching "Castle," you should start - maybe during reruns this summer. But why? Why is it worth your time? (Trust me. I'm critical. I don't watch TV just for noise. If I commit to a series, there's a reason!)
So, if summer reruns get you down or you're just looking for a new Monday night diversion, I'd sincerely recommend one of the only shows that I (apparently the last person on earth who does not have a DVR) actually make a point to watch every single week - "Castle" on ABC.
My fascination started with a silly little sitcom in the late 90s called "Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pizza Place." The geek in me loved the Joss Whedon science fiction series "Firefly" for the single season that FOX gave it in 2002 and the movie spin-off from that series, "Serenity." (Browncoats anyone?) Then there was an amazing independent film called "Waitress" starring him, Keri Russell, Jeremy Sisto (from another one of my favorites, "Six Feet Under"), and Andy Griffith. I've reference this movie in a previous blog. It's a good one.
So, when "Castle" debuted as a replacement series in the spring of 2009, there was no doubt I was going to give it a try. I'm sometimes hesitant about "cop shows," since so many of them seem to follow a similar pattern and I often get bored, but this one seemed to have a unique premise - a bestselling mystery novelist named Richard Castle has become so bored with his main character that he's killed him off and ended a very successful and long-running series of books. Now he needs to find inspiration for a new character and a new series, but he's a little bit blocked.
When Castle gets involved in an NYPD murder investigation because the murder is a copycat of one of his novels, he meets Detective Kate Beckett and is inspired to create a character based upon her, who he names "Nikki Heat." Castle also provides enough assistance with the copycat case that the precinct's Captain allows him to follow Beckett around during the investigation. Detective Beckett doesn't want to inspire a character, doesn't want to be anyone's muse, is embarrassed by the character's name, and doesn't want Castle to follow her around and "interfere" with her investigation style.
Of course, Castle is friends with the Mayor and the Chief, so he manages to get permanent position to "study" Detective Beckett by continuing to follow her, even after the copycat murder case is solved. Thus, a television series is born.
I am here three seasons later to tell you that, if you aren't watching "Castle," you should start - maybe during reruns this summer. But why? Why is it worth your time? (Trust me. I'm critical. I don't watch TV just for noise. If I commit to a series, there's a reason!)
- The series is incredibly well-written. It's witty. Dry. Funny at times. Often poignant. Always smart.
- Nathan Fillion is incredibly charming and the same can be said for the character of Richard Castle.
- Stana Katic, who plays Detective Kate Beckett, seems to have a surprisingly broad range as an actress. The character of Beckett is very deep and Katic plays all of that very well. The actress is far too beautiful to be an NYPD murder detective (seriously!), but that's part of where Nikki Heat came from after all and the character is successful and driven (mostly because of a horrible crime from her past that I won't spoil for you here if you're not a viewer).
- The supporting cast is great. In the precinct - the two supporting detectives, named Esposito and Ryan and played by Jon Huertas and Seamus Deaver, are actually fleshed out characters, not just background flunkies. There aren't a million different characters to keep track of as representing the police force; the captain and medical examiner round out the primary precinct characters. At home - the Castle character is provided additional depth by the inclusion of his daughter Alexis and his mother, a Broadway actress named Martha Rodgers, who is played by the very familiar Susan Sullivan ("Falcon Crest," "Dharma & Greg").
- The murders are creative, thematic, and unique. The shows aren't completely predictable. Often the guilty party is a surprise. There's usually an intriguing twist.
- There is that whole will they/won't they tension between the leads that can be traced back farther even than some of my favorite early iterations like "Remington Steele" and "Moonlighting," but it's not contrived. There's a lot going on with each of these characters and they're both struggling with what's right and wrong for their situation. In other actors' hands, it might come across as hokey, but not here. They maintain that delicate balance that keeps it believable.
- Someone behind the scenes at the show or ABC is a marketing genius, allowing the character of Richard Castle to become a "real" author. Two Nikki Heat books have been released thus far, "Heat Wave" and "Naked Heat" (both of which I've read and both of which were very good - they seem to have a great ghost writer involved), and a third book is coming out in September. Richard Castle (the author) even has his own website - http://www.richardcastle.net/.
So, if summer reruns get you down or you're just looking for a new Monday night diversion, I'd sincerely recommend one of the only shows that I (apparently the last person on earth who does not have a DVR) actually make a point to watch every single week - "Castle" on ABC.
Monday, April 25, 2011
The Royal Wedding - Why I will be getting up at 3:00 a.m. on Friday.
I was a sophomore in college when the beautiful young Lady Diana seemingly tamed the playboy who was Prince Charles. She was one month older than me and I immediately felt a kinship with her. I was studying to be a teacher at the time. She was a teacher (sort of - as much as a Lady without a full education could be) herself. Charles was smitten. She was beautiful. It was a fairy tale to everyone of course, but, for some unexplainable reason, it all felt particularly important and relevant to me.
I was home for a short break that June in 1981. It was the time between the quarter's end (we had quarters at Ball State, not semesters) and summer school's beginning. Although my parents gave me a lot of grief and didn't understand my obsession, I set my alarm for 3:00 a.m. and got up to watch the wedding live. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and, seeing them kiss and wave to the crowd from that balcony, I was sure they would live happily ever after.
I also remember well that day in 1982 when a beaming Diana held their precious newborn baby Prince William, showing the new heir to the throne to the world. Next came red-headed Prince Harry. The "heir and a spare" had been delivered. Everything seemed perfect.
But then we all know what happened. It is a cautionary tale for sure. It wasn't perfect after all. Seems that Charles should have stood up to the Queen and held out to be able to marry the woman he loved instead of doing his duty and marrying the beautiful, suitable bride whose grace, even in her suffering, would eventually make her an icon.
Diana made some mistakes along the way as well, but she grew stronger and even more beautiful. Although the marriage dissolved in a barrage of ugliness, somehow she seemed to rise above it. Pulled by the strange connection that I continued to feel to her, I followed it all. Every bit of it. She was always there.
Then, she wasn't.
In a strange twist of fate, she died on my birthday in 1997.
Maybe there was something to the connection after all.
Once again, I got up at 3:00 a.m., this time to pay homage to the woman with whom I felt I'd shared so much. I cried as her brother, her ex-husband, her ex-father-in-law, and her sons somberly followed behind her casket. That image of the flowers with Prince Harry's card addressed to "Mummy" that lay upon her casket is forever burned in my mind.
I admit that I've read all of the books, the unauthorized biographies, the behind-the-scenes accounts, the biography that was actually an autobiography because she was feeding the author the stories herself.
I'm not sure why. I don't know what it is. But, for some reason, her life and death will always be with me.
So...call it what you will. Accuse me of being crazy. Tease me about it. To me, the connection is real. And this Friday, April 29, 2011, I will be taking a vacation day. I will set the alarm to 3:00 a.m. and I will watch the full, uninterrupted coverage of Diana's eldest son's marriage on BBC America.
It's not even a choice for me. I feel like it's the least I can do.
From the outside looking in, it seems your son has chosen wisely and cautiously. I sincerely hope that they live the fairy tale that you could not. Rest in Peace, Diana.
I was home for a short break that June in 1981. It was the time between the quarter's end (we had quarters at Ball State, not semesters) and summer school's beginning. Although my parents gave me a lot of grief and didn't understand my obsession, I set my alarm for 3:00 a.m. and got up to watch the wedding live. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and, seeing them kiss and wave to the crowd from that balcony, I was sure they would live happily ever after.
I also remember well that day in 1982 when a beaming Diana held their precious newborn baby Prince William, showing the new heir to the throne to the world. Next came red-headed Prince Harry. The "heir and a spare" had been delivered. Everything seemed perfect.
But then we all know what happened. It is a cautionary tale for sure. It wasn't perfect after all. Seems that Charles should have stood up to the Queen and held out to be able to marry the woman he loved instead of doing his duty and marrying the beautiful, suitable bride whose grace, even in her suffering, would eventually make her an icon.
Diana made some mistakes along the way as well, but she grew stronger and even more beautiful. Although the marriage dissolved in a barrage of ugliness, somehow she seemed to rise above it. Pulled by the strange connection that I continued to feel to her, I followed it all. Every bit of it. She was always there.
Then, she wasn't.
In a strange twist of fate, she died on my birthday in 1997.
Maybe there was something to the connection after all.
Once again, I got up at 3:00 a.m., this time to pay homage to the woman with whom I felt I'd shared so much. I cried as her brother, her ex-husband, her ex-father-in-law, and her sons somberly followed behind her casket. That image of the flowers with Prince Harry's card addressed to "Mummy" that lay upon her casket is forever burned in my mind.
I admit that I've read all of the books, the unauthorized biographies, the behind-the-scenes accounts, the biography that was actually an autobiography because she was feeding the author the stories herself.
I'm not sure why. I don't know what it is. But, for some reason, her life and death will always be with me.
So...call it what you will. Accuse me of being crazy. Tease me about it. To me, the connection is real. And this Friday, April 29, 2011, I will be taking a vacation day. I will set the alarm to 3:00 a.m. and I will watch the full, uninterrupted coverage of Diana's eldest son's marriage on BBC America.
It's not even a choice for me. I feel like it's the least I can do.
From the outside looking in, it seems your son has chosen wisely and cautiously. I sincerely hope that they live the fairy tale that you could not. Rest in Peace, Diana.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Time to meet the furry kids!
You see, Phillip and I don't have your ordinary human kids. We've always had furry kids. Since he's a big believer in "life size dogs," our canine kids have always been German Shepherds. To be honest, once you've been owned by a German Shepherd, it's very difficult to imagine living with any other breed. They are so incredibly intelligent that it's scary sometimes. As an example, we've never had a German Shepherd puppy that took more than 5-7 days to housebreak. Oh sure, there were the occasional accidents, but these dogs actually knew better and tried their best to do their business outside instead of in within a week.
We've also always had a cat. I will just come right out and admit that this is in spite of the fact that I am allergic to cats. Always have been. And yet I've shared my life with a cat for over 20 years. Foolish, foolish animal lover. That's me.
Our eldest kid is Abby. Her real name is Abby-Normal. (Why yes, "Young Frankenstein" is one of my all time favorite movies! Why would you ask?) She is a Maine Coon cat - a very large American long haired breed. Her official color is "blue," but she's actually a beautiful soft gray. She is a substantial cat who holds her own in all situations and can back an 80 pound German Shepherd down a hallway without using any claws or teeth. She is vocal, demanding, and incredibly affectionate. I fall asleep every night holding her paw like a hand. This is her idea and she will not leave me alone until I put her paw in my hand so she can snuggle down in the covers to sleep. She turned 11 in February.
She's very photogenic and patient with the camera. It's almost as if she knows she's beautiful. 
Next is Maya, mama's baby. She will be 10 in October. Back when Maya joined our family, we already had two German Shepherds and a cat. I had had some surgery and was feeling a little sorry for myself when Phillip came home from dog training (held at the breeder where we'd gotten pups before) and said that there was a little black puppy there that I needed to see. I am smart enough to know that you don't go look at a puppy unless you're prepared to bring it home, but I fell for his ploy anyway and precious little Maya came home with us. Precious little Maya is now 80 pounds and as gentle as she was the day we brought her home.
She faces some "elderly dog" issues as she ages, but it doesn't keep her down. Arthritis and a touch of dysplasia may make her a little slower, but no less loving. She loves everybody and everything. Anyone who is afraid of German Shepherds needs to meet Maya!She is the only dog we've ever had who truly favors me instead of Phillip. She is my dog, without a doubt. She helps me clean the house. She protects me from the evil vacuum cleaner. She barks like crazy when I walk in from the garage. She is beautiful and loyal!
Abby is "her cat," even though Abby was here almost two years before she was. She knows where Abby is at all times. If we can't find Abby in the house for some reason (as in when it's time to load up in the crate to go to the vet), Maya will find her for us.
Abby is "her cat," even though Abby was here almost two years before she was. She knows where Abby is at all times. If we can't find Abby in the house for some reason (as in when it's time to load up in the crate to go to the vet), Maya will find her for us.
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| Moms aren't ever supposed to have favorites, but, just look at that face! |
Greta is a White German Shepherd. She's actually our second White German Shepherd. Fiercely loyal and even more intelligent and protective than their black/red/tan counterparts, they are not accepted by the AKC as a breed, but are accepted by the UKC. Naturally occuring (some dark German Shepherds have a white one every once in awhile in a litter), they have been ostracized since, believe it or not, Hitler decreed them to be unfit during his era of power in Germany. Suddenly, although they had been very helpful to the German army, particularly in snowy environments where they could blend in, they were ordered killed at birth. Some loyalists refused to do so however and, through the years, the breed was developed separately through selective breeding. Unforunately, that selective breeding has led to some health problems, and Greta is no exception.
Although she's been a pesky little sister, Maya took her under her paw as she was growing up.
Now three years old, Greta has grown into a beautiful dog. She is my husband's partner in Search, Rescue, and Recovery training and she's getting better at that every week. (This is something Phillip has done for about 10 years, starting with our previously German Shepherd, Ruby.) She has a pancreatic enzyme deficiency which we have under control with a supplement and she is maintaining weight without having problems. She has some pretty serious allergies which are much improved now that we know exactly what we can and cannot feed her and now that mom and dad have learned to give allergy shots.
Dealing with her problems and the treatments are worth every second and every penny, as she is an incredibly intelligent, loving, beautiful, and fun dog.We will, however, never get another puppy. We got Greta at 7 weeks old, having forgotten that it's like having an infant in the house. After weeks of having to sleep with my fingers in her crate next to the bed so she wouldn't cry (our only dog who ever behaved this way), getting up at 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. for the middle of the night potty break, and coming home every day at lunch for six months to let her out, we have accepted the fact that we're too old for baby dogs. I know you're never supposed to say never, but we have made a pact. Only adult dogs from now on!
So, that's our happy little family! Hugs and licks to you from Abby, Maya, and Greta! Thanks for reading.
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