Fresh beets are such a great fall vegetable. Over the years I have cooked beets many times, but only last week did I roast some beets- and they were yummy! Here is how I did it: First I cut the greens off and scrubbed the beets well. Then, I parboiled them for about 10 minutes, dried the beets, and rolled them in olive oil. I sprinkled them with Kosher salt and ground some pepper, then roasted them in a 500 degree oven for about 20 minutes. Tasty. Rebecca was at the house for dinner and she snarfed beets too.
The next day I had the most horrifying moment of looking at the contents of the toilet, and thinking that I was bleeding from the colon. The whole business was red! I was already planning my funeral by the time I flushed. After a few minutes of hyperventilaing, I thought, "Hey, wait a minute- that must be beets" Or at least I'll THINK that it is beets unless this should happen again. Being the helpful person that I am, I told Jon, "Hey don't get all nervous if you have bright red poop- it's the beets. He just looked at me like I was crazy, and said, "Who looks?" Me, that's who.
Later that night before I went to bed, I was talking to Rebecca. We chatted about this and that, and then she said, "Mom, a little alarming about the beets." Immediately, I knew what she was talking about, burst out laughing, and said, "thank goodness, at least I know it wasn't just me, or worse, BLOOD!" Then we got the giggles which increased when I said that Jon never mentioned it. Bec said, "He must be one of the .2% who don't look." Exactly! was my comment.
So enjoy those beets, but expect the unexpected!!!
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Sunday, November 4, 2007
The end of daylight savings time
Time again for me to complain about the short days until December 21 when the winter solstice occurs and the days begin to slowly, ever so slowly, lengthen. Night just comes way too soon now. If I were in the mental institution (where I probably belong) I would be one of the people that the doctors call "sundowners". They go crazy when it gets dark. I love the light of daytime. When Jon gets up early, or I get up to go to the bathroom before the sun comes up, I open the shades so that the sun will awaken me naturally by shining on my face. When we built this house I had all the rooms except one bathroom and the laundry room have windows on at least two sides. Ah, the sun! I'm sorry, Rob, but I don't think that I can move to Seattle. They don't make enough Zoloft to keep me sane where the sun doesn't shine for months at a time. Also, we are on top of the hill where we get the last bits of sun much longer than the people in the valley. How sad it is to see the my friend the sun disappear. I love the moon too, but she can't compensate for it being dark. So time for us all to burn more lights, light more candles, and to look forward to when the days are long again.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
raising kids
I've been thinking about how serious these young new parents seem to be about raising their children. I mean, it is a serious business, but they seem to make some mountains out of molehills. Take potty training for instance. Have you noticed that parents are not potty training these kids until they are old enough to be changing their own diapers? Was our generation warped by using the toilet from an early age? I think not.
Here is how I did it and my kids seem fairly normal. At about 15 months for Rebecca and 20 months for Rob, I just took off their diapers and let them run around the house with nothing on their bottom. It didn't take long for them to figure out that the previous contents of their diapers were coming from them! It was also a lot easier to catch them urinating or pooping and run the kid to the potty. It only took a week and it was over. Of course, I made a to do over "big girl" panties or "big boy" pants. Then at night before I went to sleep, I would pick up the sleeping child, go to the potty, put them on it, and say "GO!". I ran the water in the sink for adding stimulus. They would "go", and back to bed they went. Worked for me. I asked Rebecca the other day if I said "GO", if she would have the urge to go pee. She looked at me thoughtfully, and said "Maybe."
When it came to taking away a bottle or pacifier I was a total failure. it probably didn't help that I took a bottle myself until I was four. And, for the record, my teeth are perfect. Why, I don't know, but dentists are always amazed. Maybe it was all that milk. Anyway, back to the scandalous tale. Rob and Rebecca both took bottles until after they were two. And Rebecca and the pacifier. That is a whole "nother story. She loved her pacifiers. There was the "worker"- the one that worked, I guess, and the white one (self explanatory) I've forgotten the other names, but there were others that were not very popular with Bec. She could say the word pacifier perfectly at one year because the Mother's Day Out personnel were always searching for it for Rebecca. She could talk at age one and I would ask a question , pop the pacifier out ( a literal pop) and then stick it back in after the answer. This went on until she was almost three. I had always called a pacifier a "fooler". Rebecca called it an Ooh Fooh. Or I should say she called it an ooh fooh at home and a facifier everywhere else. At night sometimes I would hear her calling out "oooooh fooooooooo" I would go into her room, and usually find the worker under the bed or stuck to her hair because it had gotten so sticky. Jon's mother summed up my sentiments on the subject perfectly. She said, "Let her husband worry about it." That shut people up. One time Rebecca stayed with some good friend's children and the babysitter while we all went out for the evening. When we got home Rebecca was sobbing hysterically. It transpired that the babysitter thought she was way too old for a pacifier and refused to let her have it! I let the babysitter have it though.
Rob's love was cars from a very early age. He loved books about cars, playing with cars, pretending to work on cars (getting underneath chairs with a screwdriver). One day Dana and I stopped at the Goodwill box and picked up a big old metal pedal car. Rob LOVED it. He would wash the car all the time. Sadly, my mother got rid of it. Later Rob loved real cars. He also had a history of bad luck with cars. His first car had a tree fall on it before he ever drove the car. Then he wrecked one. Then Rob wrecked another one. Then a deer ran in front of him for another wreck. Then his girlfriend wrecked his car. We call him Wreck 'em up Rob. It was frustrating especially after the insurance was cancelled for all of us. But thank God, he was never hurt. He still loves cars. But now other things and people are more important like his wife, his dog Basco, his home, garden, computers, job, hiking, camping, and living in Seattle.
By the way, Rebecca at age 28 does not still have a pacifier. I did buy her a candy pacifier one time as a joke though. She seemed to really enjoy it.
Here is how I did it and my kids seem fairly normal. At about 15 months for Rebecca and 20 months for Rob, I just took off their diapers and let them run around the house with nothing on their bottom. It didn't take long for them to figure out that the previous contents of their diapers were coming from them! It was also a lot easier to catch them urinating or pooping and run the kid to the potty. It only took a week and it was over. Of course, I made a to do over "big girl" panties or "big boy" pants. Then at night before I went to sleep, I would pick up the sleeping child, go to the potty, put them on it, and say "GO!". I ran the water in the sink for adding stimulus. They would "go", and back to bed they went. Worked for me. I asked Rebecca the other day if I said "GO", if she would have the urge to go pee. She looked at me thoughtfully, and said "Maybe."
When it came to taking away a bottle or pacifier I was a total failure. it probably didn't help that I took a bottle myself until I was four. And, for the record, my teeth are perfect. Why, I don't know, but dentists are always amazed. Maybe it was all that milk. Anyway, back to the scandalous tale. Rob and Rebecca both took bottles until after they were two. And Rebecca and the pacifier. That is a whole "nother story. She loved her pacifiers. There was the "worker"- the one that worked, I guess, and the white one (self explanatory) I've forgotten the other names, but there were others that were not very popular with Bec. She could say the word pacifier perfectly at one year because the Mother's Day Out personnel were always searching for it for Rebecca. She could talk at age one and I would ask a question , pop the pacifier out ( a literal pop) and then stick it back in after the answer. This went on until she was almost three. I had always called a pacifier a "fooler". Rebecca called it an Ooh Fooh. Or I should say she called it an ooh fooh at home and a facifier everywhere else. At night sometimes I would hear her calling out "oooooh fooooooooo" I would go into her room, and usually find the worker under the bed or stuck to her hair because it had gotten so sticky. Jon's mother summed up my sentiments on the subject perfectly. She said, "Let her husband worry about it." That shut people up. One time Rebecca stayed with some good friend's children and the babysitter while we all went out for the evening. When we got home Rebecca was sobbing hysterically. It transpired that the babysitter thought she was way too old for a pacifier and refused to let her have it! I let the babysitter have it though.
Rob's love was cars from a very early age. He loved books about cars, playing with cars, pretending to work on cars (getting underneath chairs with a screwdriver). One day Dana and I stopped at the Goodwill box and picked up a big old metal pedal car. Rob LOVED it. He would wash the car all the time. Sadly, my mother got rid of it. Later Rob loved real cars. He also had a history of bad luck with cars. His first car had a tree fall on it before he ever drove the car. Then he wrecked one. Then Rob wrecked another one. Then a deer ran in front of him for another wreck. Then his girlfriend wrecked his car. We call him Wreck 'em up Rob. It was frustrating especially after the insurance was cancelled for all of us. But thank God, he was never hurt. He still loves cars. But now other things and people are more important like his wife, his dog Basco, his home, garden, computers, job, hiking, camping, and living in Seattle.
By the way, Rebecca at age 28 does not still have a pacifier. I did buy her a candy pacifier one time as a joke though. She seemed to really enjoy it.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
getting a mammogram
Really I am so thankful that we have modern medicine with tests like a mammogram. So many women have found an early cancer that way and their lives were saved. However, I DREAD and HATE having that annual smashing event. In fact, in my case, it isn't quite annual since I usually take a little additional time to psych myself into it. This year I was due for the mammogram in July, and I am having it next week. Not too bad! Usually I start worrying the month it is due, then wonder if I am hearing more about breast cancer- and if that is a warning from above- then I put a note to myself every day to make the appointment, and finally I do it. I have a week or so to really get worried after making the appointment which requires me to do a breast check every day, several times a day.
This year I am trying a new place for the mammogram. I told my doctor that I couldn't stand being in there for hours, so he is sending me to a more private place in Cool Springs, fortunately associated with Vanderbilt. Yesterday, I went to pick up my previous mammograms from Baptist Hosp. It is upsetting me seeing that big green envelope sitting on my desk. I wouldn't open it for anything.
Here is why I hate getting a mammogram other than the worrying part of possibly having something wrong.
First of all, you have to take off your bra and top, then put on a hospital gown- tied in front. This means you have to clutch it closed all the time. The ties are at least a foot apart. You are also required to remove your deoderant so that the metallic salts (aluminum) won't interfere with the test. So, you sweat and feel like maybe you could be getting stinky.
Next you go into a room of women just like you all clutching their gowns and looking terrified. One by one names are called and off they go. Finally, it is your turn. A new indignity! They tape BBs to your nipples to "identify" them. The technician then proceeds to place you in impossible positions and smashing your breasts WAY flatter than you thought humanly possible. It strongly resembles some form of torture.
The following step is that you go into another room (BBs intact) to wait and see if you need more tests. Everyone knows that if you get called back again that it is bad news. Sure the tech may say it was fuzzy or something, but still that is not good. Finally, finally, you are released to spray on my deoderant, remove your BBs, and dress. Now all you have to do is wait for some radiologist to finally get around to looking at your mammogram, send a report to your doctor, and then have him or her mail an all clear, or God forbid, call you with bad news.
I'll do it, but I think there should be a better way.
This year I am trying a new place for the mammogram. I told my doctor that I couldn't stand being in there for hours, so he is sending me to a more private place in Cool Springs, fortunately associated with Vanderbilt. Yesterday, I went to pick up my previous mammograms from Baptist Hosp. It is upsetting me seeing that big green envelope sitting on my desk. I wouldn't open it for anything.
Here is why I hate getting a mammogram other than the worrying part of possibly having something wrong.
First of all, you have to take off your bra and top, then put on a hospital gown- tied in front. This means you have to clutch it closed all the time. The ties are at least a foot apart. You are also required to remove your deoderant so that the metallic salts (aluminum) won't interfere with the test. So, you sweat and feel like maybe you could be getting stinky.
Next you go into a room of women just like you all clutching their gowns and looking terrified. One by one names are called and off they go. Finally, it is your turn. A new indignity! They tape BBs to your nipples to "identify" them. The technician then proceeds to place you in impossible positions and smashing your breasts WAY flatter than you thought humanly possible. It strongly resembles some form of torture.
The following step is that you go into another room (BBs intact) to wait and see if you need more tests. Everyone knows that if you get called back again that it is bad news. Sure the tech may say it was fuzzy or something, but still that is not good. Finally, finally, you are released to spray on my deoderant, remove your BBs, and dress. Now all you have to do is wait for some radiologist to finally get around to looking at your mammogram, send a report to your doctor, and then have him or her mail an all clear, or God forbid, call you with bad news.
I'll do it, but I think there should be a better way.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Bella and the salmon run
It seemed like such a nice morning for a walk to the salmon stream. Here at Minter Creek the salmon are running, and we decided to take a walk to the creek to look at the fish making their way up the stream to breed and die. I watched from the bridge for a minute and then decided to take the path to the creek for a closer view. Big Mistake!!!!! Bella the mighty huntress escaped, dragging me into the muddy creek, while she jumped wildly among the big salmon. Then, she snatched one up, and shook it. Bella's collar was off, and she was WILD. She had that salmon and was not letting go. Finally, I managed to grab her by the tail and put her collar back on. Poor salmon- it was at death's door. In order to get Bella back up the hill and to the road, I had to push her muddy butt, beat the hell out of her (NOT my normal activity) and pull her up. It was so hard that I was panting and on the verge of tears. Remember that Bella weighs almost 100 pounds- not much less than me, and she is much stronger. Finally, finally I got her to the road, and had to walk back to the rental house covered with mud- and was wearing a skirt.
Once I got Bella back I knew that she would realize what that splashing in the creek behind the deck was. It was those fish! Those wonderful fish that are so much fun to catch. I told Jon what had happened and said that he needed to watch her while I went in. Two minutes later I came out, and there was Bella- down in the muddy creek wildly chasing salmon. Jon went down and finally got Bella, then rigged up a harness to keep her on the deck. In the past Bella has killed a fawn, raccoon, squirrel, rabbit, vole, mouse, mole, and now a fish. She had to feed herself and her puppies before I rescued Bella. She was abused and pathetic, so I can't fault her survival instincts.
Now we are in Seattle spending the night with Rob and Amelia. We ate Salmon for supper. It was good, but I kept thinking of that poor fish in the stream.
Once I got Bella back I knew that she would realize what that splashing in the creek behind the deck was. It was those fish! Those wonderful fish that are so much fun to catch. I told Jon what had happened and said that he needed to watch her while I went in. Two minutes later I came out, and there was Bella- down in the muddy creek wildly chasing salmon. Jon went down and finally got Bella, then rigged up a harness to keep her on the deck. In the past Bella has killed a fawn, raccoon, squirrel, rabbit, vole, mouse, mole, and now a fish. She had to feed herself and her puppies before I rescued Bella. She was abused and pathetic, so I can't fault her survival instincts.
Now we are in Seattle spending the night with Rob and Amelia. We ate Salmon for supper. It was good, but I kept thinking of that poor fish in the stream.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Driving from Nashville to Seattle
Let's just say first of all- Thank God for antidepressants. We drove with a hundred pound dog from Nashville to Seattle, and made it. Secondly, What do they do with all that corn in Nebraska? Miles upon miles upon miles of corn. We have a diesel car, but never got to try biodiesel. Maybe on the way back.
I hear that it was over 100 degrees in Nashville, but it has been COLD here. This morning was 58 degrees. It reminds me of the quote from Mark Twain, "The coldest winter that I ever spent was the summer in San Francisco." We rented a house sight unseen on Minter Creek. It is a long way from anywhere, although it is ostensibly in Gig Harbor. The house is on a tidal creek which is full of birds, salmon, and other creatures, but most of the time it looks like a mud flat. Also the house is dark as Egypt (a southern saying referring to calling outhouses Egypt.) One of the first things that I did was to go buy new bright light bulbs. They were PC with the compact flourescents. To hell with PC. I've got to see to pluck my chin hairs.
I'm sure everyone wonders if I got in knock down drag out fights with my husband. A few minor skirmishes, but no major battles. It has been nice to see my son and his wife. Another downside to this house is that my cell phone has no reception. The wifi also does not work. At one point, feeling rather cranky, I said that I may as well be in a tent in Alaska. Not quite, but close.
In addition, I have been trying to calm down about not talking to my daughter 15 times a day. I suppose this is all good for me. I do hope that all my muscles don't atrophy in this month. What if I can never swim a mile again. What if my butt gets bigger? To illustrate how plebeian I am, while my son and husband were sea kayaking, I went to the local Target for fun, then the grocery to admire wine sold actually in a grocery, and then to the fruit stand. Does this make me really boring, or easily satisfied? I bought some magazines and papers for my reading enjoyment too.
Here's hoping that I don't crack anytime soon.
I hear that it was over 100 degrees in Nashville, but it has been COLD here. This morning was 58 degrees. It reminds me of the quote from Mark Twain, "The coldest winter that I ever spent was the summer in San Francisco." We rented a house sight unseen on Minter Creek. It is a long way from anywhere, although it is ostensibly in Gig Harbor. The house is on a tidal creek which is full of birds, salmon, and other creatures, but most of the time it looks like a mud flat. Also the house is dark as Egypt (a southern saying referring to calling outhouses Egypt.) One of the first things that I did was to go buy new bright light bulbs. They were PC with the compact flourescents. To hell with PC. I've got to see to pluck my chin hairs.
I'm sure everyone wonders if I got in knock down drag out fights with my husband. A few minor skirmishes, but no major battles. It has been nice to see my son and his wife. Another downside to this house is that my cell phone has no reception. The wifi also does not work. At one point, feeling rather cranky, I said that I may as well be in a tent in Alaska. Not quite, but close.
In addition, I have been trying to calm down about not talking to my daughter 15 times a day. I suppose this is all good for me. I do hope that all my muscles don't atrophy in this month. What if I can never swim a mile again. What if my butt gets bigger? To illustrate how plebeian I am, while my son and husband were sea kayaking, I went to the local Target for fun, then the grocery to admire wine sold actually in a grocery, and then to the fruit stand. Does this make me really boring, or easily satisfied? I bought some magazines and papers for my reading enjoyment too.
Here's hoping that I don't crack anytime soon.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Skunks
Another perk of living in the country is wildlife all around. It is usually lots of fun and exciting to see, except when the wildlife is black with a white stripe- a polecat, aka skunk. Well, last week we had seen three skunks in the yard, and one was an albino, wandering around in the day. If you see a skunk in the day, that is bad news. They are nocturnal animals and this usually means a sick skunk. In addition, the skunk family was near the house and seemed unafraid of humans. Bella went out one late afternoon, saw Mr. Skunk, and took off away from me. Bella made a quick grab for her prey, then flipped, and immediately began to rub frantically on the ground. It only took a nonosecond for the miasma of burning rubber smell (that is how it smells to me) to reach me. I had to grab Bella and run for the house and into the shower. Everything reeked- Bella, me, the house, everything. I put out those electric air filters, lit candles, washed everything washable that had touched her, and sprayed Febreeze on Bella. Yes, Febreeze. I read the label and it seems to be non toxic- made from corn. It helps a lot. I don't know if anyone else has tried it, but it mitigates the odor better than hydrogen peroxide, I can tell you for a fact.
Anyway, over the next few days we saw the skunks again in the day. I made a call to the vet and left a message with the State people. The concensus was that they were probably rabid and needed to be killed. How upsetting. I hate to kill anything, even bugs. But Jon went out when we saw one dudring the day and shot it. There was another the next day, and another the next. A friend was talking to me about the sadness of having to kill a living creature, but she did say something probably quite true. "If they are sick and suffering it is not bad to put then out of their misery." The State people (in charge of Rabies, I guess) told me that over 50% of the skunks tested around here in Middle Tennessee are rabid. Interestingly enough, only 20% of the bats are rabid, and there aren't any rabid raccoons here. There are plenty of them in East Tennesseee though. By the time we killed the third one, I was totally paranoid, and had Bella revacinated. She had her shot for Rabies in March, but I wanted to be really sure. I asked the State guy how skunks got rabies, and he said that they give it to each other. I hope that there aren't any more around. Watch out for skunks in the daytime.
Anyway, over the next few days we saw the skunks again in the day. I made a call to the vet and left a message with the State people. The concensus was that they were probably rabid and needed to be killed. How upsetting. I hate to kill anything, even bugs. But Jon went out when we saw one dudring the day and shot it. There was another the next day, and another the next. A friend was talking to me about the sadness of having to kill a living creature, but she did say something probably quite true. "If they are sick and suffering it is not bad to put then out of their misery." The State people (in charge of Rabies, I guess) told me that over 50% of the skunks tested around here in Middle Tennessee are rabid. Interestingly enough, only 20% of the bats are rabid, and there aren't any rabid raccoons here. There are plenty of them in East Tennesseee though. By the time we killed the third one, I was totally paranoid, and had Bella revacinated. She had her shot for Rabies in March, but I wanted to be really sure. I asked the State guy how skunks got rabies, and he said that they give it to each other. I hope that there aren't any more around. Watch out for skunks in the daytime.
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