adapting to change. . .

“Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.” ~ J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

It came in every color of the rainbow. The neat little packages would be lined up on the shelves of the grocery store with a sign, 15 for $5.00. I would let them each pick out their favorites and toss them into the cart, where they would then be taken home and stored in the snack drawer, for a quick snack they could make on their own. As they got older they would take the package of Top-Ramen and crush the noodles inside the small package before opening it up. The crinkling sound was unmistakable. They then would open the top and sprinkle the little silver packet of flavoring over the crushed up noodles, give it a shake or two, and eat it dry. I kid you not! 

I was never fond of dry ramen, but we have eaten a lot of ramen in many different ways over the years. I often started out with that little package and then would doctor it up, into a salad, or soup or maybe a pasta dish. I have not bought Top-Ramen in years, be we love the soup, so now I just make my own. It is a good thing to have when there is just a bit of leftover pork tenderloin or grilled chicken left from dinner in the fridge. First I saute some onions until they are soft and golden then I add a couple of cloves of minced garlic and some grated fresh ginger and let the flavors mingle for a minute to two, being careful not to burn the garlic.  Then I add some stock, homemade if I have some in the freezer, if not I use canned. Then I add tons of veggies to it, whatever I have on hand. I cook up some soba noodles and toss those into the soup when the veggies are tender. We each top our own bowl off with a bit of soy sauce and cilantro, or basil, and voila.... instant dinner. 

If I were a food blogger I would no doubt have lots of prep photos for you, but I am not and I don't. I processed this photo to look a bit grainy and vintage. There are presets to do this, but I am trying to learn to do it on my own. This one was put through rad lab and then tweaked a lot in lightroom.

What do you think of the new Flickr?? I like some of it, but am really struggling with other parts of it; struggling with the parts I really loved in the old format.  I like the new contact stream.  I now open my contacts and their photos are there and I can see all the photos they have added lately. I don't miss things now. I like the look of the photos, but somehow it all seems so busy. So many photos it looks like a huge collage and it muddles my mind some.  I liked it better when there was just one photo at a time. I feel disconnected a bit. No, make that a lot! Because for me, Flickr is not really about a place to store my photos, but a place to connect with my community. For many of us Flickr is a place to tell the story of our day, what is happening in our little corner and there are so many woman whose lives I follow and I don't want to miss anything. So I am making an effort to sit at night now and really go through the photos of those I love and comment or at least hit that little heart. I don't want to loss that connection. Maybe making more of an effort is a good thing? 

Yahoo has taken lots of flack and I hope they listen. I think what upset most of us was there was no warning. But I know they won't turn back. So we will have to work and find ways to make it ours again. I have heard rumblings from some about leaving. I hope they don't. I hope they stick with it. 

I think change is inevitable. Change in how we eat ramen and how we use social media. Change in our daily lives, which makes us a bit nuts, but also moves us forward and makes us stronger. Change moves us out of our comfort zone and forces us to not only look at things differently, but also react to things differently and it forces us to learn new things and move; move in some kind of direction. And that in itself is good.  Change. The older I get the harder it is. Change. . . it is everywhere. Damn. . . .  

it's friday!
xoxo

cold feet. . .

"At sunrise everything is luminous but not clear. It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us. You can love completely without complete understanding.~ Norman Maclean, A River Runs Though It 

I headed west of the mountains alone a few days ago to see Jordan off. Before leaving I stopped by the library and picked up a couple of audio books to listen to during the drive. I don't do this as often as I use to. When the boys were home we always had a book on tape in the player. And I often had one going when we lived full time on the west side, because it didn't matter where you were headed, it almost always took a good 30 minutes to get where you were going. I don't spend near as much time in the car over here, on the east side, and so audio books are saved now for road-trips. Alone road-trips, as he is not a fan. 

I was surprised to see this on the library racks and snagged it, as I have read several recent reviews on it. I like listening to books. Often the reader adds a dimension to the story which you just don't get when you read it on your own. That is definitely the case with this book. The way the reader draws out the pronunciation of the main character's brother's name, with such pure disgust, is really grand. And the fact is, I am not sure I would have read it, had I done so on my own. There are times the main character, Paul, reminds me of me and some of my not so stellar parenting moments. Times when I was scared and not sure how to step up to the plate and handle what was going on. Times I am not proud of now, moments I would handle so differently if I could go back in time. (Please keep in mind, if you have read the book, that my kids have not done anything compared to what is going on in this book.) But none the less, those part are hard, and I am sure the book would have been slammed shut forcefully, and dropped to the floor beside my bed, and maybe not picked up again. If I were reading it on my own.  But in the car. . .  not the case. I won't spoil if for you, but let me just say, it is one of those books, much like Gone Girl and We Need to Talk About Kevin, where you don't much like the characters, but their story, and the way it twists and turns, is somehow worth reading. 

Look at the smile. This boy of mine has the best smile and one of those laughs which rise from the belly and just makes you smile. I talked to him last night. There is still some snow on the ground in Alaska. "Are your feet cold?" the forever mother in me asked him. 
"No, Ma, I am good, " he says laughing. 
He leaves for camp tomorrow. 

three of our of six.... 

xoxo 

restlessness. . .

“My soul is impatient with itself, as with a bothersome child; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. I attend to everything, dreaming all the while. […]. I'm two, and both keep their distance — Siamese twins that aren't attached.” ~ Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

I met a close friend for coffee the other day. I told her I was having a hard few days, I was a bit sad, homesick and feeling not like myself.  She understood and even told me she had noticed. I am not sure what causes these "moods" within me. There are times I just feel like I am lost, on the wrong path, stuck. He tells me I over-think things, have too much time on my hands. My friend tells me I take blame for everything and carry everyone's burdens within my heart.  They are both right. 

Later that day we met up with another friend. She bounded in, pounced down on the couch, her colorful dress flying up around her knees, and pronounced she too, was in one of her "moods". The two of us commemorated on what was going on between us. She then proclaimed she was not sad, but restless. I sat and listened; she is so full of life, so animated, so giving and kind. I would by lying if I didn't say that I found some comfort in the fact that she too was a bit off, this woman who is full of direction and self confidence. I always like to know I am not the only one.

This morning, while preparing to write this, I looked it up and as I was doing so I thought to myself; I think this is a sign of having too much time on your hands! I raised kids, I taught school, I knew what the word meant. Come on, I should know if it applies to me. 

And you know what? I think it does a bit. I am restless, and not really sure what to do next. I have thrown myself into my camera over the last 18 months or so, and I have to credit it with giving me a way to see my world in a whole different light. It has opened up roads of creativity for me and allowed me to learn new things and meet some very amazing woman. And I don't plan on putting it down anytime soon. But I am growing restless. So I have to start thinking about what is next. Looking for ways to take it to that next level, or at least veer off on some rocky, yet colorful side paths. And before you think I am looking for an encore profession, I will stop you right there. I am not interested in getting published or selling, I just want to enjoy, feel passion and grow. 

I look back through my Flickr stream and my posts here and I see growth. But I am also see the same ol' things. I also am amazed at the restrictions I place on myself. Silly restrictions, which make no sense. So I think it is time to get out of the house, off my butt and try some new things. Experiment with different camera settings and have some fun post processing.  Slow things down and speed things up. Get out in the streets some, try different angles and step out of my comfort zone. There will still be photos of sweet grand-dogs, especially Basil as tomorrow he comes home with us for four months, and the #coffeediaries will still happen, and photos of flowers, lots of flowers and of course there will be self portraits and a few videos. But there will be new things too. And there will be writing accompanied by bad grammar, misspelled words, rambling thoughts and some humor. But there will be writing. 

I have decided restlessness is not necessarily a  bad thing, but maybe a sign to take myself a bit more serious. Because if I don't, who will? 

i am heading home, real home, in a bit to say goodbye to my boy, 
hope your day is amazing, 
xoxo 

weekending

"Humans withdraw to their homes, and surrender the night to the creatures that own it: the crickets, the owls, the snakes. A world that hasn't changed for hundreds of thousands of years wakes up, and carries on as if the daylight and the humans and the changes to the landscape have all been an illusion.” ~  M.L. Stedman, The Light Between Oceans

weekending:
dinner with friends
boat magic
three hours of Mad Men (I am all caught up now)
another rhubarb crisp was made
plus rhubarb was chopped and put in the freezer for this winter
phone calls from the boys
an engagement was announced (not one of my kids)
and while they fished i read on the deck (where there was lots of action)

i hope your weekend was good, 
xox

five on friday

“Avoid men who call you Baby, and women who have no friends, and dogs that scratch at their bellies and refuse to lie down at your feet. Wear dark glasses; bathe with lavender oil and cool fresh water. Seek shelter from the sun at noon.” ~ Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic

Our new book club pick is this. I think it will be really good. 

He leaves in just a few days to go here. I am beyond excited for him, but hate the thought of not seeing him for four, long months. There won't be any daily photos, like there were in the Bahamas's, because of the slow internet connection.  Dang. 

New summer music. Heard them on NPR, I think they are great. 

Our picnic table at home exploded... yes, exploded. Luckily, no one was hurt. I want this one to replace it. 

This week in my  52 of You class we did meme's. Here is one of mine: 
1. What is your favorite word? gutsy
2. What is your least favorite word? intimidated 
3. What turns you on? encouragement 
4. What turns you off? snide remarks
5. What sound do you love? Basil baying at the dog park 
6. What sound do you hate? parent's who talk down to their children
7. What is your favorite curse word? still damn, although we talked about my not liking the word "f" word last night at dinner and my guys think i just need practice! 
8. What profession other than yours would you like to attempt? the owner of a bookstore on the Oregon Coast. i would make homemade cinnamon rolls each Wednesday and Basil would hang out there with me. we would close when the sun was out and walk on the beach.
9. What profession would you not like to do? snake handler
10. If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? you can relax now, all is okay


we are going out to dinner with some good friends tonight,
what are you plans? 
xoxo

got milk. . .

"Get off your horse and drink your milk."~ John Wayne

I can still see my mother sitting behind the counter of the small little dairy store where she worked as I was growing up. A heater beside her legs in the winter to keep her warm, and the back door propped open in the summer, hoping for a cool breeze. I was one of the few kids who had a mom who worked back then. I never gave it much thought, it was just what she did. She took her job very serious and her store was spotless and her customers loved her. The store was shaped like a giant  milk bottle (check it out) and is still standing in Spokane. Over the years businesses have come and gone, but last time I checked, it sat empty and looked a bit sad. 

Almost everyone drank cows milk back then. Real milk. Full fat milk. And people used cream or half and half in their coffee. Mom would bring home a fresh glass bottle every night. And on the weekends she would bring home a couple of gallons. We drank milk with every meal. I remember the day she came home with a handful of plastic, yellow spouts. They were new at the store and you snapped them right over the top of the bottle and then the milk would pour with very little chance of it spilling all over the place. People rinsed their bottles out and brought them back and there was no deposit for the bottle like there is today. Mom always claimed she got her knock-out arm definition from keeping those milk cases full throughout the day.  And you know, she was probably right.



The store also sold cheese, butter, buttermilk, cottage cheese and ice cream. And our family ate every kind of dairy product there was.  Mom would make milk toast for us for breakfast. She would toast two slices of bread and butter them, then gently pour warm milk over the top. We would then sprinkle it with cinnamon and  and sugar. The celebrated food writer M. F. K. Fisher called milk toast "a warm, mild, soothing thing, full of innocent strength." And I think that she was right.  

My parent's drank milk until the day they died. My mother drank it every day. She loved it. I have tried the soy, the almond, the coconut even the hemp. Why? In the attempt to make myself feel less guilty?  More healthy? I can see my mother rolling her eyes at me right now. But nothing taste like real milk to me. And so we are milk drinkers. We drink local and organic when we can. For years we drank 1% and then, after coming back from three weeks in Europe, I switched us to 2%. Try asking for a tall skinny latte in Italy. They think you are nuts. Their lattes were amazing, smaller and richer, always made with whole milk. So sometimes I even buy whole milk. And in the summer time, there is always organic half and half in the fridge, because a splash in an iced coffee is a must.

I struggle so today with the way our food is handled, the way the animals are treated, the over processing and over handling of it all. I get frustrated with the hand the government plays in farming and the dirty practices which we have so little control over any more.  Consequently I work hard to make sure what we eat is safe and if possible, to know the source of where our food came from.  But it is not easy work. To do this I shop several different stores and defiantly pay more at the checkout stand. I know not everyone can do this and it concerns me.  I worry about where our food is headed.

I like to picture my two grandmother's or even my mom (who has been gone eleven years now) making their way down today's grocery aisles. My dad's mother, her snow-white hair up in a bun, her dark dress bushing against her knees, would find her way to the baking aisle  where she would pick up the pie fillings. I would read the list of ingredients to her and she would ponder them over in her head, questioning, because no one makes a pie like hers. My other grandmother, much shorter and a bit rounder, would spend time looking at the canned fish, maybe remembering all hot days she spent in her kitchen doing the same thing with the fish my grandfather brought home, or in the soup aisle, again questioning. So much of our food is not even recognizable as real food. What would they think about that I wonder? I imagine they would be a bit enamored, these woman who worked so hard to put food on the table. I expect they would be a little fascinated. But I like to think that in the end they would be a bit put off.  I would like to think they would feel like I do, that it just does not feel quite right. 

got milk? hope your day is grand, 
xoxo

walk with me. . .

“However many years she lived, Mary always felt that 'she should never forget that first morning when her garden began to grow'.” 
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

When we moved into our house, some 27 years ago, the yard looked like a park.  I would be out front and a neighbor would walk by and stop to introduce themselves and then they would ask if they could come into the backyard and take a look. It made me wonder if the people who lived here before us were grumpy about sharing their beautiful space. We were young, our three boys were young, and I knew it would be hard for us to keep it looking like the park setting it was. 

The yard was big, just about 2/3 of an acre. There was a huge garden spot and lots of flower beds and lots and lots of rhododendrons. In the spring the yard was alive with color. But once spring past, everything was lush and green, but there was no color. So I slowly started to add some perennials into the mix.

I took out some of the rhodies and replaced them with astilbe, peony, daisies, masterworts, bee-balm, lots of phlox and lots of roses. At one point I had 67 roses in the yard. The boys were use to me hollering out the back door, "Be careful of my flowers!" Although truth be told, I knew there really was not much they could do to harm them. Flowers are extremely robust and if a stem was broken, it just made the flower bloom more. 

Over the years we have shared our yard with lots of dogs. A 108 pound lab and a few muts.  And again the flowers always seem to survive. Sweet little Basil has treasures hid all over our yard and I swear the little guy knows where each one is. He is careful when he digs a hole. The worst culprits I had in my garden, the ones who did the most damage, were a pair of morning doves. They were fun to watch, but man they could trample a bed of hardy geraniums flat in just minutes. I had to quit feeding them. 

Our yard is not the park-like setting it was when we moved in. In fact there is one spot which we just allowed nature to take over. The boys built a fort back there when they were little, all covered in blackberry vines and wild ferns. It was like having their own forest. Luckily going back to nature looks pretty good here in Western Washington. But someday I plan on claiming this piece of land back. 

In the meantime it is home to a couple of old bikes, some blackberry vines, weeds, and lots of sweet  memories. 

This is just about my favorite place to set in my yard. There is a small stream the boys gave me a few years back and a couple of little fishing boys there to look at. It is where I drink my morning coffee and read in the afternoon. 

This is the only old photo in this post. The others were all taken over the past weekend. But I needed to share the garden. At one time it was twice this big. We cut it in half after the boys left home. It sits empty today, except for a few strawberry plants, the rhubarb and raspberry bushes and one huge lemon balm plant. Right now it has a pretty hardy crop of dandelions going. I miss not having a big vegetable garden. Miss going out at dinner to pick our salad fixings and dig a mess of potatoes.  But it needs constant care and watering, so for now it is on hold. 

There are weeds galore, blackberry bushes and morning glory. And it has been a long time since one of the neighbors has asked to peek in the back. But they do accept a handful of zucchini from me or a bouquet of daisies from time to time.  And friends and family sit around the fire pit, or in the log swing, which sits out in the cool grass and talk and laugh. Sometimes the work it involves overwhelms me. But I also know the work is what has helped keep my weight at check over last several years and now that I am not out there everyday, I need to find something to replace it, because the weight is creeping back on.

I have learned over the years that someone else will always have a more perfect yard, less weeds, straight edging, more garden art. I know now that I will always have beds which need to be weeded and roses which need to be pruned. I have worked hard over the years creating little sanctuaries throughout the yard to to sit and relax; places to sit in the morning sun or the afternoon shade. In the past it was really hard just to sit and not constantly be looking around and see things that needed to be done. But the older I get the more I sit. And the more I sit the more I enjoy. And that. . .  makes me happy. 

xoxo