You've Got a Ma'am-O-Gram

I was mortified yesterday when I checked into the Center for Breast Health at the local hospital. The receptionist had me fill out some forms while she pulled up my records. Honestly, for the sake of my dignity I'm not going to share with you how many years have past since my last mammogram.

You know this is very dangerous behavior and certainly not an example I wish to set for my own daughter. It's more dangerous than riding Harley's and I gave that up years ago.



I could rationalize it and say that I've been occupied with other health issues but that's stupid. You're never too busy or too pre-occupied to do the basics of healthcare.

Previously the tests were done in the hospital's radiology department, but in the intervening years they've built a new office building which houses the Center for Breast Health. All I can say is WOW.

This was a literal Breast Health Spa. You need to understand that we live 9 miles from anything and 9 miles from everything. What that means is our small, rural communities are being overrun by advancing development. It's not just development but very, very affluent development. There is a definite culture differential which is demonstrated by this Breast Health Center.

I've been accused many times of having just fallen off the turnip truck. Heck, it happened just the other day when I went into Chicago. Even though I live in a simpler culture I've spent some time in five-star hotels and this breast health center rivaled anything they might offer.

If you live close to "the other half", you'll get a peek into their world. Let's just say my daughter-the-commercial-interior-designer would be flipping out over the fact that they've used all the high-end designer materials that she loves. There were amazing glass doors and windows. I've never seen anything like them. The front desk was beautiful and they had big bowls of Hershey's kisses. The main waiting area had a hospitality bar with bottled water, coffee, tea and snacks. There was a wireless computer available for use.

When it's time for your mammogram you're ushered back to another waiting room which is identically stocked with food and drink. The technician opens the door to the changing room and .....what's this???? Taffeta hospital gowns...in four sizes!! Taffeta! I had a taffeta ball gown once but I never dreamed of having a taffeta hospital gown. And they had these packets in the dressing room:



I tucked a couple into my purse because you never know when you might need one. It probably wasn't a good idea though because the label clearly states they're for "Professional and Hospital Use Only."

A problem quickly arose when I realized that there were men and family members in the waiting room. What I didn't understand (since I haven't been here in many years) was that they have a new program. There's a radiologist on site everyday and he reads the reports as quickly as they're produced and you receive the results before you leave the center. Oh my. They do the mammogram and if needed they do the ultrasound and if needed they do the biopsy. Do you know where I'm going with this? These women have brought their family members to support them in case it's bad news.

I didn't know about this program and now I'm sitting here alone, getting a little scared because my doctor felt something...not alarming, but something that needed to be addressed. What could I do? I had my cell phone. If things went badly I could call someone.

I turned these thoughts over and over in my mind. Would I want my husband, daughter or son there "in real time"? I don't know. Bad news would affect them also, and I'd find myself comforting them too. Wouldn't it be better to have some time to process the information and then share?

This visit raised an awful lot of questions for me. Luckily my tests were fine and I didn't actually have to face them head on. But I'll be thinking about this, just in the case the day arrives that throws me headlong into these issues.

Please .... ride a Harley, don't skip your mammogram!

NOTE: I published an entry late last night. Please scroll down and read about Corey Amaro and her family. Thanks to everyone who takes time out of their busy day to visit and share.

This Is My Father's World

Fellow blogger Corey Amaro has lost her father.

Corey is an American who married a Frenchman and moved overseas to make a life and raise a family. Her father became very ill about 3 months ago and she returned home to be at his bedside.

Their story is an incredible journey of love and committment. It's a story of faith and family. It's a journey that many of us have taken with our own loved ones.

For 87 days and nights this man's family sat by his side, taking shifts so he would never be alone. It's a loving tale of helping someone find peace.

If you haven't followed her story, I encourage you to read her archives.

Corey Amaro's incredible journey.

The music this morning is a favorite hymn from my childhood, This is My Father's World. Corey would say that this is a day for singing.

I'm Killing My Family One Pan of Paella at a Time

Welcome SITS Sisters. Don't forget to visit my main page for a chance to win one of my aprons.

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That title is not exactly accurate because I've never actually cooked paella, but you have to admit that "I'm killing my family one pan of chipped beef at a time" just doesn't have the same ring to it. Agreed?

The potentially dangerous situation lurks in this pan:



It's a very nice, large non-stick pan. It wasn't cheap and when I bought it my plan was to tuck it in a box in my closet and save it for "the retirement". It's very similar to the practice of keeping a hope chest and based on the fact that I'm hoping to retire. That plan seemed pretty stupid on second thought and I needed something really big for that chipped beef.



The problem comes in with my inability to stick to the rules in regards to non-stick cookware. You know.....you need to use those special plastic utensils. I can follow the rules if it involved spoons or those pasta fork thingies, but I draw the line at spatulas. Those plastic spatulas just don't have enough oomph to them. When I try to get under those boneless pork chops they bend instead of scrape.

I've tried, really I've tried. But I always resort to my old favorite. A wood handled metal spatula. My best friend in the kitchen, next to my wooden spoons.

If I'm to believe the scientific evidence we're all in danger. Of course they fail to mention that you'd need to eat a railroad car full of the errant shavings from the bottom of this pan in order to trigger something bad. How do I know? I'm living proof.

I drank an ocean full of TAB in the 70's and have lived to tell about it!

And yes, that's butter in the pan, because everyone knows that chipped beef starts with a really good roux, and really good roux starts with butter.

If I could figure out how to tag my stories and categorize them, this would be under the "Bad Wife & Mommy" heading.


NOTE: The Farmer came into my office the other day. I have a list of potential story ideas written on a big sheet of freezer paper behind my desk. He was scanning down the list and came to something that read "I'm killing my family....". He got pretty worried, thinking it involved a plot to grab insurance money and head for Tahiti. Nah, he should know my plans are never that ambitious!

Staking My Claim

Right here in front of Bill Gates and the World Wide Web I'm officially staking my claim. I know that Dooce* and The Pioneer Woman get between 4-5 million views a month and Pioneer Woman alone gets 3,000 plus comments but they've got nothing on me. Why? I've got something much more practical and I'm going to stick my neck out and say that I'm the only blogger on the WWW that has their own......



That's right. I have a Grammar Nazi. She said it was OK to share her identity with you but I wasn't too sure about that. You see, it's a calculated risk to share this kind of information. Think about your reluctance to share that special family recipe, or the name of a terrific housekeeper. If you share the name of that housekeeper you risk the chance of losing her or getting bumped off the schedule. Some things just need to remain a closely guarded secret. But I trust Paula not to jump ship. Heck, she just took the job so she's got to stay for at least a little while.

I promise to do my best each and every day so she doesn't get overworked.

I'm probably the only blogger to also have an official Crappy Commenter. That's PamKittyMorning. She nominated herself. I knew you could do it Pam! Way to go. Please, don't be commenting because you'll spoil your standing here and I'll have to find someone else for that position.

(I've got a really cute picture of a baby chick - a "peep" - that would be perfect for this spot. I just can't FIND it)

I'd like you to take a moment or two and look at my sidebar. Just below my picture I've got a special offer.....free subscriptions, as long as they last. Don't miss an episode of my exciting life, nine miles from anything. It's a page turner for sure.

Just below that is a list of my "Peeps". Mary Jane Butters already has her Farmgirls so I can't use that phrase. Peeps seemed appropriate. If you look at the list you'll see I have some openings. If you think you'd like to be one of my Peeps, let me know. I'll be adding other openings as the need arises.

I'd really be OK if no one claimed "Troll". I suppose every blog needs one but perhaps we could leave that one permanently open.

*NOTE: I'm not linking to Dooce because she's a bit too profane for my taste and I think we can all get together and have some fun without cussing.

The Way Back Machine

The Time: Yesterday
The Place: Winfield, Illinois

Here "At Home" means a trip in the Way Back Machine but since we went way back just yesterday, I thought today we would stay closer to home.

This is our great-niece Laura on her first communion day. Her parents Ron and Mary Lou are examples of the young families that I admire. They are raising five daughters together.

I hold them both in the highest esteem. Mary Lou is an amazing young woman. She is able to do what I could never seem to master, which is working full-time and handling all the responsibilites that come with a large family. She's a teacher which means she has summers off, but still it's a daunting task.

Mary Lou and Ron recently lost a close friend to breast cancer. They are terrific fundraisers and they'll be walking in a three-day event to support the Susan G. Komen Breast fund.

I noticed in this morning's paper that Target has a breast cancer promotion. They will donate 5% of net profits from the sale of certain products, and in addition they are donating $25,000.



I seriously need to start exercising and I think I'd look adorable on that pink Schwinn bicycle. What do you think?



The most important thing you can do is to schedule your mammogram. Mine is on Tuesday. Have you scheduled yours?

Have a blessed day everyone.

What Do You Mean You Were Real People?

Do your children see you as a real person? I would be very surprised if you said yes. In our children's eyes we are forever typecast as parental units. They cannot imagine that we were once young and hip.


Photo taken in the year 5 B.C. (before children)

I've always balked against this typecasting and have repeatedly reminded my children that I once rode a motorcycle. A very big motorcycle. The idea seemed so shocking to them that they immediately filed it in their mental trash file. Yeah, right mom.

The Farmer and I have also discussed his skydiving adventures and my muscle cars. I'll admit it's probably a little difficult to imagine your mom taking people off the line or cleaning carburetors, but it's true.

My daughter was home from college recently and imagine my surprise when she actually started questioning me about the good old days. Is she thinking about us in a different light? That's a new development.

Her question was concerning the 60's and the 70's.

"What was it like mom? Were you there for the summer of peace and love?"

What she didn't know was that at that time I was working for a company that was under government contract.

"No, I couldn't go to Woodstock because I was busy working on a project. I had a top secret government clearance. Did you know that?"

If you want watch a kid flip out just tell them something like that.

I'm encouraged that perhaps she is understanding that we did indeed have a life before kids. And sometimes that life was pretty darn interesting.

My take on the 60's would fill a book. It's a Gordian knot and we'll talk about it more another time.

NOTE: The really bad photo of us was taken in the Other Mother's kitchen. This is in the 70's. Note the beads hanging behind us. I sewed that red cowl neck dress myself! And YES, I really did have a top secret clearance! If you're reading this on April 26th I'm playing Woodstock by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.

Gratitude and Attitude and the Rest of the Story

First thing this morning I'd like to say thank you to everyone who takes time out of their busy day to visit here. I mean that sincerely because our lives are so busy we must make choices as to how we spent spend our limited time.

I'm not sure what it is you find when you come here but I do know what your visit means to me. You see, I live 9 miles from anything, it's a choice we've made and it's a wonderful place to be. But there is a cost.

Living in a rural community means you're isolated from other people and although things like this make it more bearable,



...it's still difficult at times.

Let's just say it's a very small pond and sometimes you long for the exciting stuff that's happening in the big pond. That's the grass-is-always-greener syndrome. The internet is the biggest pond of all.....the world is available to you. But of course too many choices can make us very unhappy.

The people I've met here "At Home" have enriched my life in ways that were surprising to me. I never expected such an open climate of sharing. I was raised in a time when resources and talents were kept "close to the vest". I've watched the roles of women change dramatically and I'm simply in awe of today's younger women. I'll talk more about that another day. I could write a book on the subject.

Lately my mind has been working on a Mission Statement because it's important to define what you're trying to accomplish in your writings, who you'd like to be conversing with and most important, what you have of value that you can share with others.

After a mini-rant the other day and my story about our own encounter with the Department of Children & Family Services I realized I hadn't gotten back to you with the rest of the story. And yes, you need to know the rest of the story.

No, we were never able to find out who reported us. I realize the necessity for anonymity in these situations but believe me when you're an innocent party on the other end of an accusation such as this it's frustrating and hurtful.

The Farmer and I spent lots of time on the phone with the agency and finally realized it was fruitless. We spent many an hour thinking about this. We were well thought of in the neighborhood, at least that's what we believed. There were no disagreements with the neighbors, so we ruled out a vengeance motive. That left us to examine what was happening in our house, or what our children might have said that could have been misconstrued.

There was only one thing we could think of that was a possible explanation. The Other Mother was not living with us at the time, but occasionally she would spend a weekend to help me clean (she's a whiz at that) or to babysit so the Farmer and I could go on a date. The kids would need to finish up watching TV early because at 7:00 p.m. her "shows" would start. Now, if you know anything about older people you'd know that they are loyal to their TV shows.

We think the problem arose from the fact that The Other Mother was a fan of a stupid dating game show called St^ds. Fill in the blanks or click on this link for an overview (don't worry - G rated). My kids would probably have been in the room and can imagine the result of a child saying to a neighbor, "We watched St-ds the other night".

Ooooops, they might have forgotten to mention that they were watching it with their grandmother!!!!

And that my friends, is how you find a social worker standing on your doorstep.

Pictured above is an Olde English Southdown Babydoll Sheep. Click on the link and be prepared to have your heart melted. I took the photo at Garfield Farm's Rare Breed show that takes place every May. I'm hoping they'll be there again this year. We don't have livestock, but I'm wanting one of these sheep!!

An Elephant Never Forgets

But I certainly do!

Do you have one of these gadgets yet?



It's a digital voice recorder and it has changed my life. Well, it's made it neater and safer. I'm a list maker and I was getting frustrated with constantly scrounging around for pen and paper to jot something down. My purse was loaded with index cards and every couple of days I'd have to spend time figuring out which lists were old and which were current.

I was in danger of being a victim of road rage as drivers behind me would honk their horns endlessly as I sat at stoplights editing lists long after the light had turned green. Enter the little voice recorder. See how small it is.



The Farmer had one a couple of years ago but it was large and difficult to operate. Here's side one of the direction sheet that came with my recorder.



HA! Don't get scared, it's really very simple to work. I just think the technical writer was getting paid by the word. There are different folders, so you can organize your messages.

My handbag has three separate pockets inside and that means there's room for my cell phone, the recorder and my iPod or some lipstick. When I get into the car I pull it out and slip it into the cup holder between the seats. That way I can grab it quickly.



I'd looked at these but they really weren't in my budget but I stumbled upon this one for under $10. This is really sad but I was so excited that I attempted to bust into the packaging right in the parking lot......using a plastic Taco Bell knife.



That didn't work. But as you can see it did work on the package of chocolate covered graham crackers.

The first message I left on my new toy?

"Buy yourself a switchblade knife and keep it in the car for occasions such at this."

Here's a message recorded just for you. As you can see I'm technologically challenged!! Or as Sark likes to call it, perfectly imperfect.



Over and out.

Burning Down the House

The first thing you're going to ask me is how could a list of Mother's Day gift suggestions have anything to do with burning down the house? Stick with me, I'll get around to it eventually.

The new Ulta sales flyer came in the mail today. I don't know if you have one of these stores near you. They are purveyors of makeup and beauty supplies which is not something I have much use for since all my beauty went south about 15 or 20 years ago. I did try some of that new mineral powder foundation which proved to be a total disaster. It simply fell into the cracks and accentuated the entire terrible facial landscape.

They always produce a beautiful flyer with all kinds of suggestions and some type of free gift with purchase. This time around if you make a $30 fragrance purchase you can snag one of these bags either for mom or for yourself.

They're pretty cute. I don't know about the quality, but ...they're FREE, and free is always a good thing.

I normally don't wear any type of perfume or cologne. Let's just say that women of a certain age need to be careful about these things. Have you ever been trapped in a car with your grandmother who's wearing White Shoulders?

The kids sometimes buy me cologne for me as a gift. This past Christmas my son got me a bottle of Goddess from Kimora Lee Simmons. I'll confess right here that I never even knew who she was until I stumbled across her TV show. Her perfume is nice but I really, really love the bottle.



I've always been known to choose perfume based on the bottle design. This goes for men's fragrance also. The Farmer has been forced into wearing some really stinky stuff simply because of a cool bottle.

My new favorite is something I spotting in Ulta's flyer. It's called Nina. Look at this bottle.....I'm in LOVE.

Honestly the cologne could smell like pig swill and I'd still buy it. I'm telling you that marketing, product design and the advertising world know what they're doing! Isn't it a piece of art?

If the kids buy me the luciously bottled Nina cologne they can get me one of those free handbags and call it a day. But wait. Further back in the flyer there's something way more practical. Look........ the marketing and advertising gurus have included ....... a personal fan! Because you know what they say.....

At 50 the madwoman comes down out of the attic and burns the house down!

Yeah, that fan could come in handy when you're standing in line at the pharmacy picking up your menopause medications. Or when you're talking to someone really important and your body suddenly feels like Mount St. Helen with red-hot lava rising in your veins. Or when everyone's gotten on your last nerve and you declare,

EVERYBODY OUTTA THE POOL!!!!

You could just pull that personal fan out of your free handbag and cool things down a bit.

Yeah, that would work.


ED. UPDATE - Oooops. Bad blogger, bad blogger. I've provided a link above to Ulta's website. Go there and check out the entire flyer.

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And we have a winner!!!



Lucy, were you feeling lucky today? You've won the cookbook. Send me an e-mail so I can get this off to you. Congratulations.

David Copperfield's Got Nothing on Her

When the Other Mother was standing in line waiting to be born she asked for two helpings of energy and three helpings of stamina. And she got them.

Born into an immigrant farm family those two traits were in great demand and have served her well for 86 years. I have mentioned the difficulties of living in a multi-generational family but the truth is that she has carried more than her weight around here. The extra doses of energy and stamina create a problem though because at some point you become a slave to them.

Women down through the ages have known that whether in a cave or a McMansion, running a household is alot of work.



When we lived in the Little Blue House on the Prairie our laundry room was just off our family room. One night I was finishing up a load of laundry and the Farmer complained because he was trying to watch his favorite program, "Can't you do laundry on Tuesday?" he asked. (Insert laugh track here)

Every mother across the world is getting a big laugh at that statement. Do laundry on TUESDAY? I was incredulous at his lack of understanding.

"Honey....I do laundry EVERY DAY. Sometimes twice a day if there's a soccer game."

And so having two women in a household to share the chores can be a plus, except when the kitchen is involved, but we've talked about that subject before. When I was working full-time it was good to come home to a hot meal prepared by the Other Mother, although I didn't always appreciate the hundreds of ways cabbage can be prepared. A spotlessly clean bathtub that doesn't involve any effort on your part is always a good thing, especially since the whirlpool tub involves climbing in and scrubbing from the inside out.

As time marches on and time and age limit your world, daily chores take on a new meaning. In some cases they become the meaning, There are times when the Other Mother seems to grab the laundry before it can hit the floor.

But there seems to be a new development in the laundry department around here. The other day I took the dogs for a long walk and worked up quite a sweat. When I walked in the door and through the laundry room I noticed that my clothing smelled totally fresh. A faint mist of April Fresh Downy wafted up from beneath my jacket. That can only mean one thing.......David Copperfield's got nothing on the Other Mother..

.....she's figured out a way to do the laundry while we're still wearing it!!!!

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Don't forget to leave a comment here. The free cookbook drawing is tomorrow. Don't miss out!

Death by Underwire

Time is running out for me. Each day I'm living under borrowed time. Unfortunately recent events have dictated that I will need to go shopping soon. Have you ever heard of life-saving shopping trips?

What precipitated this emergency was that fact that in the last couple of weeks my final two bras suffered severe equipment failure. Let's just say that I was running the risk of being front page news.



Over the years I've graduated from training bra to sexy bra, to nursing bra and finally the precision engineered underwire model. That's quite a journey. I simplified the matter a couple of years ago when I stumbled upon a well fitting design. I'd buy up two in every color and be done with the matter for awhile. But then disaster struck. The manufacturer quit making the style and also adjusted their sizing. My plan was shot to bits and I was back at square one.

I was thinking of calling The Mother for advice. She worked in the lingerie department of a snooty high-end department store for awhile. As part of her duties she was required to fit bras. I really don't want to know what that task entails. It sure doesn't sound like anything I'd like to do, but I thought that perhaps she might have some suggestions on how to get a good bra that fits. This is certainly something I should know at this point in my life, but hey, I was off raising the next generation of responible adults.

A quick search on Dogpile reveals that there's something in the lingerie world called a "balconette" bra. I come from the generation that only had a few types of bras, either the cotton granny-type bra or the Dixie cup pointy bra.

I was left dumbounded as to what a balconette might be. Unfortunately my "girls" would never sit on a balcony and due to gravity they'll be sitting in the orchestra pit.

Wonders never cease. Not only is there a balconette bra, there's a Lingerie Glossary to explain the terms to all of us unenlightened folks. And seriously, I thought I knew it all.

There are M#rry Widows (gotta be careful how you spell these things because the naughty b0ys search this stuff) and Teddiette's. Who knew?

Trust me, I will get this situation under control, and hopefully before I'm mortally wounded.

I might even find something in black!

NOTE: In the tradition of our local paper, the newspaper story above contains a typo. Can you find it?

The Way Back Machine

Time: Spring, 1967

Place: Our home, Maywood, Illinois

How Mod can you get? This was taken in my bedroom in the old Victorian farmhouse where we lived during my teenage years. I can still remember the clawfoot bathtub and the beautiful imported English tiles around the fireplace. Last year I drove past and the house looks pretty much the same. I wonder how the interior has changed.

This is probably what you'd refer to as a "come hither" pose, which has me falling off the chair in laughter. I'm sure my boyfriend had given me those flowers and this was my was of recording the event and looking cool. I simply cannot imagine who took this shot. I know it was taken with my first Polaroid which took some awesome black and whites. (Sigh, no more film after this year). There's no way my brother took the picture. Holy cow, he would have died with laughter just at the thought. I can't imagine my little sisters cooperated in this effort. Maybe the old Polaroid had a timer on it, I just can't remember.

The canopy bed was a gift from my grandmother when I was 10. And see the sparkly pin in the center of my dress? It's still in my jewelry box along with some other pieces I'd bought around this time.

As you can see I was always into "inspiration walls". Behind me are photos ripped out of Vogue (my fashion Bible at the time). Twiggy, Jean Shrimpton (so pretty) and Cher ruled the day. Cher was such a trend setter until Bob Mackie got a hold of her.

Here's the truth about this photo. I was CLUELESS, totally clueless about anything. I was not a mess yet, but I was on my way to being a really big mess. Why? Because after this photo was taken I spent the next 20 years trying to be what I thought my mother, father, friends, husband and the general public wanted me to be. That'll get you in a therapists chair.

It did.

I worked.

Gotta better.

Found me.

Lived happily ever after. The end.

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Occassionally I'm going to have a feature called, "Sweeping Out the Kitchen" in which I'll pass along little bits of interesting information that I've collected during the week. I will include things that just don't quite fit into other posts, or perhaps I'll be cleaning out drawers or closets and giving stuff away. You just never know around here. So let's sweep out the kitchen.

PHILADELPHIA FRIDA

If you're living on the east coast you might want to make plans to visit Philadelphia because Frida is coming to town! I'm sure that everyone in Philly knows about this but those of you who live a bit further should think about making the trek. In addition to her artwork there are going to be photos that have never before been exhibited.


COOKBOOK NEEDS A NEW HOME

This week I purchased some new cookbooks on my thrifting trip. That means something's got to go. I've got to make room for these new books. If you're interested in this cookbook leave a comment. I will be drawing a name on Wednesday morning.



Don't be fooled by the title. Although there is a section devoted to recipes for dog biscuits and other pet treats, this book was written for humans. Compiled as a fundraiser for the McLean County Humane Society of Bloomington, Illinois, it includes recipes for zucchini enchiladas, oriental cabbage salad, Kahlua pie and more.

It can be yours. Just let me know you're interested.

That's it for Sunday, April 20, 2008. If you're listening on this date the music selection is "Green Pastures" by Emmylou Harris. This music is a classic example of what's called Bluegrass Gospel, and it's what I remember from my youth. I've been tinkering as you can see and I'd like to know what you think of Blog Music. Good? Bad? Annoying? Let me know.

Martinis and Mushrooms

Today we're going to do some cooking and the reason is, I found this at the local Italian grocery store.



It's about 8 lbs. of mushrooms and they were being clearanced out at $2 simply because they're not the freshest. That means I'm going to be making lots of mushroom omelets, mushroom appetizers and a large batch of mushroom soup, which can be frozen to enjoy later.

Over 20 years ago I attended a cooking class and the instructor made mushroom soup. It was not like anything I'd ever tasted, at least not like any canned mushroom soup. It's just fantastic. Here's the recipe.



But before we get started let me explain the martini thing. No, I don't drink martinis when I'm cooking and I don't usually serve martinis with mushroom soup. In my world the martini glass is the universal standard of measurement. Whether you're in Lily Lake or Helsinki, a martini glass is a martini glass, and so this is how large the box is compared with the glass.



Yes, that's alot of mushrooms!

Start slicing those mushrooms. I like a wooden cutting board, using one side for meat and savory foods and the other side for sweet things.



I do not know what this thing is called, but I couldn't live without it. It scoops up large amounts in one pass and allows you to move it to the pot.



This is stock base. They sell it in beef, chicken or vegetable flavors and one jar goes a long, long way. You mix 1 tsp. to 1 cup of water to make a cup of stock. It's so handy. This particular brand came from Sam's Club, but you can find stock base at alot of different stores.



Here I'm mixing the sour cream into the ingredients. Don't worry, you're not eating a quarter pound of butter or a cup of sour cream, you're only eating the small portion that would be in one serving of the soup.



Let it simmer for awhile after you've added all the chicken broth. This allows the flour to slightly thicken the soup.



Here's the finished soup. It's really delicious with some crusty bread and a salad.

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Now that we have some delicious soup in our bellies we can make ourselves that martini. You might need it because I feel a mini-rant coming on.


*RANT ON*

This story is fueling the rant. Believe me when I say I've seen the effects of child abuse up close and personal and I'm always on the side of protecting the children. Do you remember me mentioning that "kid" we adopted, fed and got into college? Well he wasn't really a kid when we took him under our wing. He was 18 and just starting out in life. That's a little difficult to do when you discover that as a result of your abusive upbringing you're missing every skill you'll need as an adult. Believe me when I say it's heartbreaking to look into the soul of an abused person.

Having said that, I truly believe that officials need to use some kind of common sense. My hearts go out to these mothers. Are their beliefs putting their children in danger? That's not for me to determine and I'm sure that those armies of lawyers will figure it all out....someday, maybe in 3-5 years of litigation.

My personal experience with this subject came one sunny day. For some reason the Farmer was home that day. The doorbell rang and I found a case worker from the Dept. of Children and Family Services was standing on my doorstep. I was dumbfounded and frightened when she informed me that someone had filed a report that we were showing our children (ages 6 and 8) explicit materials. Yes, those kinds of explicit materials.

In one second, between folding laundry and making lunch I found myself facing the possibility of losing my children. Right then. Right there. In one hot second. If this women standing on my doorstep determined through her questioning that there was a possibility of truth in the accusation, my children would be in "the system". Gone in sixty seconds.

I can't even tell you what mode I shifted into, but it was hellfire. You know, that mother she-wolf claiming her ground and daring you to mess with her cubs.

Things were further complicated by the fact that my son was at a friend's house. Since she needed to interview the children together she would need to return another day.

Hell no! I drove like a madwoman to retrieve my son. There was no way I was going to sleep even one night with this unsettled.

Thirty minutes of questioning in another room. The Farmer and I were a ball of confusion - frightened, angry, defensive. I was frightened this woman might misunderstand or misinterpret my children's words. How could this be happening to me?

We listened as hard as we could and I heard one exchange.

"Have your parents shown you anything that made you feel quesy or frightened?" she asked.

"You mean like the Incredible Hulk?", answered my son.

Breathe.....oh my son, my boy...the Incredible Hulk. Yes honey, the Incredible Hulk. That's one scary dude! My knees were ready to buckle out from under me when the social worker returned to the room.

"Your children don't know what I'm talking about." she offered.

"NO...they don't", I answered.

So the scary part's over right? No. The really scary part is that we were not allowed to know who was accusing us and we needed to petition to have the report removed.

I don't know anything about this case in Texas, and I do believe in erring on the side of caution in abuse cases, but having said all that....

taking children from their mothers?

After 20 years I can close my eyes and remember standing in that doorway with the entire future of my family hanging in thin air. I saw God that morning.

*RANT OFF*

You can pour me a martini now.

Field Trip - java

Before I explain what boggled me when I left Josie's, let me talk about something that's hiding in her hayloft.

The first time I visited her antique barn it was early winter and it was cold, cold, cold. The wind was tearing through the spaces in the barn wood and it was apparent there wasn't going to be much time for browsing before frostbite set in. I noticed something behind a dining room table and chairs. There was something under plastic and just from the outline I could tell it was an MGB! I had one back in the 70's and spent many a sunny day driving around with the top down.

An entire car was parked in the hayloft and didn't even take up 1/25th of the space. That's the scale of this place. Well, it is true that an MGB is a pretty tiny car, but even a Hummer wouldn't make a very big footprint on the floor space. If you know anything about rural America, you know that it's blanketed with vintage cars all waiting to be restored. They're everywhere. You can't always see them because they're tucked in barns, old sheds or hidden under years of vines or brambles. Occasionally you'll see an old Dodge or Buick peeking out from inside a lean-to. But what awaited me as I turned right onto the highway from Josie's place was a big-boggle. A very big boggle.

What's that beyond the pile of gravel? There....see it just behind the silo?



Look.....



IT'S AN ENTIRE DRIVE-THROUGH COFFEE SHOP!!!!



I am not kidding you. This guy has a coffee shop behind his silo.

Do they make traveling, movable coffee shops? Evidently they do, because there's one sitting outside DeKalb. You've got to wonder what he plans to do with this thing. Sell it on Ebay?

And how did he explain it to his wife? What do you possibly say when the big yellow coffee shop arrives on a flatbed?

"Honey, I bought a used coffee shop. It needs a little restoration, but for now I'm going to park it out behind the silo. Next to the truck. And the travel trailer."

YEAH...that's definitely worth a year of shopping at the fabric store. There's NOTHING he could say when she walks in with 65 yards of crepe back satin and a new sewing machine.

"Look.....not a word from you. You've got a stinking coffee shop in the back yard!"

There is a point to my story, beyond the fact that the scene has such comedic possibilities. The point is that this coffee house development is ammunition the next time my family has anthing to say about my plans to create an art car.

"Mom....that's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"Oh yeah. Well, get in the car, we're going to DeKalb!!"


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BREAKING NEWS - YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST



Today is April 18th which is the anniversary of the 1906 earthquake that destroyed San Francisco.

Today Illinois experienced a 5.4 earthquake centered around West Salem in the southern part of the state.

As far as fault lines go, California's got nothing on us. The largest and most dangerous fault line in the country in centered in New Madrid, Missouri, which is just across the Mississippi from Illinois. The 1811 and 1812 earthquakes were computed to have been the largest quakes in modern history. It was 8.1 and changed the flow of Mississippi. Church bells rang as far away as Boston. An 8.1 earthquake is unbelievably violent and eyewitness reports reflect the terror it generates.

We pass through New Madrid every time we drive down to Arkansas and believe me, we're always aware of this fact. It makes you a little queasy to say the least.

Both the Farmer and the Farmer's Son need to get up early for work and our alarms went off at 4:30 a.m. The earthquake hit at 4:39. We didn't feel a thing, although there are thousands of report from this entire area and including high rises in Chicago. The Chihuahua's didn't make a peep, but hey....they can sleep through anything. My neighbor e-mailed me first thing and asked, "Didn't you feel it." No, we didn't.

I remember the earthquake we experienced back in 1972. I was living in a small cottage the middle of nowhere and the stove pipe that extended through the roof was shaking and rattling like crazy. It felt as if there was a very large truck rumbling past. The only problem was that my cottage was miles from a major road.

We'll be calling our daughter later to see if she felt anything because she lives about 200 miles from the epicenter.

Never a dull moment around here.

If you'd like to read more, here are some links:

Illinois Earthquake History

New Madrid Earthquakes of 1811 and 1812.

USGS Map

Field Trip - A Breath of Fresh Air

Yesterday was the first nice day we've had in almost six months. It's difficult to keep your spirits up through a long winter. It was a good opportunity to roll down the windows and drive across the northern Illinois landscape.

My errand for the day was to drive out to DeKalb and renew license plates for our daughter. We'll leave the discussion of the rude state employee for another day. The weather was too beautiful to focus on anything so negative as the Devil of the DMV.

There were some barns I wanted to photograph on my way home so I returned on Route 38 and I thought you might like to stop at Josie's Antiques with me. Her heart-shaped sign is out on the highway and you'll see her "open" flag flying in the breeze.

It's one lane and it's quite a distance so if there's another car coming, someone has to pull off at the edge of the cornfield.



And she's trimmed the pine trees because they used to "tickle" the car when you drove through.

When you get out of your car you'll be greeted by her Collie. I swear, Collie's make the best farm dogs. I sure miss my Bonnie.



There are several buildings filled with wonderful things. I always like to start in the main building because Josie bakes delicious chocolate cookies every morning and puts them in a glass jar on the counter. She'll offer you one, or you can help yourself.



If you stop in winter she's got the big stove fired up.



This is what I'd call the original pottery barn.



My imagination runs wild when I see things like this long harvest table. I can picture delicious dinners and wonderful friends gathered around. In the past hearty meals would have been served to farmhands who sat together at noontime, bowing heads and saying grace.



This toy typewriter reminds me of the vintage Underwood I bought the other day. Remind me to show it to you later.



This Crown range was made in Chicago. I'd love to have one of these in my kitchen. The refurbished vintage stoves are a fortune!



I'm thinking about going back for these old laundry tubs. I think they'd be great out on the deck this summer, filled with ice and cold bottles of beer and soda.



If you duck over to my photoblog for a minute you can see inside Josie's historic 1839 barn. Yes....that adds up to 169 years old!

Such a beautiful day needs to be shared and I'm glad you could come along with me.

As I turned out of Josie's I saw something that boggled my mind, and believe me it takes alot to boggle me! More about that tomorrow.

My Left Foot

What is going on in the blogosphere? I've seen more photos of feet in the last month of blog surfing than I've seen in a lifetime. It's certainly a podiatrists dream.

It seems like every other blog has pictures of people pointing the camera at their feet, or someone else's feet. This is all very unsettling for me because I hate my feet, and my hands too, but that's another story. I hate, hate, hate my feet.

The only beautiful foot I ever saw belonged to my former co-worker Cheryl. That's because her feet had been pampered with a lifetime of $60 pedicures and they were always cradled in $700 Manolo Blahniks. That explains alot.

I haven't seen so many people looking at their feet since I was a kid. We spent alot of time looking at our feet back then, but that was only if we were having an attack of shyness, or lying. Certainly hundreds of bloggers can't be lying and if you're blogging chances are you're not shy. So....what is it? A trend that's just spreading like wild fire?

I'm not one for conspiracy theories but I'm thinking that Payless Shoe Source is behind this trend. Yeah, that's it. They're paying bloggers to take photos of their feet and upload onto their websites. And there's subliminal messages in there I'm sure.



....you feel very sleepy, and a strong desire to go shopping for cute little red flats.



Or adorable lace covered shoes with matching purses.



Or how about mules with kitten heels and silver buckles?



It must have worked because in a mometary lapse of judgment I bought those mules. The Manolo Blahniks worked for Cheryl too. She sold advertising to car dealers and let's just say they were putty in her hands when she walked in wearing those and the newspaper was chocked full of ads for luxury cars.

The only place I dare to wear those silver buckled mules is at an event where people will be drinking heavily. It's only the rare drunk who will humiliate you by laughing at your ugly feet.

Just because my camera took pictures of my feet does not mean I'm jumping on the bandwagon. I was simply trying to make a point. But as Gilda Radner used to say.....NEVERMIND.

DO ME A FAVOR - Pop over to Mark's World blog and check out his Tiki Bar. Mark was my former publisher and the best boss I ever had..... and in 40 years I had alot of bosses. Anyway, a jump in traffic and comments on the site will not only thrill him, it will drive him crazy till he figures out where it's coming from. Thanks.

29th Annual Tax Day Event!

Yep, it's an annual event here at the big farmhouse. And what an event it is.

Little Cisco is looking a bit worried. But that's just because this is his first year living at the big farmhouse during tax season. I gave him a dog biscuit and assured him it would be OK. Tommorrow things will return to normal.



You can't see me because I'm just off camera working hard to contain the disaster. It was necessary for me to break out the Big Nikon and wide angle lens just to capture the scope of the event.



We start the day with a festive Ticker Tape Parade. In place of the traditional ticker tape we use a years worth of unopened junk mail and otherwise obsolete paperwork.



Then the main event begins as the oak credenza in the office explodes, spilling it's guts as far away as the kitchen. This blast contains old tax returns, vet bills, credit card statements and various other ephemera.



The major debris from the blast rains down on the family room where all attempts at "decor" have been nullified. The oriental inspired lantern threatens to start a blaze. I briefly thought about entering the pictures in HGTV's Rate My Space website as a joke but I've been told some of the "raters" take their job seriously and I'm a fragile state right now (as you can imagine).



Pancho has been through this before and he provides emotional support to the Farmer. The Farmer has mellowed over these 29 years, finally trusting that the missing document will be found in the nick of time.



At the Eleventh Hour.....just as we thought all was lost.....and in the tradition of the day......the missing document is found. All is well. God is in his heaven and the check is in the mail.

The entire day is a cathartic process and we all feel better after dragging bags of shredded paper down to the curbside. The recycling guy has other thoughts on the subject.

There are a couple of things to take note of:

- All images of the documents have been "blurrified" in Photoshop, so don't even think about stealing my identity. I can assure you that on days like this you don't want to be me.

- Don't worry about the clean up. I've been in training since January and 28 years of past experience have made me an expert. Got a messy parade? Call me.

- Vee talks about keeping it real. I have no choice. This is my life. And anyway the real story is always more interesting, just ask Lucy Ricardo.

Don't forget to snag your free Tax Day donut at Dunkin Donuts. Just order a regular coffee and the donut is free.