I have lost custody of the house for today- Sam is having a few friends over to celebrate his upcoming birthday (more on that later), so after making certain that things are “clean enough for girls” and providing rations for a dozen teens (five extra-large pizzas, Costco bag of chips, dip, ten 3-liter bottles of soda, and a full sheet cake), Chris and I are getting the heck out of Dodge until 9:00 pm. We’ll probably head to the mall to do a little shopping and maybe a movie -if there’s any thing worth our time and two full-price tickets

Prayers for the protection of my property would be greatly appreciated!

I love to tell stories- I enjoy entertaining friends & coworkers with anecdotes about my rather extensive & eccentric relations. Some might even say that I have entirely too much fun at my family’s expense; but fair is fair- they really do make it easy.

Winter Ball 2008

[A brief & embarrassing preface- my son has not had a girlfriend (or even a date, that I know of) in nearly 2 years. As cute, charming, & funny as we all know Sam is, his open, friendly nature combined with the baby-face of a 14 year old seems to keep him in the “I really like him…as a friend” category with the majority of females.]

The premier high school social event of the season is the Winter Ball, which is held in January at a location in San Francisco. None of my children has ever gone to this dance- mainly because it is a “Girl’s Choice” event; Jess wasn’t interested in doing “high school” stuff, & Sam, well, has never been asked.

Until now.

About a month ago, KN, the girlfriend of Sam’s tricking buddy MC, unofficially asked Sam to accompany her to Winter Ball (I say unofficially because there is evidently a whole ritual that is involved with the certified “official” invitation to Winter Ball, the mysteries of which we are not allowed to delve). This unofficial invitation was proceeded by a series of protracted negotiations between KN, MC, & Sam; you see, MC has graduated & therefore is not allowed to attend the dance, KN is a senior & wants to make a last splash with a safe escort, & Sam just wants to help a friend without getting his a$$ kicked. This process took several days of trading phone calls, IM’s, & notes between the principals (“Are you sure this is okay with you?”) before being settled, & then the planning began.

Being a helpful & encouraging Mom, I told Sam to remember that first & foremost, he will be KN’s life-sized Ken doll, so forget about having any say whatsoever in his attire for the evening. Since transportation had already been prearranged (a charter bus for 20 couples), the restaurant selected (some place in Japantown), & the tickets purchased by the inviter, his responsibility was to ask what style & color dress KN would be wearing, so he could order the appropriate corsage, & to show up on time, showered, shampooed, & shined.

I guess I overestimated his role.

Following Mom’s sage advise, Sam sought out KN a few days later to pose the color scheme question; he told me he got as far as, “Hi”, before KN barked out the following orders:

“Good, you saved me a call; you need a black suit, a maroon shirt with a collar, & a gold tie- a straight one, not a bowtie. I’ll need an orchid wrist corsage & a second one for my hair- this flower shop already has my order on file.”

Yes, Ma’am!

Maroon shirt. Gold tie. Ugh.

I asked him if that was gold colored or actually metallic gold- he said he didn’t know & frankly was afraid to ask; I reminded him it could be worse- she could’ve said a maroon tuxedo, ruffled gold shirt, & a rhinestone studded bowtie.

After a week or so, I found a website that carried all manner of formal & uniform wear at reasonable prices, including gold ties- plain & lamé- & tuxedo shirts in a rainbow of hues. Since shades of color are a particularly subjective idea, Sam agreed that he should request a close-up photo of KN’s dress fabric to help make a match- one person’s maroon could be another’s burgundy or plum, & we don’t want any last minute disasters- as well as a clear directive about the tie. The next week, he sends an IM & gets the following response:

“Another girl on the team (volleyball) bought the same dress, so maroon is out; now it will probably be the purple strapless, or maybe the gold halter. BTW- what do you mean gold colored? Gold means metal!”

Okay.

Purple shirt & metallic gold tie.

Double ugh.

The official invitation & acceptance have not been made at this point, so I’m beginning to wonder if Sam is going to bail out. Perish the thought, Mother Dear- he is a good sport & looks at the exercise as good practice for his eventual wedding day; besides, he knows that she’ll probably change her mind at least two more times before the actual event.

A week passes; then it’s Sam’s turn to throw a wrench into the works.

He gets himself a girlfriend.

Yep- Studley Do-Right scores himself a cutie after a two year drought.

I had been hearing CA’s name pop up in conversations for a couple months, but did my very best not to pry- my only question was “CA who?” Turns out she is one of the gymnastic instructors for the gym where his dojo is located & attends the same high school. They’ve been “talking” & “hanging out” at school for a few weeks now, & Friday evening made the couple part official.

Now, Sam would never consider backing out of going to Winter Ball with KN- she’s his friend & he promised MC that he would look out for her. CA has known all along that Sam is planning on going to Winter Ball with KN- she’s perfectly fine with that arrangement & hadn’t planned on going in the first place. The problem now is KN.

KN says Sam has to take CA to Winter Ball.

She has refused to issue the “official” invitation & has opened negotiations with boyfriend MC on another acceptable escort.

I told Sam he should sue for breach of contract, with punitive damages for emotional distress & fashion violations- it could pay for the rest of Senior Year activities!

He said he’s going to duck & cover for the next 3 weeks, until invitation season is over- let the women hash it out.

Yesterday, in Sam’s 6^th period class, this was delivered:

It was from CA.

She says he should pick the colors since she’s color-blind.

I think I’m going to like this girl.

5:10 am, somewhere in central California: our intrepid heroine is snuggled under the comforter with her cat-kids, blissfully sleeping to the sounds of purring & gentle rain falling on the roof.

Suddenly, a voice pierces through the veil of slumber-

“Uh, Meg, could you give me a hand?”

As she attempts to pry her eyelids open, the first conscious thought is:

“Go away- I don’t have to get up yet!”

followed swiftly by:

“Who turned the *&^%$#@! bedroom light on?”

Slowly, as her vision begins to clear, the face of her beloved husband comes into focus, peering at her from about a foot away (third conscious thought “I certainly hope he’s brushed his teeth already!”) It takes only a split second to realize something is different- there are strange shadows along his neck & chest…the side of his head seems to be wrapped in a red striped towel…only they don’t have any red striped towels…

Fully awake now, she pops straight up, smacking foreheads with her ever-lovin’; once the virtual meteor shower dies down, he explains that he nicked his earlobe while shaving in the shower (without a mirror- big twit) & can’t seem to stem the flow long enough to get a bandage on it.

Okay then- her devoted spouse requires first aid- no problem.

Well, except one small thing- hardly worth mentioning.

Meg doesn’t do blood.

Honestly.

Boom-boom, out-go-the-lights time; really not dignified at all.

But, a loved one is in need, so into the fray she goes.

She follows him into the bathroom, lays out all the supplies on the counter, & turns to face the patient; he removes the bloodstained washcloth from his ear & she begins to wash away the bright red marks covering his neck & shoulder, when blood begins to ooze again, dripping on her hand.

All of a sudden, there are stars sparkling in her peripheral vision & the sound of buzzing hornets in her head; seeing her visibly paled countenance, her better half slaps a wad of tissues to his head, yells for the young son-and-heir to haul tuckus in here, & leads her quickly back to the bedroom, suggests that she might want to lay down for a minute. Their son, remembering his first aid course, advises that her feet need to be raised above the heart, but there aren’t enough pillows, so…

5:25 am finds the lady of the house arranged at the foot of the bed, feet propped on the blanket chest & the comforter draped across her form, while the cats stare in a confused fashion & her men folk are in the bathroom, patching up Dad’s ear & doing their level best not to giggle.

The Queen is not amused.

Due to a huge mistake I made 18 months ago & only caught on Thursday (no, there is no way I can blame it on anyone else, because others steadfastly refuse to share the in the annual responsibility), my 25 property report has become a 160 property report, with the same due date & guaranteed associated fines.

Crap.

Crisis mode has taken effect & my co-workers will be flying to my aid, taking over the majority of my daily duties, until I can get the report done.

Once I recover, that is.

Yes, I succumbed to Sam’s flu bug; I don’t have it as bad as he did, but I’m sick enough to stay out of the office for the past two days. On the one hand, I know I could be toughing it out & working after hours, so as not to infect everyone; one the other hand, I know it will be there waiting for me when I’m feeling better.

Duty or comfort?

I’d rather make applesauce.

Don’t look so impressed~ it really is quite easy. Saturday morning, Chris & I took off for our postponed trip to Apple Hill, & came home with all sorts of goodies, including this great antique apple crate & a quarter bushel of apples (approximately 30 medium sized). I picked out a mixture of mostly tart apples, with a couple sweeter ones thrown in: Granny Smith, Red Rome, Gala, Fuji, Winesap, & Arkansas Black.

First step is to wash & peel the apples; I rough-peel mine, leaving bits of skin, because, well, I’m lazy & I like the skin. Next you need to remove the cores, using a handy-dandy apple corer (definitely worth the $5 investment) which also slices it into wedges- all that’s left is to chop them a bit more.

I like chunky applesauce, so mine are cut into one inch cubes- cut them up smaller if you like a smoother texture. Toss them into a thick-bottomed dutch oven or large saucepan, add about an inch of water or unsweetened apple juice, & put the lid on it.

Bring the mixture to a full boil, then turn it down to low & cook until the apples are soft, maybe 10 minutes. Stir them first with a wooden spoon to check the consistency- notice that most of it has broken down into sauce texture- & if you want it smoother, either cook another 5-10 minutes or use a masher like I do.

At this point, add sugar to taste if you want- I use about a quarter cup of brown sugar if it’s really tart- & put in your seasoning; I use about ½ teaspoon of pumpkin pie spice, my favorite, per 8 cups of applesauce.

Now you are pretty well done; put your sauce into sterilized quart jars & it will keep in the fridge for a month. Or you can take the next step & hot bath can them, which will preserve it for 18 months- its super simple & worth the extra 30 minutes or so of work time. Fill a large, deep pot with water & heat to boiling, while boiling the lids in a smaller pan for about 5 minutes (which activates the rubber seal).

After filling your hot, sterilized jars with the still warm applesauce, leaving ¼ inch head room, put a lid on it & tighten down the ring to seal. Using a jar lifter (kind of like a giant pair of tongs, but wider to hold a jar), lower the jars into the large pot, making sure there is at least one inch of water over the top of the lids, & process them for 20 to 30 minutes.

Remove the jars from the pot & allow to cool, which will cause the vacuum seal to form; check the tops after the jars cool by pressing on the lids- they should be rigid & tight.

So, for an investment of $7.00 worth of apples, ½ cup of brown sugar, 1 teaspoon of spice, four one-quart jars (left over from the case I bought for last Christmas’ Soup-in-the-Jar gifts), & less then 1 ½ hours labor time, I ended up with 4 quarts plus 2 bowls of applesauce & a house that smells wonderful!

Oh, yeah~ & a bowl of comfort food

Greetings to you, my dear, patient, blog-friends; I am embarrassed by the severe lack of significant content to my site lately, yet you still come by to visit, encourage, & bless me in so many ways. Thank you for not shrugging off the fluff & wandering to greener pastures~ my fragile ego couldn’t take the rejection

I find myself at the threshold of a long anticipated, but somewhat disconcerting, phase in my life. All the signs are there: age-wise, I’m likely halfway through my journey; I’ve managed to stay married to the same man for two decades; my eldest child past the quarter-century mark this past weekend, the youngest will turn 18 in a couple of months & is plotting his escape planning his journey into independence. I’ve reached middle age with most of my faculties & the majority of my relationships intact, so now I’m looking forward to…Life Without Children.

While I will always be a parent, I am essentially done parenting, my career for the past 25 years. They’ve been brought from conception to adulthood; taught to dress, feed, & clean up after themselves; been shown right from wrong, the importance of honesty, fairness, integrity, & a good work ethic; been corrected when they screw up, cheered when they do well, & admonished to not run with scissors, share their toys with others, & don’t pull the cat’s tail. What happens from here on out is up to them- we are here to listen, encourage, & offer advice when asked, but the responsibly for their wellbeing is out of our hands. Plans & choices made or discarded throughout my adulthood have been based on the needs & schedules of the children; in the future, it will be about what I (okay, we- I do intend to keep Chris around a few more decades) require, fancy, or dream. This is some heady stuff & it will take some practice to not feel like I’m forgetting something.

We had a little dress rehearsal of LWC last week, when Chris & I celebrated our anniversary. He actually had three days in a row off work, including the 2^nd, so I did a bit of last minute arranging (including calling in *cough-cough* sick) for a getaway to Lake Tahoe. Since Sam had just started school (& I had no intention of taking a child along), I began to wrack my brain as to where he could stay overnight, when it came to me: he is 17 years old, levelheaded, & reasonably trustworthy - he can stay by himself. Chris blinked a bit when I told him, but- Lord love him- he’s a trusting soul & bows to my judgment. So, off we toddle, leaving Sam with a list of chores & reminders to call if he goes anywhere & to set his alarm clock, since Mom won’t be there to make sure he gets to school on time.

We had a restful couple of days in lovely weather, wandering & napping, looking thru windows & staring at the water, having a little adventure & then wandering home by way of Apple Hill for supplies & a gift. Our friend Keith, a chieftain of the Caledonian Club, not only arranged for Games tickets all weekend, he even scored us front-and-center box seats for the closing ceremonies Sunday evening (oh, how I would have loved those seats last year, when I was trying to get video of the teens performing with the masses pipe bands!), so I wanted to get him something special by way of thanks.

We arrived home to find the house intact, the animals fed & watered, & Sam ready to leave for his tennis lesson, so I believe the experiment was a success. It was only the fourth time in our marriage that we went away without the children- & the last time was seven year ago! With Chris’ busy season winding down at last & little extra in the bank thanks to an extensive side job, I think we will attempt another retreat in the near future- maybe the Wawona Hotel in Yosemite or a B&B in San Francisco.

That’s another facet of LWC to work through- we have to get accustomed to it being just the two of us, something we’ve never experienced for more than a couple of weeks at a time. I think (I hope) we have stayed fairly connected over the years of “Us versus Them”, but in all honesty, beyond sharing a private bedroom every night (no co-sleeping around here- adults only!), we haven’t logged much couple-time over the past twenty years. My greatest concern is that we will find ourselves sitting silently in the living room every evening, or leading completely separate lives, more like roommates with benefits, then partners in life. I don’t expect us to be joined at the hip; heaven forbid~ I need regular solitude to be even remotely pleasant to be around. No, my goal is more to enjoy the next half of my life with the man of my choice, to share some of those adventures we’ve dream about, instead of simply sharing quarters through mutual affection & commitment.

Grand ideals & lofty goals, you say? No, self-preservation, really; I’ve seen souls shrivel up & marriages drift into apathy once the children moved on. We’ve weathered too many storms, invested too many years & tears, to let that happen to us. I look forward to the day of our Golden Anniversary celebration, surrounded by friends, family, grandchildren, & probably great-grandchildren, & our son bragging in his speech that Mom & Dad are not only best friends- they still only have eyes for each other.

Yeah, I can see that.

You can't see them here, but the girls have evidently been circling the box for a couple days & are highly impatient to have it opened (judging by the tiny teeth marks on the packing tape)

"Oh, goody! Peanuts!"

A nice big bag to carry my summer knitting;

Handmade soap samples

A patriotic pillow in homespun fabrics (from her home), a cunning little shelf found at a garage sale, & some zinnia seeds to put in the garden.

Oops~ there's Dahlia, ready to explore (she was inside the bag within seconds, playing with her pilfered packing peanut)

Yes, I know~ I've shown a decided lack of blog content recently. I blame it on a combination of the dregs from the 'flu (& accompanying opportunistic maladies like a UTI & the return of the underarm yeastie beast) & the siren call of spring-like weather. Sunday, I actually did not turn on my computer at all (an almost unheard of event in our household, particularly since I started blogging).

Mother did make out here on Wednesday for lunch & arrived only 15 minutes late :-) She is in one of her transitional periods (you might remember that she is bi-polar), & despite the stress of another remodel going on at their house, she was focused & stayed on topic (mostly). We had a pleasant lunch at a nearby Thai restaurant, catching up on family news, & she only landed two surprises. You see, she tends to forget to tell me things- not intentionally of course- she just thinks she must have already told me about “X”, since I’m the oldest (even though I’m the second oldest- whatever- you get use to it)

Anyway, we were talking about recent birthdays (there are 14 family b-days in February), forwarded emails & who got what recent pictures, when she mentioned in passing that they had “finally received Rose’s ashes, but too late to include with the others, but that’s alright, I have something else in mind for her design...” Thinking that I had possibly tuned out at a crucial juncture in the flow of word (not unheard of), I interrupted Mother;

“Uh, Rose’s ashes?”

Rose is my stepfather’s mother, & last I had heard, she was living in a Russian/Jewish nursing home in Southern California, driving everyone bonkers. 

“Yes, Rose- now, I know I told you!”

“No, Mom, you didn’t- I think I would remember being told my last grandparent died.”

“Well, I’m certain I did- you probably just forgot during all the excitement around the wedding.” (my brother’s wedding 7 months ago)

“When did she die?”

“Oh, about 18 months ago, I think- maybe 2 years.”

*Sigh* So much for lucid.

So, the conversational freight train barreled on, as I digested this bit of news, when another ball comes flying in from left field;

“Sam didn’t mention it in his email- did he get his container of ashes?”

“Um, noooo- I don’t remember anything like that in the envelope.”

“It’s in a glass cylinder, hung on a cord...”

“OMG~ is that what it was?!”

“Didn’t I include the pictures of your grandparents?” (There were two photos of them at their 50th wedding anniversary party, 23 years ago- but no note)

“Yes, you did; but exactly how was I supposed to make that connection?”

You see, in the envelope, there was a glass ball, about the size of a shooter marble, with swirls of silver & bronze inside, flecked with white. It’s hung on two strands of silken cording & Sam has been walking around with it on his key ring. Everyone has spent the past month looking at it, trying to figure out the design & purpose. Turns out, it is a piece of art glass made by friends of my sister, & contains the ashes of my Mother’s parents, Moss & Doss, who died in 1988 & 2004, respectively. 

When I told Sam that he’s been walking around with his great-grandparents ashes on his key chain, he looked at me like my trolley had just jumped the track, shook his head, & said,

“I should have known it was something creepy like that- your Mom is whacked.”

Yes, Son, I know.

[BTW- it is now hanging next to the hummingbird wind chimes in my kitchen window, where they can look out on my vegetable garden & watch to cats play tag in the little patch of lawn; I think they would like it, since Moss loved to grow things (particularly morning glories, squash, & okra) & they always had at least 2 Siamese cats in residence.]

Presenting:

Sensei Graham!

The symbols on the right represent his life motto "Fight, Love, Live"

 (Fight for a just cause, Love your fellow man, Live a good life)

and his element, Wind;

the symbols on the left are the Japanese characters for his title.

Way to go, Sonic!

(the new buzz-cut hairdo )

A guid New Year to ane an' a' and mony may ye see!

Here is a traditional New Year’s toast to greet my friends & welcome you to the adventures of the next twelve months. Sentiment runs high thru Blogland this time of year, but I would like to add my own simple & sincere thanks to the old friends who have shared this journey with me, & to the new friends who I have been privileged to meet along the way. No one knows what is in store for us in 2008, but I am glad to know that I have you, my friends, to turn to no matter what the wind blows into our lives.

Blessings.

Meg

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