23. Ah, the 50's.

 Recently my friend Susie invited me to join a face book site, "Growing up in Pomona, California."  It really wasn't a bad place to grow up.  We recently watched "American Graffiti" for the upteenth time and laughed about the crazy things they did.  Bob swears that he either did or saw all the things in the movie and you know, I believe he did.  It was a time when kids could be free, at least a little bit free.  It isn't so easy now.  There seem to be so many things that frighten us.  

I swear I don't remember anyone I knew that did drugs.  Oh there was a few drinks on prom night, now it's heroine.  I watched a frightening segment on teens and marijuana and the fact that low grade heroin is cheaper than the marijuana.  Teen are also under the impression that the heroin is less adictive.  You finally get them to the age that you can let them go to school without worrying too much about them getting kidnapped and now...welcome to the world and worry of drugs!  Raising ours when we did was tough enough.  When our last one walked across the stage and got his diploma Bob and I cheered, REALLY cheered and quoted Martin Luther King.  "Free at last, free at last, praise God Almighty, free at last!"

Our teen years were truely carefree.  What to wear to the dance at the YMCA after the game on Friday, that was a big thing.  If he would ask you out for Saturday night.  That's another thing.  Who can afford to go the movies?  Even matinee and senior discounts are almost too much now a days.  We really have to think about if a movie is really big screen worthy.  That is a gamble for sure!  Going to the movies is really one of my favorite things to do.  How can kids afford a movie and popcorn?  What else can they do on date night?  Do they still go to the drive-in?

Remember the drive-in in the late 50's?  Remember the guys in the white coats who walked around with flashlights (especially in those last rows) checking to make sure you were really watching the movie?  Heaven help you if the windows were fogged up.  Remember when cars had trunks big enough to hide a couple of kids so you could save a buck or two on admission?  We really were rascals!

Then there were the Chinese Firedrills.  Oh come on, surely you remember those.  You pulled up to a stop sign and someone yelled, "Chinese Firedrill" and everyone jumped out and ran around the car and got in a different seat!  Wow, crazy days for sure!

I'm thankful for those days, really thankful.  I hope our children can look back with fondness on their school days, I really do, but they will have to go a ways to compete with ours. 

22. Springing forward

It really is true that March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.  It was windy and rainy and now it is absolutely gorgeous!  The giant daisy bushes that line our driveway just across from the kitchen window are a mass of yellow blooms.  We used to cut them back to contain them but for the last two or three years have only trimmed the driveway edge leaving the back side to climb up the steep bank.  They have become a marvelous stabilizer for an unruly bank.  With their worthy companions the lavender they have stopped the continual march of dirt that used to inundate our drive making kitchen floor sweeping a perpetual nuisance.

The iris are up six or eight inches and we are starting to count the stalks of blooms.  The anticipation begins, who will pop first and what color will it be.  The rain has been welcome and wonderful.  So many wild flowers to enjoy, however briefly.

The rain has taken it's toll though, the bird feeders are sorely in need of a paint job.  The swing needs a good bleaching.  We always say that we are going to put the swing under the eave so it doesn't mildew but somehow it doesn't get done.  Consequently it mildews and that spells work.  Three coats of marine varnish last year and it still mildewed.  This year I think I'm going to pick a nice color and paint the swing and both benches...maybe a lovely sea green.  If I keep the swing oak color, it means taking it all apart and sanding, really sanding then bleaching.  So this year I vote to just paint the doggoned thing.  

The bird feeders are sweet little things that Bob made several years ago.  They are like little houses from old west towns.  One particularly nice one made it into Sunset Magazine several years ago.  Rose's Cantina was chosen out of several hundred entries in their summer bird feeder contest.  What an exciting moment!  He is very clever, that man of mine.  

                                                    

I'm never terribly excited to do yard work until            spring.  I can't imagine how I would be if I lived somewhere that really had a winter!  Digging in the earth ruining my manicure and not caring in the least is the order of the day.  Weeding while the soil is still soft from all the rain is so satisfying, for a while anyway.  Bob cut a wine barrel in half last year, the edges have lovely scallops.  They are in the planter next to the house so the deer don't tend to bother them.  We had an abundance of basil, curly lettuce and tomatoes.  Early girl tomatoes went in yesterday.  Now we have only to water and patiently cheer them on.  As soon as Trader Joe's has basil plants I'll get them in the ground.  Last year they had lovely big plants for $2.99.  I bought two and had more basil than you can imagine.  It is one of the plants that the more you cut the more you have and boy, did we have.

 Well, like March, I think I will go out like a lamb and take a nap.  All of this thinking and planning has made me sleepy.  Tomorrow is another day.

21. Baby Beanies

Getting older, for the most part, has been just fine, so far.  A few more aches and pains but nothing unbearable.  I have a little more spare time and there isn't much on television that is worth my full attention.  Besides my mom was sure that "Idle hands were the Devil's workshop."  So I started trying to think of something at least a little charitable to do to give back to the world and honor our daughter, Tracy. She passed away several years ago to breast cancer.  It's something you never really get over, you just get better at not dwelling on it.

I know in these crazy times you have to be careful and check organizations credentials.  Unfortunately, we also don't have a lot of money to donate, but I do have that spare time and a spot in my heart that needs warming.

Along those lines, many years ago my mother-in-law heard of an organization that was collecting the strip that opened the cellophane wrapper on cigarette packs.  Each strip counted as money towards medical treatment for lung cancer patients.  Well, we collected, we convinced friends to collect, the square dance clubs we were involved in collected for us.  You could find them everywhere you looked because so many people smoked then.  By the time we finished we had amassed quite a bag full.  We called the Cancer Society, we called cigarette companies, we called the newspapers and the television new stations.  No one had heard of such a

thing.  We were so disappointed.  I couldn't bear to throw them away so I filled a decorative bottle (a large decorative bottle) with them.  I still have it today, just as a silly reminder of all the fun times Billie and I had searching for those little strips, heads down, elbows up scanning the ground all to help victims of the product we were gathering.

A few weeks ago my friend, Susie, sent me information about an organization she had read about in the Bullhead, Arizona newspaper.   The organization was named "Stitches from the Heart."  They collect knitted and crocheted baby items for premature babies as well as toddlers in underprivileged areas.  I was at once delighted.  I have odd balls of yarn left over from any number of projects that I couldn't make myself toss out.

I called the number and to my great pleasure someone answered the phone and assured me they did indeed accept baby items.  I asked about sizes and she said "You make it, we will find a head to fit it!" 

I downloaded several very easy patterns from their website.  One hat in particular, is very, very easy.  In two weeks of evenings, I created a dozen peanut sized hats.  They are the sweetest things.  Our Tracy loved to crochet.  She only knew one stitch, but she was prolific!  I can only imagine how many tiny baby blankets she would make if she were here to help me.  I know she is here in spirit and my heart is warm with the thought.

I've made a tiny heart label with her name in the middle to attach to each tiny hat I send.

If you love to knit or crochet, there is always room for more ladies who don't believe in idle hands and have that spot that needs warming!  Or if you have a few partial balls of yarn taking up space in the closet or under the bed, I'd love to be the recipient of your good will. 3026 Tepusquet Rd., Santa Maria, CA 93454

More that half a million babies are born premature in the United States each year.  The rate of premature births has risen 36% since the 1980's!  That's a lot of beanies needed for itty bitty heads and I'm a Mema on a mission!  Won't you join me?

http://www.marchofdimes.com/professionals/25079_1157.asp

Eyelet Hat
Using worsted yarn (#6 needle)
Cast on 50 sts, work ribbing of K2, P2 for 2"
Work stockinette stitch for 1", end with purl row.
(K1, K2 tog, YO, K2 tog) across row.
Purl across row
Work stockinette stitch for 1" end with purl row.
(K1, K2 tog, YO, K2 tog) across row
Work in stockinette st until hat measures 5", end with purl row.
***K2 tog across row***
                                          Purl across row
                                          Repeat ***to***
                                          Break yarn leaving about 6 inches, pull through stitches, knot securely and weave
                                          seam with same yarn.  Fluff ball optional.
                                      
                                          Send to "Stitches from the Heart"
                                                        3316 Pico Blvd.
                                                        Santa Monica, CA 90405
                                                www.stitchesfromtheheart.org

20. Maggie, Me and Oscar

Well, last night we watched the Oscars.  I'm not sure why I watch them, but Maggie was so excited so we did.  Bob usually watches at least part of the event, not because he really cares but because I do.  I love seeing all the dresses and the hairdos.  One of the announcers out of KTLA on the red carpet looked like she let her first grader do the back of her hairstyle or lack there of.  I guess if she couldn't see it it didn't matter.  Maybe she was excited when she left the house and her husband was just glad to see her finally leave that he didn't mention it.  At any rate someone somewhere along the line should have spoken up. Maybe I just expect too much, what with all the money they have.

The red carpet thing was a little weak this year.  It felt like they had trouble getting people to stop so they talked way too long to the ones who did.  One of the channels had a bird's eye view of the red carpet and talked about the weather and who they could almost see down below.  I'm not sure who's idea that was.  I channel hopped for a while in hopes it would get better, but it didn't.

Now, I love Steve Martin, I can take or leave Alec Baldwin, but who ever wrote for them was not so hot.  I do remember one year when it was really good.  That was the year of the writer's strike and they had to write their own jokes.  It was actually really good.  This year they spent about 15 minutes talking to the folks in the front rows...a complete waste of time in my book.  Just get on with the awards!

Finally, this year most of the dresses were lovely.  A few with too many ruffles and flounces but mostly just very lovely.  Several of them complained about people stepping on their trains.  Well, hello, if it drags 3 feet behind you, in a crowd it's probably going to get stepped on.  It's not a wedding and there are more folks going down the aisle besides you.

I was glad to see Jeff Bridges win and, of course, Sandra Bullock.  I have to say she should have worn her hair like normal and the softer lipstick, but that's just me.  I loved when she said "God bless the mother's for taking care of babies and children no matter where they come from."  Amen to that. Imagine the pride of the first woman director to win "Best Director."  Against her ex-husband for "Avatar!" I'm sure all the nominees were worthy.  We haven't seen most of the  movies yet.  We have Netflix so eventually we will see them.  I don't know if we will watch "The Hurt Locker."  Those kinds of movies are so realisitic now, it's too heart-wrenching for me.  We will see.  We loved "Avatar" and "Up."

After the Oscars I watched the last Barbara Walters interview.  Bob decided to play Solitary, he thinks she is just way too pompus.  He can't get past the time she asked someone "If you could be a tree, what kind of tree would you be?"  I have to concur, it was a silly question.  She said this was her last one for the Oscars because she was..."Sick of doing them."  Hmmm,  I think she could have chosen a better way of saying it.  She said it several times as if once wasn't enough.  I've never really cared for her but have watched some of the shows because I was interested in who was being interviewed.  Sandra Bullock looked lovely with the regular hair-do and soft lipstick.  She was sweet.  A nice way to end those interviews.

Maggie and I decided it was still worth watching and we put her tiara back in it's box for safekeeping for next year.  Before we know it, March will be here again and they will be stretching the red carpet and Wolfgang Puck will be making chocolate statuettes.  Getting ready to feed people who are so rich, they don't ever have to pay for anything.   Hmm, I wonder why it works that way?

19. Marching Ever Onward!

March comes into our canyon on swirls of oak leaves.  The chill wind somehow makes our noses run before we even get started on our walk.  Maggie, our cocker, is prancing and twirling in anticipation.  They say that dogs live in the moment, that yesterday is gone and tomorrow is not something that they are capable of grasping.  If that is the case, then why does she know something very exciting is about to happen when she hears the sound of the leash.  There must be some thought of yesterday.

As we head down our almost gravel driveway, the small plum tree at the corner of the meadow comes into full view.  What a glorious thing to behold this time of year!  It is a mass of blossoms, a halo of white.  Even with the wind, the petals hold tenaciously to the branches, giving us the promise of fruit in the summer.  Farther down the road the cactus is full of prickly pears.  I have never thought they were worth the work, they are prickly, after all.  I'm certain though, that had I grown up with the sweet, fruity goodness of prickly pear jam, I wouldn't think they were too much trouble.

My childhood memories, however, are of sitting on a piece of burlap laid over the crushed, salted ice of the ice cream freezer while my daddy turned the crank.  We talked about how good it would taste and whether we would choose fresh strawberries or chocolate sauce as topping.  Unable to decide, I usually had both.  Those hot Iowa summers hold many simple pleasures as memories.

Maggie picks up  her pace as she heads for Theona, the chestnut mare in Mr. Olson's pasture.  Theona has a knicker much like the deep throat-ed laugh of a very large man.  The chestnut heads for that certain place on the fence line that Bob has chosen as her place for rewards.  Today it is a carrot.  She does, however, love corn tortillas and the sour oranges from the ancient orange tree in the meadow are of particular interest.  That pleases us as they are far too sour for us to enjoy.  The little tree is very prolific and it bothers us to waste such a bounty.  The mare fairly slurps the juice as she chews so that she doesn't miss a single drop.  Maggie watches with interest and sometimes they nudge noses each equally interested in just what the other might be.

Maggie takes these forays very seriously, moving quickly back and forth across the road, the tan and white curls of her skirt picking up oak leaves as she checks out things of particular interest at the side of the road.  She is, after all a hunter, although I have often commented that there must be goat somewhere in her lineage for surely no dog could spring as she does without such heritage.  Two more inches and she will certainly be in the kitchen sink.

Susan down the road is an advocate of rescuing horses and the mustang she and Mike have taken in is a beauty.  It has taken several patient attempts on Bob's part to win her over.  She would nod her beautiful black and white head and come within just a few inches of the proffered carrot, almost...but then caution would win out.  One wonders what events are in her past, but then one day she is brave enough to trust him and takes the treat.  Now she and her stable mates call to Bob when they see us coming with pockets full of carrots.

I have never longed for horses, but I know why people do.  There is a certain romance about them, the scent of them, the sounds of the tack and saddle.  The thought of a quiet ride through the tree filled country side makes you fairly quiver.  However, to my way of thinking, they have the potential of being a big hole in the backyard that you throw money into, much like the sailboat we used to own.

As we turn to head home we decide we are very happy to have the pleasure of feeding someone else's horses.  Our puppy is all the responsibility we want right now.  Her exuberance and muddy paws are enough, we think, to keep us on our toes in our "golden" years.  We wonder who on earth coined that particular term as we climb the almost gravel driveway to our cottage on Gopher Hill.

18. Sam Champion, You're a Stinker!

We watch ABC's Good Morning America when we are home.  It's a good way to get the news and a smattering of everything else.  I'm always on the look out for new recipes and they usually have a chef or cook of some sort touting the latest book or weight loss trend, fad, really.  We like the hosts and their interaction, but then "You can please some of the people all of time and all of the people some of the time, but you can't please all of the people all of the time."  Right?  I paraphrase.  

Yesterday morning, however, Sam Champion let me down.  Not with the weather, but I now have reason to question the quality and functionality of his taste buds.  I'm hoping he was just taught to be kind no matter what.  I am still paying heartily for his endorsement of the guest cook's 53 calorie brownie.

Now, I am ever the optimist, with food, Bob, not so much.  He can usually spot the obvious, while I am blinded by the dream of eating all I want (low cal, of course) with the taste of the real thing.  When I announced I was making brownies and pulled out a can of black beans, he rolled his eyes, put his hands around his neck and said, "Kill me now!" "Give it a chance, nay sayer,"  I reply.  "Sam Champion said it was

really good!"  I really should have listened to my culinary purist husband.

They looked good in batter form, they smelled good cooking and they only looked a little weird while they were cooling.  I sprinkled them with powdered sugar and stared at them willing them to cool faster.  My mouth watered while I poured a small glass of milk.  Never knowing how much I would need it, really need it!

Bob, bless his heart, willing to try most anything I cook,  he was, I'm sure, hoping against hope, as was I, that

we had found Nirvana in a 2 inch square.  Sadly, what we found was a leaden, overly cocoa flavored, square of...of...hmmm.  For the first time in a long time I'm at a loss for words.  Well...I guess the right words, printable, anyway.  What ever you call it, brownie does not come to mind and the bulk of it is still lodged in the far reaches of my intestinal tract.  I've never had a high colonic, but the thought has entered my mind this morning.

Sam, Sam, Sam, you are no longer my Champion.  Not in food reviews, at any rate.  Take a wife and one who is not afraid of REAL brownies!

17. So Goes February

February brought our canyon an abundance of rain.  That is not so commonplace so we welcomed it.  The view from our cottage on Gopher Hill this time of year holds special promise.  The dark green leaves of the iris are up about four inches, not tall enough to wave back at us, but letting us know they are just about ready for a feeding. Each spring we think we will mark which area has the purple with white ruffled edge or the orange sherbet.  We probably have twenty colors in all.  We always talk ourselves out of it though, it's just such fun to be surprised.

Across the meadow several wild turkeys are coming down Mr. Olson's long driveway.  The males puff themselves up with their tail feathers spread wide.  They sway from side to side desperately trying to outdo each other to impress the dowdy little females.  Spring will bring the fruits of their labors, little brown fluff balls herded along under the watchful eyes of their mothers.

Staring dreamily out the window, I wonder how we ever managed to live in town.  I suppose if you've always lived in town, you wouldn't miss what you'd never experienced.  Although, I remember going on long Sunday drives, when you could afford to do that, and Bob and I would talk about how nice it might be to live on one of those tree lined rural roads.  Life seemed to slow there, even rejuvenating. In fact, life does seem to move more slowly now that we live in the country.  It's only when we go to town that I'm reminded how fast paced things are, how important that particular parking space is and which line in the check out is the shortest.  

I'm thankful that this time in our lives can be spent in the quiet beauty of this canyon.  We never resent the seventeen mile drive to town.  It forces us to relax and be in the moment.  Depending on the time of year, sometimes we stop and try to count the wild turkey or the deer that come to hold conference in the wheat field about two miles from us. The farmer always leaves an acre or two uncut just for them.  It pays to be  watchful and drive slowly because deer tend to dart across the road in a hurry not wanting to be late for lunch.

The Central Coast of California has a very temperate predictable climate.  We don't usually have the opportunity to experience the dramatic change of seasons.  Our canyon, however, is a micro climate.  The canyon is a good 10 to 15 degrees colder in the winter than in town.  The ridge of hills that makes up the canyon protects us from the wind that comes from the ocean and sweeps across the farm fields.  In the fall the vineyards turn color and some of our trees do the same.  The Sycamores drop leaves the size of dinner plates.  They love to take up residence under the bent willow furniture on our front proch, the wind propelling them like kites.

Rainy days are somehow comforting.  Most out-of-doors projects are put on hold.  It makes one think about cozy things like hot chocolate and brownies.  The kind of brownies that stay just a little gooey, full of pecans and covered with a snowy white dusting of powdered sugar.  How could one pass up the perfect opportunity to be so decadent?  I can't imagine!  Why, that would be almost un-American!