Too Much Mind On My Time

This delectable treat is made with Baker's Microwavable Dipping Chocolate. At $1.84 a carton, it turns strawberries into a sinful treat.
To achieve the double dipped look pictured here, my husband did the bottoms of the strawberries by inserting toothpicks in the tops, dipping--then putting the toothpicked strawberries, standing on their heads, into a block of styrofoam in the refrigerator. Once chilled, he removed the toothpicks and put the strawberries, right side up, for upper drizzling.



I didn't sleep well last night, waking every two hours or so for a trip to the bathroom and to refill the water glass I keep at my bedside. I stepped out on the deck two or three times to run Jake off the porch. Once outside I'd look at all the stars. My racing mind wouldn't let me get back to sleep. I was busy planning what chores I needed to do on Sunday.

Realizing that I MUST sleep, I stepped back inside. The house was quiet with the exception of my other half blowing on the couch (he sometimes snores, but more often than not, he blows). He's recovering from a dry socket!

I'm really wasn't exactly sure what a dry socket entailed until yesterday morning. I did research and turns out, it just means the clot that usually forms after a tooth is pulled has been dislodged.

Momo and Pop always told me that if I kept my tongue out of the hole left from my missing tooth, the new one would be gold. Of course, I never got any gold teeth. Come to think of it, I don't know (even as a child) why I'd want one! I guess they were using that parental psychology to get me to do what was in my best interest.

I can think of times I pulled the same stunt on my daughters. When they were very small, I told them the locket I wore around my neck contained a fairy. A magic fairy. And we must never open the locket or she'd fall out.

Concerned for the safety of my precious little girls, I told them they had better always buckle their seat belts in the car. I warned that if a policeman stopped us, and they were unbuckled, he'd whip their bottom. (They have a healthy respect for the law to this day.)

Momo always told me that if I ate the burned french fries ( or whatever was a bit too done) that it would make my hair curly. You can bet I ate all I could hold. No curls. (In Momo's defense, she had four little ones and a husband that was always on the road. She really is a good cook.)

What parental psychology did you hear as a child? What are you telling your own children?

Have A Groovy Easter

Yep, that's me in the middle. Judging by the look of delight on my face, I'm guessing I'm the only one who still believed in the Easter Bunny.

My Camera Died... and other suprises

I was beginning to think I had it all together... until yesterday.

Yesterday I took my mother Christmas shopping again. I don't remember if we went last week. But I did go shopping with my father last week.

Shopping with Pop is much quicker... almost manic. That's a man thing and he's a 72 year old man that's used to a regime... his.

I think his main intent on taking me was to pick out something for my mother. I bravely stood on the sidelines, encouraging him to make the final decision his own. I hope he understood this and will eventually be confident enough to admit he picked out the gift.

Which brings up an interesting point--when did buying gifts become such a problem? What happenend to the "thought" part? Granted, the best gifts are those that utterly delight the recipient, but we have all done that at some point in our lives... hopefully, many many times.

But now, all of a sudden, we second-guess ourselves to the point that we can't even make a damn decision. Often times, once we do, we still second-guess the decision, after the fact!

First off, a gift is just that--something one gives to another. How marvelous! Isn't it nice that someone thought enough of us to share? To go to the trouble of presenting us with something, expecting nothing in return but our gratitude? (Okay, I added the gratitude. That's a "me" thing.)

The bottom line is, the giver wants to make us smile. A gift is a token of appreciation and is not always a tangible item, either.

I try to follow one rule of thumb--to always give something I would genuinely appreciate myself.

Apple Butter Anxiety

Tomorrow is the big day. Four eager workers and 12 bushels of apples will make war stories and 27 gallons of apple butter at my house this weekend.

My other half had made apple butter with his father over 25 years ago. His fond memories are what sparked this two-day event... that, and the fact that he inherited the old copper kettle and a "still in the box" peeler.

Seems making apple butter was an annual event at the church he attended as a child as well. He phoned several of the older women from the church this week to compare the recipe, as well as to gather some additional tips and techniques. Needless to say, he was more than a bit disappointed when he learned that nowadays they used apple sauce rather than go to the trouble of peeling apples. Wonder how many years they peeled before that decision was made?

I understand canning and making jelly. I remember shelling endless bags of peas with my mother and Granny. We'd all set up on the screen porch at Granny's and snap or shell until our thumps were sore. Pretty soon, the adults would become so engrossed in their conversation, they'd forget the children were even there. That's when the conversation would get interesting and my sisters and I would become quieter and more attentive. Ah, the gossip... I heard a lot on that porch that I didn't fully understand until much later in my life.

When I was living in Texas, I planted two pear trees when the girls were toddlers so I could make my own pear honey.
Once the tress began to bear fruit, my two daughters were drafted for the canning experience, as well as any unsuspecting friends. The first few years, everyone eagerly anticipated the event... eventually, helping with the pear honey was used as a bargaining tool for teenage girls. Soon thereafter, even neigborhood friends became suspiciously nonexistent the weekends we peeled pears and made pear honey.

One of the couples involved in our apple butter project actually hosted the last event over 25 years ago at their home. It's good to have some seasoned veterans.