Acorns fall, as they must.

Making decisions for fireplaces, where to put outlets, and can lights and oh my, this is getting exciting as things move along into the soon to be done category of home renovation.  We are super excited about the progress and while it will take some time to get everything finished the way we hope, it is a terrific project.

Hubs is beginning to feel a bit of pressure to get it wrapped up.  Not because of anything I have said, although I admit it will be nice to have it done, but because the next season is gaining on us.  The acorns are falling like mad and the leaves will soon follow.  Leaf raking is a big undertaking here on our property and takes a lot of man hours to complete…mostly by one man.

 

Hubs is a workhorse but needs to slow it down, which is something I remind him of all the time.  He pushes and pushes.  This past weekend, a son-in-law came to visit…just him…while I was away visiting his family, and taking care of the other daughter’s kids.  This son-in-law, as even tempered as my husband, and also a hard worker, was a gift.  Two days of his help and a couple nights of laughs and beer was just what my husband needed to move into the next phase of this project, and the next season.  He didn’t even mind when we, after discussion with my buddy the contractor, totally changed the kitchen design and the size of the island.  Well, he maybe minded a LITTLE bit…

However, in all the great and progressive things that happened this week, we did experience a huge and sad loss of a much loved brother.  My husband’s brother, five years older, passed away following a brief illness, leaving behind his beautiful wife and their two grown, gorgeous daughters, whom they raised to be confident, competent, independent, intelligent, kind and witty women.  He could not have been more proud of his girls, and his new son-in-law and his boy.  To say he loved his wife, his true soul mate, together since they were teenagers, would not begin to honor their relationship.  We will miss this kind man, this gentleman, this good, good soul.

 

Hug your loved ones today and every day.  From those whom you might be distant, whether by miles, mishap or misunderstanding…bring it together, mend, if it’s mending that’s needed.

 

Love, as love is all you need.  

Some things never change.

As I age I find myself caring less and less about food.  Caring less about shopping for it, less about preparing it, less about actually eating it.  I don’t think this is unusual…anything you do for 60+ years gets boring.

But, today, for some reason, I began to think about my all-time favorite foods.  Things I just really would like to eat, if someone wanted to present it to me primarily, but also things I just love to have, even if I have to make it myself.  This thought came to me as I prepared my lunch of two slices of garlic bread with melted parmesan cheese.

Bread is one of my favorites.  I mean, I seriously love bread – me and Oprah.  A niece has nearly perfected bread making and offers it up at many family dinners and functions.  Today’s garlic toast is one of those loaves that was up for grabs after dinner on Sunday.  I brought home her rustic loaf and man, I am telling you, my lunch has never been so appreciated.

When I was a child I was a seriously picky eater.  I am sure I about drove my poor mother crazy with my preferences, especially awful of me since we were so often eating in restaurants and things could not have been fun to start.  I was a brat.  No ketchup, mayonnaise, mustard, pickles or onions.  No barbecue sauce.  No fish, shrimp or crab.  Only white bread. I would eat bologna, hot dogs, pizza and spaghetti, as long as there were no green peppers, and my very favorite, cherry pie.  Somewhere around age 21 I began to open up my palate and eat like a normal person.  I’ve never looked back.

 

I told this story to a few family members before but, when visiting a distant aunt and uncle in Kentucky, I was offered butter for my pancakes.  Straight from the farm, in a big block, on a plate.  I threw such a fit and refused to eat that butter, which I am now sure tasted like gold would, if you could eat it, and insisted on margarine, straight from the factory or wherever it comes from, in a stick.  My mom and dad must have been horrified at my turning up my nose and screaming at the top of my 6 year-old lungs, over that sweet, creamy butter.  I remember my mom following me around the dining room saying “But, it’s the same as what you buy in the store” and I guess I didn’t believe her. What a dope.  And those precious family members, who I recall as being sweet and kind, giving me King Leo peppermint sticks as a treat, and then sending the whole box home with us.  I remember that box in the back seat of the car, a treat waiting to be shared, as we piled in the car to drive home.

 

My mom made the best cherry pie.  She really had that one mastered, and I loved it.  She used to tell of my going around the table after finishing my own dessert and cleaning off anyone’s plate that had a smidgen of crust and filling left.  I loved my mom’s cherry pie.  My siblings had their favorites, too, but I don’t think anyone could boast of loving it quite like me. 

So, I’ve been thinking of my favorite foods lately and how my tastes have changed.  I will always love bread and rolls, with real butter (would love to have that big block of farm butter today), and will miss my mom’s cherry pie for the rest of my days, I suppose.  Brie, popcorn, sweet corn, watermelon, a good salad, lasagna, fried shrimp, tacos, fettuccine and pan-fried lake perch are on my favorites list now, along with the first two pieces of Oscar Mayer bologna from the package on the first two pieces of white bread taken from the loaf…no mayo or anything else. I am still a brat.  

My new buddy.

I got off the “we’re remodeling” track I was on there for a while as I thought I was sounding a bit redundant.  Great, remodeling…who isn’t?

But, I have to tell you…it’s fantastic stuff we have going on over here.  It is about to drive hubs over the edge, which was my fear, as he watches the pennies.  And I mean he WATCHES the pennies.  I get a look every time I bring a new pillow or candle in the house, and can see his wheels turning, wondering how many pennies I invested.  I have to remind him I have established a decorating budget on top of the wood and drywall budget.  Besides, it’s a good time to purchase items for the screen porch and entry.  I am walking past the Halloween items, for now, but a good porch pillow? On super sale? It’s mine.

 

A lot of the decisions have been made.  I meet the contractor out in the yard almost every morning to discuss what is happening that day, or just to say hello.  Sometimes there’s a decision looming and sometimes it is just another day.  We did add a little something to the project, you know, just to add expense and to keep him around longer.  Truth is, I'm going to miss him a little when this is all over.  

 

You certainly develop a relationship with a contractor.  He was already a good acquaintance but I’ve gotten so used to seeing his face in the yard, he’s now a good friend.  He pets the dog, calls her Tiger, which is not her name, but when a guy gives your dog a nickname, he’s moved beyond good acquaintance.

We have not yet moved the project in to the interior of the house, which is not SUPER involved but will certainly bring that beloved drywall dust.  I’m not really looking forward to that part but I also know he has a plan for keeping the mess to a minimum as he is just that kind of guy.  Clean up is our job and he doesn’t want to see me sweat.  No one does, let’s face it.

I am excited about the changes being made to our little home.  The entries especially are seeing a much needed facelift and I will be a landscaping fool for the next several years.  Yes, it is a time when we should be slowing down, I get that.  Downsizing, not building on, should be on our radar, but I love what is happening around here!  I know there will be days ahead when it seems like this is too much house for us, but for now, no way! Bring on some family, some friends, some parties and get-togethers! Just not quite yet. 

By all means, be yourself.

I love kids.  I love their wit, their humor, their capacity to learn…their sweetness, their cuteness.  I just love them. Now, add to that mix the fact that they may be related to me in some way, well, it doubles or triples or to infinity and beyond.

I am always impressed by a kid’s determination, their unabashed bravery to tackle something they have never done, and may not have even seen, let alone have a frame of reference to be either confident, or afraid.  They just nod their heads, get a look in their eye and go for it.

 

Would that I could.  I have entered a phase of life where I am more timid than I use to be, more aware that things could go wrong or that I could wind up with a broken hip…yes, that’s right, a broken hip.  I heard a joke years ago, a single woman, a comedian, that went something like “Every time I go home for a visit, my elderly aunt asks when I am going to get married and start a family.  I just want to reply ‘I don’t know…when are you going to fall and break a hip?”

 

So, now that I am that elderly aunt, I try not to ask that question of my nieces and nephews but I have to admit I have probably done so, in maybe a not so direct fashion.  I do fear falling and breaking a hip these days and I admit to taking stairs much differently than I did even ten years ago.  They frighten me.

This past weekend my 7-year old granddaughter participated in an “apple cart” derby.  It was incredible.  First, the volunteer fire department of this small town in central Indiana sponsors the event.  They block the highway – yes, they close the highway, or main street, for about two hours.  They line both sides of the street with fire hoses let out the back end of the truck, charged with water, like bumpers in a bowling alley.  The little people race down this pretty significant incline from a bridge, starting somewhere near the middle, from a chute.  Racing down the highway in a wooden box, with a small crowd of townsfolk and others cheering from the sidewalk.  See what I mean? Incredible.

For my little granddaughter it was an extra thrill as grandpa on dad's side is a volunteer firefighter in this little town.  He has been waiting for her to turn 7 so she could participate.  They built her car, picked out the color for paint (pink, of course) and her uncle, who is also a tattoo artist, designed and painted a super great logo and her name blazoned across the front.   They had some practice runs down a smaller hill in town and they were ready.  We were all ready.

 

The moment of the race upon us, we paced back and forth while my princess stood on the sidewalk, pink helmet in place, and her flowered dress…yes, she races in a dress, people, announcing that she was “going to be myself”…mary janes and anklets.  She looks freakin’ adorable.  She is absent mindedly fiddling with her fingers…a habit she has had since infancy, while they move the cars to the top of the hill and set out the chute.  She squints her gaze up the hill ~ I am not sure she has seen the chute before this, so she’s curious, and calculating.

  

Grandpa is already at the top of the hill, proud uncle escorts her to her position and dad and mom take their places, cameras in hand.  There are 11 cars, double elimination.  She loses her first race, wins the second and loses the third.  She is undaunted, skips to her fan section to accept their hugs and high fives, shows only a moment of disappointment and watches the rest of the field, and their one by one elimination. The field is narrowed down to the driver who has won the last five years and wins again this year, HER last, and a smart looking lad in a fancy car, who ends up in second place.  An award is given to the most “true” to the apple cart definition, which really did look much like an apple cart.  There is discussion about modifications to the pink race car so that it might participate again next year.  There is also discussion about a pop up tent, food and lemonade for those of us pacing the sidewalk.

I drove home proud of that little community and the day, proud of the girl and impressed by her courage.  Get in a box on wheels and careen down a hill, like you know what you are doing and do it in a dress.  Seriously.  How great is that?