We had an absolutely wonderful time.  So many things to see and do, and we are just plain worn out, lemme tell you.  However, that's the thing about vacation, you get home pooped out.  But, it's a good sort of pooped out.

However, there was one fatality on the trip.  Thursday morning my iPhone died.  The bottom half of the touch screen quit working the way it was supposed to.  I could see it just fine, however the little swipe to unlock it would not work.  Nor would it work to answer the phone.  It powered on and off just fine and as a perfect example of a high tech gizmo working well in paperweight mode, it did just fine.  However, I want more than that out of my phone.  So, Dad found an AT&T store, I replaced my iPhone with an iPhone 3G for not a ton of money, they made it work and off we went.  Yay!

More yay on that:  Dad told me he'd heard a story about some guy in New York City who had an iPhone poop out on him.  He didn't want to spend the money to get it fixed (or something like that) so he found another iPhone that didn't work and made one that worked out of the parts of two that didn't.  Sort of like people used to do with Model T's way back when.  My Grandpa Stratton did that, as a matter of fact.  Only in his case, it was three flivvers to make one that ran.  But I ramble...

Dad's story got me to thinking.  Where on earth did they get broken iPhones to cobble together parts and what have you?  I Googled 'broken iphone' and found a place that will not only buy my iPhone that works great in paperweight mode, but will send me packing materials and not charge me postage.  The best part is that if they actually pay the quoted price, I upgraded for free. Yay me!

Other than the phone shooting craps, we found a neat bookstore in Green Bay where I found a book of poetry by Ferlinghetti, and a few A.A. Fair (Erle Stanley Gardner) novels I needed for my collection.  The bookstore is called The Reader's Loft.  It has great atmosphere and two cats that sleep there.  Elaine played with Bailey the cat while I looked at books.  Heck, we waited around for them to total up the books I'd brought in for trade.  I'd taken a box of books to the local book store to trade and they didn't take the westerns.  Not because they didn't want them, but they didn't have anyplace to put them.  I just left the box in the car, so they were with me.  I did okay on that as well.  :-)

Next door to that bookstore was a place that sold, get this, Frou-Frou Vinegar's, Frou-Frou Olive Oil's and TEA!  I bought me some Organic Jasmine Green Tea and these nifty disposable tea bags that I can put my loose tea in and make a cup.  Very spiffy.

We did some other running around and went for gyro's at a new place (I don't know how new, I don't live in West De Pere) near the St. Norbert's College campus.  The restaurant used to be a Subway and is now called something like "Gyro's and Stuff" but I can't remember.  Food was good and service was prompt.  I like what Elaine got and that was a thing called a Vegetarian Cheater's Gyro.  They put just three long strips of gyro meat on an otherwise loaded veggie gryo thingie.  The Greek fries were good, even if we didn't finish all of them.  Dad's wife, Mary just loves gyro's and now they know the place near their home is worth frequenting.  I'm glad of that.

Another thing I found out is that she has taken up the craft of Garage Sales.  I say craft because the idea of just going to buy other people's junk doesn't hold much interest for her, but finding things that are useful to her, for very little money does.  She's pretty good at it, as far as that goes.  I think she bought a power saw for my dad for very cheap.  Cheap is good.

Saturday afternoon, while Dad and I went to the National Railroad Museum, Elaine and Mary went rummage sale-ing.  They really enjoyed themselves.  Dad and I did as well.  Of course, there's just something about the Male Animal and trains...

Thursday evening, Elaine and I got the chance to catch up with a couple of my old friends from when I lived in Green Bay. Neil and Michelle.  I've known the two of them *cough, cough* years and played a small part in their wedding which was *harumph* years ago.  They have a small place up near Sturgeon Bay near Potawatomi State Park.  Neil has told me that there are pink flamingo's all over the place up there.  Leftover's from the previous owner of the small place.  They elected to not only keep them, but they have added to it.

We elected to help them with their American Kitsch by presenting them with a Pink Flamingo Ice Bucket and matching Pink Flamingo (plastic) Goblets.  Complete with Flamingo heads on the rims and feet at the base.  Kitschy is one way of describing them.  Neil laughed out loud, he got a real kick out of them, and Michelle liked them as well.  Seeing them was wonderful.  Best part about my friendship with those two is how they just accepted Elaine and made her comfortable and welcome when she met them *mutter, mutter* years ago for the first time.

Well, we did some other things and I'm sure I'll write about them later.  I just wanted to say how good a trip it was and how much fun we had.  It is also quite good to be home.

 

I was thinking today about our upcoming trip to the Green Bay area around Labor Day to visit my Olde Man.  We haven't been up to visit them in almost 5 years.  Not because we don't love 'em or nothing, but we've managed to see them here, or elsewhere in the interim.   So, it'll be nice to go and see them.

That got me to thinking about our trip to Toledo over the Memorial Day weekend to visit The Olde Man's Mother, my Grandmother.  Our friends Pat and Sheila went with us.  Pat's back was acting up and he was uncomfortable most of the time, and while he didn't complain, we all knew he was suffering.  Sometimes verbal cue's aren't needed...

On one day of our trip, we left Toledo (and Grandma) and ventured off to Frankenmuth, MI.  It's an old German community, with a strong Bavarian feel to the town.  And one of the places we went in Frankenmuth was Bronner's.  It was Christmas in May at Bronner's.  Of course, it is Christmas at Bronner's year round.  They sell Christmas decorations year round. 

It is an enormous place.  Takes several hours to see most everything and there is a lot to see.  Tons of stuff.  Stuff you will never see at the Gates of Hell (Wally World) or the local mall.  Themes from around the world, trees, Santa's from all over, music, books, lights, and most everything else you can think of and a lot of stuff you can't.

Being a Christmas store, they play Christmas music in the place year round.  I had to laugh as I walked past an employee, wearing her Christmas colored apron and singing along with Brenda Lee.  I told her to "Sing out!"  She blushed and said she couldn't do that, and I told her I had heard her just fine.  I don't believe she realized that she had been singing that loud.

I asked her, "Don't you ever get tired of these songs?  Especially at Christmas time?"  Her answer was, "No.  I guess it takes a special type to work here year round."  And I would agree.   After some more looking around, picking out a few new baubles for the tree, we left.  And left the magic and wonder of Christmas to Memorial Day just by walking through a door.  It was kind of an odd experience.

After Bronner's, we ambled off to Zehnder's of Frankenmuth for lunch.  Fried Chicken is what they are famous for and for good reason.  It's not a heavy, crunchy crust ala The Colonel, but more a seasoned (and salty) flour batter that was more of a coating than a crust.  The other item that Zehnder's is well known for is Mother's Dressing, served with the aforementioned fried chicken.  Fabulous stuff and the prices weren't bad.  As big as Bronner's is, they need places as large as Zehnder's. They serve over a million plates of food annually.  Not bad for a small town joint.

Pat has had his back operated on and is already feeling better.  Still recovering, but doing a whole heap better.  For which I am grateful.  Next is Elaine who should be getting her back worked on sometime in the next few months...

I don't know that I was ever friends with my Mother.  She certainly didn't encourage it.  I was never allowed to forget that I was her Son.  Her offspring, that my place was as Child.  Not just when I screwed up, broke something or similar situations.  No, I was Son all the time.  I was never allowed to graduate to Equal, nor that step below.  It was a tempestuous relationship that we had.  Almost a textbook example of Love/Hate.

Except towards the end of her life.  Then...then, she softened some.  Many of the angry's and mad's of the past floated away, or simply disappeared.  When she died, we had been at peace with each other.  She told me that I had been a good Son.  So, in that instance, the reminder of my place was a wonderful one. 

Since she has passed, I've grown some.  Learned some and thought some.  And I realized that she wasn't being mean, or cruel.  She was just being who she was.  Where she came from and what she'd learned.  In and amongst the pretensions of something other than what she was, there as a deep sense of place.  Of who you were in relation to others.  She never tried to be an equal with her parents, her Father in particular.  So, it isn't so surprising now.

My Dear Olde Dad on the other hand...he became my Bud...my friend when I was still a kid.  At the time, man...it was great.  Whatta guy.  Over the years, we've talked about it.  And we both agree he didn't do either of us any favors and if he had it to do over again, but since he doesn, forever and ever, Amen.  Turn the page.

These days, we have quite the comfortable relationship.  All his dreams for me have been realized.  To be happy.  By and large, I am.  Like everyone else, there are regrets and things that need to be dealt with or repaired.  One day at a time, and pray on the move.  That's all I can do.

Today's Writing Prompt: Mail

Tomorrow you get the mail, and in it you find the best letter you can imagine. What does it say?

From The One-Minute Writer

--------------------------------------------------


Dear Dad,

All is forgiven. Here's my phone number. Call me...

Your Daughter

There was a time, many years ago, when I was a Grade A, Blue Ribbon, USDA Approved, Asshat of the Highest Order.  Narcissism would have actually been one hell of an improvement.  I really didn't give a damn about much of anybody but myself.  At least, that's what my actions showed.  Inside it was a different story, but I seldom acted on it. 

I was 19.  I'd dropped out of High School, and then proceeded to flunk out of the area Tech School.  A basic accounting program, and I couldn't be bothered to go to class, or do my homework.  I was real good at cutting class and drinking and sleeping the day away and not cleaning up my own messes, where ever they were.  I contributed nothing to the operation of the household, and along with that, I complained a lot.  I mean,  a lot...

I was not a nice person to be around.

After a particularly obnoxious fight with my Dad over nothing that really mattered, he told me I had until the end of the month to find someplace else to go.  That his legal and moral obligations to me were fulfilled, that I was now of adult age and needed to get on with it.  That I was no longer welcome to live in his home.

I was shocked.  Dumbfounded.  Parents didn't DO this.  I was his Son!  I was hid Oldest!  I was his Pal!

I was unwelcome.

He...he...he was a rat-bastard of the highest order.  Scum!  Worthless!  Oh, how I cursed him.  I was so angry, so hurt, so bewildered and so totally screwed.  I had nowhere to go.  No job, no motivation, nada...zip...zilch...

I did the only reasonable thing.  I called my mother.  She listened, did some cussing and told me she'd call me back.  I waited...and she did call back.  I was to go to my Grandparents in Missouri.  Seemed like a good idea to me.  Anywhere but there, where I wasn't wanted.  So, with tail tucked between my legs, I slunk out of town close to 27 years ago and some serious culture shock and dislocation.

The thing is, Dad...well, Dad was 100% right in what he did.  I know there are people who will never understand how I can come to this conclusion, but to allow me to stay where I was, both in his home and in my head...I needed to grow up.  I needed a serious and LOUD wake up call.  I got it.  It was the hardest thing he ever did in his life.  I can believe it.

Living with my Grandparents turned out to be a blessing for all of us.  In time, I came to realize that what my Dad had done for me was a tremendous gift, that took courage and was done out of love and not spite or lack of consideration.  I not only forgave him, but thanked him.  What a gift forgiveness is.

The hardest part of this for me, in all honesty, was to step into his shoes.  To view things from his standpoint.  To see things (or try to) as he did and to acknowledge that I was making a mess of not only my life with my self-destructive behavior, but his life as well.  Sure, there was some self-defense in his action.  But the biggest reason behind it was his love for me.  To allow me to continue the same actions and expect the same result would have been insane on his part.

It was hard on both of us, but we weathered the storm.  Some people in my family never forgave him for it.  That turned out to be their problem and not his.  I thank him for it.  It was a blessing in disguise.  For everyone.

I am happy today because I had a mother.  Without her, and some cooperation from my father, I wouldn't be here.

She passed away seven years ago last month.  At the time, I was relieved.  Horrible to say, but at least her suffering was over.  She had MS, and lived the last few years of her life confined to a motorized scooter, a nursing home and her own demons.  It didn't make for a good quality of life for her, nor anyone else.

I had a contentious and mutually destructive relationship with my mother for most of her life.  First of all, I was male.  I couldn't help that, but I suffered for it anyway.  When my sister came along, my mother was better equipped to deal with and raise her.  It's not a criticism of Mother, just a fact of life.  Lord knows I don't blame my sister.  Wasn't her fault.

Mother was pretty blunt on one occasion.  I was pretty hurt about some choice she had made because she was obviously favoring my sister.  I called her on it, and Mother admitted that it was true.  Not only that, but that she preferred her to me.  Not my sister's fault, and I don't blame her for it.  Part of it was that I was male, the other that we were too similar.

While it may not be true in every case, in most instances, Time Does Heal All Wounds.  In my case, by listening to my Grandfather, I did my duty to my Mother.  Not always as he would have wanted me to, that is for certain.  I so wanted at times to tell her to go to the devil and wash my hands of her.  I did a time or two, but it never lasted.  She was, after all, my Mother.  I had my duty.

Fast forward to the last year or so of her life.  There's a part of me that thinks now that she knew the end was near.  That, or prayed for it.  What matters is that on one visit, she looked at me with a thoughtful look on her face and told me that I had been a good son to her.  Despite years of being told I was a disappointment and that I didn't measure up, that one sentence on that one occasion was priceless to me.

That seemingly small gift allowed me to forgive.  Not just her, but myself.  As the years have passed, while I don't try to guild the lily, I do recall more of the genuine good times and things about her.  She taught me good table manners and how to behave myself in public.  She taught me the value of buying quality the first time so I don't have to replace cheap down the line.  She taught me the value of enjoying reading.  She also taught me that there was much to be enjoyed musically.

Further, while she had a helluva time applying these lessons to her own life, she did teach me to accept people as they are and not how I'd like them to be.  It's a lesson I have to work hard on everyday, but I'd like to think I've gotten better at it as the years have passed.

And on a related note, I also miss my Mother-in-Law something awful.  She passed a couple of years ago, and her absence is still felt keenly in our home.  She was a woman of character and somebody I admired and enjoyed.  She seemed to think I was a good husband to her daughter, so that was good to know.  She is sorely missed.

As the years have passed, I miss my own Mother more than I imagined I would.  So, that makes Mother's Day hard for the two of us.  Our Mother's are gone, and outside of our Stoopid Kats, we have no children together.  We get to focus on what we are missing today...so, say a small prayer for those who have lost their mother's and/or aren't mothers and what this day might mean to them.

Still, Mother's gift allows me the freedom and pleasure to say today, "Thanks, Mom" and mean it.

I'll tell you one more thing today.  My sister could write a book about parenting.  She and her husband are terrific parents to their two boys.  She is a Mom in every sense of the word and enjoys good relationships with her boys.  I'm pleased for them and proud of her.  Happy Mother's Day, Sis.

Today's Writing Prompt: Handmade

Write about a handmade gift you've received or given.

----

He still has it hanging in his workshop.  Although I think it's been years since he put a battery in it.  It always seems to be telling the same time whenever I am there.  That he doesn't really use it doesn't matter.  That it still hangs in his workshop means everything.

I made Dad a clock for Christmas.  I took a saw blade from a circle saw.  It was pristine.  Brand new.  It is now older but it has never been used.  Except to hold a Wal-Mart clock movement in the center hole and a place for a battery.  That, and as a reminder that I love him.


-----

Writing prompt provided by The One-Minute Writer
 

The Christmas I turned 18 was memorable for a couple of reasons.  We were living in Wisconsin at the time, and the drinking age was 18 back then.  My birthday fell that December, so I was legal to bar hop and have some fun. 

My Dad had bought me a pair of Cowboy boots, and told me I couldn't wear them until Christmas.  I thought he was fooling, but he wasn't.  They sat, unwrapped under the tree for 3 weeks.  Teasing me.  Calling me.  Mocking. ME!  But, such is life.

There has been a tradition in our family of opening one gift on Christmas Eve.  Well, I think it was just me and my Sister that opened anything, but I prefer to think of this tradition as inclusive.  Makes me feel all Warm and Norman Rockwell fuzzy inside.   And on this particular Christmas...things were different.

My folks had split up.  My Dad took a job with a company that made cheese.  They made processed cheese.  Their offices were in Green Bay, WI.  My Mother and I didn't have the best relationship, so my Sister stayed with Mother, and I got sent to Siberia.  At least, that's what it seemed like at the time.

We arrived in January of that year, and I was surprised that there were buildings that weren't buried by snow.  People drove cars, no sled dogs or igloos and they had a pro football team.  Plus, there was beer.  And girls.  Turned out that Siberia wasn't so bad, and that I really came to love the area.  But, the family was still split up and I was still the new kid and 'different."  It was a tough time.  Until I discovered beer.

So, I was acclimating to the culture quite well.  But, it was still a hard Christmas that year.

In the run up to Christmas, packages would appear.  I would get curious and shake them.  Hold them in my hands and contemplate what treasures could be inside.  What possible goodies could there be in these shiny boxes, all dressed up and waiting the destruction of opening them?  What can I say, I needed more to do with my time.

One package in particular stymied me.  It weighed just around a pound and a quarter.  However, the box was about a foot square.  Nothing rattled so much as it thunked when shaken.  Almost like it was solid.  It became a game, then almost an obsession.  Come Christmas Eve, package...you.  were.  mine!

The night arrives, we eat dinner, sit around and yak for a spell...then...then the time comes.  I get to open the present.  I get to gaze upon this "something" that thumps, appears solid...my mind was awhirl with possibilites and ideas.  None of which I can remember at this point in my life, but that's not important.

Have I ever mentioned that my Dad has a mean streak, disguised as a sense of humor?  No?  Oh boy....

Sometime in November, we had gone to the grocery store together.  And on a whim, I asked the Olde Man (term of endearment) for a jar of goofy goodness called Goober Grape.  To my surprise, he said no!  NO!  His favorite (and only) son!  Denied the joy of Goober Grape!  Ok, so a 17, soon to be 18 and drinking legally, year old really shouldn't be wanting Goober Grape...but there ya go.

You know what was in the box, don't you?  Packed tightly in enough newspaper to have formed almost a solid cube inside that box, lay the object of my speculation...a jar of Goober Grape Peanut Butter 'n Jelly Swirl!  I don't know who laughed harder, the Olde Man, or me.  Whenever I see a jar of Goober Grape, I think of that Christmas Eve.

Which brings me to why I'm talking about Christmas on Resurrection Sunday.  For Lent, I elected to give up Peanut Butter.  I mentioned this at the beginning of the Lenten Season.  While my gooey sacrifice wasn't anywhere near as reflective as Chris's Lenten Soundtrack, I did get a glimpse of what true sacrifice is all about.  Sort of an idea of what G*d and His Son gave up.

And this morning, when we returned from church, I gave my wife a sack of ice cream treats and such.  She gave up that for lent.  Our small sacrifices were both hard for various reasons.  She gave me a sack of cookies, candies and other treats that all had Peanut Butter in them.  Including a jar of, you guessed it, Goober Grape.

Today, *cough, cough* years ago, in a hospital down South, my Younger Sister was brought forth!

Happy Birthday, Sis!

Yer Proud Brother!

She also shares Birthday Honors with our Grandmother.  She turns 98 years young today.  Congratulations!

I find it odd, that I can look at most CD's and not have a clue when I bought it, or where.  Without fail, I can look at almost every single one of my Christmas music CD's and not only tell you when I bought it, but where and for how much.

There are a few Christmas CD's that are quite special to me.  One is Phil Driscoll's Heaven and Nature Swing.  Driscoll is a fine trumpet player and my Mother played trumpet when she was in High School.  She was quite proud of the fact that she was the first girl to sit 1st Chair in the Trumpet section at her high school.  So, when I first heard Driscoll's killer version of Joy to the World, I wasted no time going to Lemstone to buy a copy of this CD.  Mother heard the trumpet part and had a look on her face that I didn't see very often.  Rapture.  She went on to say (after I played the song 3 more times) that it was apparent he was worshipping G*d with his trumpet.  I can see (hear?) what she's saying.

Mother's gone now, so I tend to think of her a lot when listening to this particular song and album.  It's also usually the first one I listen to when it's time for Christmas music.  Further, it's also the song most likely to be listened to when it's not Christmas music time.  It's that good.

I seldom struggle with words.  They usually come pretty easy to me.  There have been few times in my life when I've had to struggle to find the right words, the proper words, the words that will convey exactly what I want to say, to express the feelings in my head and in my heart.

This is one of those times.

Ten years ago, I married my best friend.  She is without a doubt, one of the finest people I've ever known in my life.  That she chose me, still baffles me.  That she still smiles when I come home gladdens me more than I could ever express in words.


I can't write love poetry to save my life.  The first line I like...and is so true in her.

My faith is very important to me.  It's a huge part of who I am.  I have been so blessed to have as a partner in life such a good witness.  Somebody who lives with such grace, her faith.  It is an inspiration to me, and something that humbles me.  She would argue with me about this, but that's my story and I am sticking to it.  Mainly because it's the truth about her as I see it.

I remember her mother (God rest her soul) told me before we got married, "Well, life with Elaine won't be dull." 

She was right.  Life hasn't been dull with her.  Smiles, laughs, giggles, and all sorts of fun things have followed over the past decade.  Not moments of overwhelming drama, but entertaining and enjoyable.  We've had our share of losses (both her parents and my mother and grandmother, plus the continued lack of my daughter's presence) but we've come through in good shape, by the Grace of G*d.

I thank Him, and I thank her.  Love is a choice and one that takes courage on a daily basis. The alternative is easy and one I've taken as well.  Running away from trouble or problems isn't in her makeup.  I thank her for making that choice every day.  I can honestly say that my life is a better place for her being such a major part of it, and that I would be lost without her. 

The writer of Proverbs wrote in the 31st Chapter,

 10 A wife of noble character who can find?
       She is worth far more than rubies.

She is a wife of noble character, and a lot of fun besides. 

I love you, Elaine.  Thank you for 10 great years.  Looking forward to 10 more!
 

I know I've written of my cousin before, and he is a fine man.  He was recently installed as the President of the Lutheran Church of Canada.  That's why we went to Canada recently. To attend the installation service.  His sermon during the service was quite a good one.  It even includes the quite common baby crying!  The LCC has posted the sermon on You Tube, and here it is, broken down in two parts....



Sorry for the less then stellar audio quality, but it's still powerful stuff.

Jesus Christ is Lord, indeed...

I like to eat.  Take a look at any picture of me taken in the past 15 years and you'll notice that my waist has been expanding.  Food is something I enjoy.  A lot.  Probably too much, to be honest...

We returned from a trip to Canada to see family and to attend the installation service of my cousin, the Reverend Robert Bugbee,  as President of the Lutheran Church of Canada this past Sunday.  I'll write more about that later.

Right now, I wanna talk about food.  Food I ate whilst I was gone away from home and the comforts of said home stomping grounds.  I tried many new things, including Rouladen, Curried Goat and Wiener schnitzel (and no, they weren't using Schnauzer...).  I would not hesitate to eat any of them again.  My aunt fixed up the Rouladen and used us as guinea pigs.  I'll be her culinary Guinea Pig any ol' day...

That is a picture of my wonderful Aunt Vi, and her Rouladen.  Needless to say, we had a marvelous meal.  Another surprise was her cooked carrots.  I've never liked cooked carrots, as I've always  preferred them raw.  However, she did something sneaky good with them, such as cooking them in chicken broth with a touch of sugar.  Yum.  Gotta try that at home.  Actually, gonna try that at home...

As good as the meal was, being able to sit down to dinner with my Aunt, her husband, my Dad and his wife, Grandma Stratton and my own wonderful wife, that was the best.  Hands down, the best.  Even though I've managed at various points in my life to do my darndest to mess up my family relationships, that they still love and forgive me is amazing. 

The night before we had this marvelous dining experience, three of us (Grandma, Elaine and I) trundled off to Al Smith's in Toledo.  I like the place as the food is basic, and always good.  But they have this desert that is simply to die for.  I mean, it is that good.  I shied away from bread pudding for years because the crap they labled as such in the school cafeteria was of the consistency of rubber and were I ever to actually try to eat road kill, I'm fairly certain that this is what it would taste like.  Al Smith's Bread Pudding is something altogether different.  It requires a small dinner in front of it, because they serve it to you in a soup bowl.  Or a salad bowl, or a bowl large enough to go swimming in.  As you can see from the photo, it's ginourmously huge.
I mean, we're not talking any wimpy serving sizes here now are we kids?  No sirree, this is desert for the healthy appettite.  And I do believe they slip some actual whiskey in the sauce that is drizzled (poured?) over it.  All I know is that when I'm done, I have this warm glow...and want to take a nap.
And the other noteworthy culinary adventure entailed trying out a new fast food place on the way up north.  This stop in Indiana was at a place called Skyline Chili.  I'd seen the signs, heard some comments from I forget where, so decided with the consent of my wife, to give it a whirl.  While I enjoyed the food, I thought it was rather expensive and not worth a return visit.  However, I did note that they used a LOT of cheese on the items I ordered.  Which was a Chili 4 Way (on the left) and Coney's (on the other left).  There really is food under the cheese.  One last note about Skyline Chili...if the waitress offers you a bib?  Take one and use it....

























So, I like food.  Thanks to my sister, I have developed a liking for taking pictures of my food.  I try not to wear my food, but sometimes it happens.

Oh yeah, never forget to Try the Veal!

My Sister Kate, who is a food blogger.  I know I've written about her before and since she has been interviewed on a podcast as part of the Great Cooks Radio service.  It's an entertaining interview, and Kate is very much herself in this interview. 

Go ahead and give it a listen, if you're of a mind to.  I'm right proud of her.

Ok, so here's the deal...

My wife and I created Amazon Wish Lists a couple of years ago to sort of give the other ideas for gifts for Xmas, Birthday, Anniversary and Tuesday...
The other day, she informs me that my Wish List is boring...very, very dull.  I didn't think so, but I didn't argue with her.  I did what she told me to do and added about 3 pages of "stuff" to my list.  You can click the pretty button up above and see what sort of "stuff" I added to the list.  I don't think it's boring at all, do you?



EDIT:  This is NOT a hint....

 
This here is a picture of my sister, who I think is pretty terrific.  I stole it from her profile...

Life happens. On a daily basis, we get messes that need to be cleaned up. Sometimes it's nothing more than food wrappers or packaging, others it's diapers or junk falls over. You have to stop and clean it up. All in a day or a life. Just happens.

Yesterday morning was a lovely, albeit chilly, morning. Still, it was more than warm enough for me to ride the Gold Wing to work. I opened the garage door to roll it out and was greeted with a huge pile of "stuff" that decided to follow along. Actually, I think there was a seismic shift and the pile just fell in the middle of the night or something. Anyway, it just flowed out of the garage and into the driveway. Ugh...

It was a box that contained quite a few of the greeting cards my Grandmother had received. She never threw them away. In fact, she joked with us that we would get to deal with it as she had no desire to do so. Usually, this came with a sly grin and a laugh. I miss that laugh...

Here is is, Wednesday morning, the Wing is warming up in the driveway, and I have to clean up this mess of cards. It was something I wanted to do some other time. I knew I'd end up throwing them out, but part of me didn't really want to. It was a part of Grandma, and it was silly, but I knew why I hadn't thrown them out. I couldn't help but thinking at the time that this was Life Happening, telling me to let go and get on with it.

Took about 8 minutes to toss all those cards in a trash can, sweep up a bit of stray flotsam and jetsam and leave for work. I kept thinking about those darn cards off and on all day.

When my sister and I were growing up, we spent a lot of time with our grandparents. Something for which I am profoundly grateful to our parents for making sure happened. Those were our vacations. While others went to amusement parks or the Grand Canyon, we schlepped off to our grandparents. Which was a good deal as far as I was concerned. My sister agrees. We had wonderful relationships with our grandparents, and our paternal grandmother is still with us. She's 97 and still going strong.

To keep them separated, when talking about and to our paternal grandparents, we called them Grammie and Grandpa. Which suited them. Our maternal grandparents were Grandma and Grandad. This also suited them. All were and remain wonderful people. I feel truly blessed to have been a part of their lives and for them to have been a part of mine.

Grandpa was something of a jokester. Never malicious or mean, but gently funny and amusing. I don't recall what day in April his birthday was, but I know it's written down in my dormant genealogy project. Not that it matters, because we always celebrated or observed his birthday on April 1. Were he still with us, today would be his 99th birthday.

From the time I was around 10 or 11 he started talking to me about seeing stars in the daylight. It was usually during a rainstorm or after dark, or when it was cloudy. The conversation was always short and more of a reminder than anything else. This went on for several years. Always a teasing comment and promise of seeing something amazing. Having a kids attention span, I didn't give it much thought beyond that. And, I knew he was nuts. Nobody could see stars in the daylight in a back yard.

Could they?

I have to tell you a bit about Grammie and Grandpa's house. This was the place where my father had grown up. They had one of the bigger lots in the neighborhood, but that's because they had owned a good part of the neighborhood at one point and sold off pieces of it over the years as the area they lived grew. The backyard was a wonderland to a couple of small kids. There was a path that went to the Grape Arbor. Beyond that was The Shanty. The Shanty was Grandpa's workshop, from which all manner of miraculous goodness came. It had been a chicken house at one point in time, but my father had cleaned it up and set up his Ham Radio outfit in there. When he left home for college, he lost his space to his dad. Seems to me that some of his old Ham equipment was still there, but I don't really know.

The distance between the Grape Arbor and the Shanty was around 20 feet or so. The Grape arbor was a wonderful place. There was a water pipe that came up out of the ground with a spiggot where the best water I ever had in memory came from. There was a tin cup that hung from a nail, up high in the arbor, that we drank this water from. It was 4 concrete posts that were around a foot on each side. Hefty posts that held up an equally hefty trellis. On the trellis grew purple grapes that were the center of a weekend every fall. That was because we'd spend the best part of two days picking all the grapes from the vines. Many bushels worth as I recall. Some of them would be eaten immediately, most were turned into jelly by my father and some were frozen. Under the Arbor were two gliders that had been there as long as I could remember. There was also an old metal tractor seat that was affixed to a concrete base, that was buried. I remember asking Grandpa where he got the seat from, and he said it was still attached to the tractor. The whole thing was buried in the back yard and only the seat was exposed. I didn't know any better, so like a trusting idiot child, I believed him. Sort of...

It was a beautiful summers day when the time for me to see Stars in the Daylight arrived. There really wasn't a cloud in the sky and it wasn't at all windy nor too warm. All in all, a perfect weather day for most anything, but especially for seeing Stars in the Daylight. By this time, I'd gotten more than a little curious and had asked my Cousin Bob about it. Apparently, he knew all about seeing Stars in the Daylight and was more than willing to share his exuberance with me, all the while without telling me a damn thing. My Dad assured me that this was something I would long remember, so off to the back yard the four of us trooped. Grandpa, Cousin Bob (who even at that age, everyone knew was going to be a minister. Which he did and is.), Dad and me. The sucker.

I should have known that something wicked was coming this way when I saw the raincoat in my draped over Dad's arm. Why in the heck would anyone need a raincoat on such a glorious gift of a day? Turns out the coat was for putting over my head. Seems it worked just as well as wool over the eyes. It also worked for seeing Stars in the Daylight. Lest you think I'm pulling your leg as hard as mine was pulled, I most certainly did see Stars in the Daylight.

The raincoat was of the London Fog type. Light brown, lots of buttons and a belt around the middle. I have no idea who it belonged to, nor do I care. Suffice it to say, I was put inside the rain coat. Only thing is, they turned it inside out (smell the rat yet?) and it was draped over my head. Dad was kind enough to hold one of the sleeves up so that I could see that lovely blue sky. He's sort of move it around while Grandpa was asking, "Do you see any stars yet?" over and over again. After what seemed like an hour, but was certainly no more than 90 seconds, Grandpa was in the middle of his question when I saw stars. Lots of them.

Remember that tin cup I told you about? While I was being walked (blindly, I might add) down the Garden Path, Cousin Bob (The Minister to Be) was filling said tin cup with enough water to flood the back yard. Okay, so it was maybe 3-4 ounces, but when it came flying down the sleeve of the coat into my face, it seemed like a lot more than it was. Because when that cold water hit my face, as sure as God makes little green apples, I saw stars. Lots of them...

I miss Grandpa and I treasure that story.

    I know I've written about my sister before.  She's a terrific lady and I'm very proud of her.  She has done well with her life.  She has a husband who is a good man, not only to her but their children as well.  Heck, he's even nice to me!  I'd say the same about my wife, but everyone likes her, to that's not unusual.
    Sis is a terrific mother to her two little boys.  They are pretty normal little boys, and full of boundless little boy energy, yet they are well behaved boundless energy little boys.  A real pleasure to be around and lots of fun.
    She keeps a blog that is mostly focused on cooking.  I enjoy it and she really enjoys doing it.  It shows in her posts.  And she has started adding pictures of her creations.
    So, head on over to "One Little Corner of the World" and surprise her.  Tell her that her brother sent her.  ;-)