Wednesday, April 29, 2009
I'm going to answer your question. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints has asked it's members to store food and other necessities for times of need. So we do--or at least we try to, but some of us don't really have much of a plan.
A couple of weeks ago I was in Costco when I met Liesa Card, the author of "I Dare You to Eat It," a book about food storage and actually being able to eat what you store. Her book is excellent. She gave me permission to share it on our Relief Society bulletin, which I will start doing this week. She also has a blog by the same name. Click here to check it out.
One of her premises is to store enough "comfort" food for three months. That is food you would normally eat. She keeps three recipes worth of groceries for five meals in five categories: wheat, beans, pasta, potatoes, and rice. That makes three months worth of recipes. She uses these recipes all the time so her stored food is always naturally rotated, as she replenishes the used items.
I made her Fiesta Wheat and Bean Salad twice in a week. (I used more lime juice, some garlic powder and more jalapenio and it would be good with hot sauce.) I took some of it to five families along with a bag of tortilla chips to eat it with. I don't know if they like it but I do. I even eat it on corn tortillas, lightly fried in a little olive oil and topped with hot sauce. I eat it for breakfast, weird I know but tasty.
We can do this. We can get prepared for times of emergency. It will take a little planning and a bit of work but won't it feel good to be prepared when/if the store shelves are all of a sudden empty?
Check out her web site, and there are other "Food Storage" web sites on the Internet, too. Let's get busy and do what we have been told to do for so very long. It feels good to be prepared. At least that's what I've heard. Ask me later in the year, when I've figured out my thirty meals times three.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
I know a mother whose son is a registered pedophile. Does she hate him? No, she loves him and wants to help him in any way. I know another woman whose son is an alcoholic. He drove onto the exit ramp of the freeway and hit another car, head on, killing the driver. Does his mother hate him? No, she loves him. She grieves over him, she worries and wishes she could make him better. She grieves over the person who was killed too. Her life and the lives of others were forever altered by the behavior of her son and yet...she loves him.
In our Visiting Teaching message this month one sentence stood out for me. It said, “As you become more and more familiar with the truths of the scriptures, you will be more and more effective in keeping the second great commandment, to love your neighbor as yourself."
I think, since this is the second commandment, I should work at it a little harder. I am going to try and see others as Christ sees them.
Years ago I read a story of a school teacher who went into a tough school to teach--one where violence was a common occurrence. The first day, in each of her classes, she did not speak until she had looked in the face of each student. When she could see the face of Christ in them she would go on to the next student. She said she had NO trouble with any of her students that year. I think it is because they knew she loved them.
I want to be a person like that.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
"Dear Pioneer Woman,
Shrimp is expensive. Just thought you'd want to know.
PS Your photos are beautiful but maybe three of them showing us the pepper is two too many."
Gilmore Girl has a recipe for shrimp that IS yummy and maybe even three fun's and I will put it in my recipe book as soon as I tear PW's recipe in tiny bits.
Yes, a great day, once all the pain and fear were over and I held that beautiful baby in my arms. She has been a joy ever since.
Well, ALMOST ever since. Teenagers, being what they are, but we're not going to think about that today, are we. (Twitch, twitch.) But then again, maybe we will, for just a minute, as The Mighty Hunter found that Gilmore Girl had scratched her name into the Clerk--when she was a teenager.
The Clerk is my favorite piece of furniture and, until tonight, I thought it had escaped the markings of children with a sharp instruments. Practically everyone in the family has scratched their name in the piano. Do you KNOW how much it costs to refinish a piano? Don't even ask.
"So," she said, after the name was revealed for one and all, "I guess that means I get the Clerk after you die. After all, my name is on it."
Over my dead body. Oh, wait. It will be over my dead body.
Happy Birthday! I love you anyway. And always will. And so does Dad.
PS Here's a photo of how I decorate the clerk--that you aren't getting--over my dead body--for spring.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Just because something doesn’t do what you planned it to do doesn’t mean it’s useless. Thomas A. Edison
I would like to edit it a bit:
Just because someone doesn’t do what you think they should do doesn’t mean they aren't wonderful.
Friday, April 24, 2009
I am ordering a Hijab just in case. Actually this would cover up the thinning hair too. And hey, if I looked like her I wouldn't care if I were bald. Okay, I might care a little. Okay a lot. Okay, I'm a little bit vain. So I guess I will continue with the Rogaine knock-off and just put up with the hairy fingers. And the facial hair? I have tweezers and know how to use them.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
It turns out the colonoscopy was cancelled. It took her twenty minutes to tell me why. It's scheduled for next month. There will be a story there. Stay tuned.
Then we got on the subject of the fact that there is no bathroom in the basement of her house. And then--naturally--we got on the subject of her peeing. (This is going to take several posts to tell you all her funny peeing stories so I'll start here.)
THE FULL MASON JAR IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM. This happened several years ago.
Mrs. Bird's garage is on the basement level. She bursts in the house after shopping, or doing whatever current bizarre thing she was doing, and has to go to the bathroom. She knows she will never make it upstairs so she heads for the laundry room, pulling down her pants as she goes. She grabs a wide mouth Mason jar, one she keeps just for this very purpose--she has forgotten this part of the story but it is blazed on my brain--she told me this story fifteen years ago--and I know it's true--she puts the Mason jar on the floor, squats expertly--she's had lots of practice--and pees.
She hears the back door open and close but she's busy and can't stop. Her teenage daughter passes the laundry room, does an double take, backs up and stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips. "What on EARTH are you doing?"
Really, Mrs. Bird thinks, how brainless can my daughter get? Even an amoeba could see I'm peeing.
"Why?" The teenage, non-amoeba asks.
"Because I had to go and couldn't make it upstairs to the bathroom."
Just about that time, with Mrs. Bird minding her own business and with her teenage daughter butting in where she's not wanted, all of a sudden, Mrs. Bird's kidneys and bladder go into overtime and the quart Mason jar fills to the top and overflows. The astonished, yet brainless, daughter has yet another reason to think her mother is nuts.
Well, okay, Mrs. Bird is nuts but her teenage daughter shouldn't have confirmation. Luckily the daughter grew up and now knows her mom is fabulous but there for a minute, with pee puddling on the laundry room floor, trickling down the drain, well, just for a minute, her teenage daughter hoped she only got her father's genes.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
- I stay up too late, getting my fix of back episodes of "House."
- I stay up too late, reading blogs.
- I stay up too late, trying to find interesting things to eat, even though I said I wouldn't eat after 7:00 because Oprah says it's THE rule. Oprah doesn't know everything. Does she? I usually don't eat it, I just look for it. I DON'T EAT IT PAM, I PROMISE.
- I stay up too late, worrying about things like, is it spelled "to" or "too." The Grammar Nazi's should tell me so I can go to bed--after watching "House," of course.
- I'm taking YET another round of antibiotics.
- I'm worrying.
- I'm old.
- And perhaps moldy.
- I'm dying. Aren't we all? Don't panic. I'm pretty sure we are.
- I think I should blog every day and then when I can't I have the stupor's and who can go to bed with the stupors? I usually go to bed with Phil but maybe the stupors are more interesting and maybe they snore less.
- I have too much to do and not enough a) time b) ambition c) talent d) motivation e) energy--because I stay up to late.
- I think perhaps the Epstein Bar Syndrome has reared it's ugly head. Again. That would also explain the stupors.
The end. The bitter, total end of life as we know it, as only people who stay up too late can really understand.
Monday, April 20, 2009
I told Mrs. Bird it was time for another of her stories. She said, "Oh, I can't think right now. I'm preparing for a colenoscopy."
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus and a Fairy Godmother, too!
Thank you, my dear Fairy Godmother.
PS You should start a chocolate delivery business. You could also sell homemade cupcakes. You should buy a truck, all decorated in frosting and sprinkles. You could make a fortune. In Utah Valley alone the sales of Prozac would diminish so much that the drug companies would send representatives out to find out what was making the women so happy. It would be you.
I shouldn't have worried. My friend is nothing if not kind to her kitties and every other kitty that might happen along--she adopts stray cats like other people adopt attitudes. Their food bowl was only slightly dipped into. When I emptied my offering into the dent it overflowed.
They had water too, but, being the person I am, I thought I'd give them fresh water. On the way to the outside tap I dumped their water out. Big mistake. Sampson, or perhaps it was Hercules, had turned the tap off. I struggled, I even made appropriate grunting noises. Neighbors a block away looked up to see if a Saint Bernard was constipated.
I gave up and went around front to turn that tap on. Horrors! It had no turner-on-er. Sampson, or perhaps Hercules, had removed it. I know not why. At this point I was muttering, "And I had to dump the water out!"
I pulled my sweater down over my hand to get a better grip on the back yard faucet turner-on-er and Tyrannosaurus Rex made bathroom noises. I couldn't help it, it was either that or go home for water.
Finally the water came on. Now I know why Sampson, or perhaps Hercules, turned the water off so tightly. It sprays all over the place, right out of the turner-on-er. Which means I was wet from the knees down. But the cats had to have water so I persevered. By the time my pants were dripping I had their water bowl filled.
I turned the water off. It dripped. I made more obscene noises and gripped tighter. It dripped. I pulled my sweater sleeve over my hand and called on the gods of strength, vim and vitality and ex-lax, just in case. By the time my sleeve was dripping, the water was off.
I hope the cats appreciate me. I gave them food they didn't need. I gave them water they didn't need and I disgraced myself in several noisy and wet ways.
But that's what I do. Humanitarian service that doesn't need to be done. Someone should send me chocolate.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Phil was going to mow the lawn two days ago and decided to wait a day or two. Does this look like a lawn mower?So, dear family, maybe NEXT weekend.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Anyway, here it is, keeping my legglets warm as hot buttered toast. I LOVE it. On the trip north that day I covered my legs with pillows! Honestly, I did. "Little Red" worked 95% better all the way home. I even had a nap. (And then I threw up in the middle of the night and was sick a week. Little Red kept me warm during my puny time, too.)
Here it is, in it's infancy.And here are her talented hands. And last of all, this is our fine boy, eating breakfast. This has nothing to do with this post but since I changed the subject so often I might as well do it with photos, too. And here is one of the watch doggies, waiting for our arrival.
Thank you, my darling daughter-in-law. I love Little Red.
But most of all I love you.
Monday, April 13, 2009
While praying I must have been extra grateful for all our blessing, and I must have asked for quite a few blessings for people in my ward who are sick, and for family members, and a friend who is in California and will be driving back to Utah alone, and other friends who I have been thinking of and loving. I must have prayed for a while. When I said "Amen." I looked up to see Phil crumpled against the wall.
"Are you all right?"
"I should have prayed," he said. "I could have been in bed and asleep by now."
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Rich woman and rich men are going to be taxed, heavily. Here is what I think will happen.
Rich wife: Honey, I am going to be taxed so much that it isn't going to be worth it to run my little business anymore--her "little" business is worth a hefty sum.
Rich husband: I am going to be taxed on my business/businesses, too that I don't think it's worth all the never ending work it takes to keep my business/businesses running .
Rich wife: What should we do?
Rich husband: Let's quit. Let's down size. Sell the winter home and the summer home and just live in this one house, like normal people.
Rich wife: I think that makes a lot of sense. I would have time to clean my own house if I didn't have a business to run.
Rich husband: Let's do it.
So they do and hundreds of people are out of work, everyone from the maid who did the dusting to the vice presidents of the companies. The economy takes a nose dive as they are not the only ones who think all the hard work is no longer worth it. Rich people all over the country will think it is no longer worth it. Who provides jobs for the masses? The rich people. And what will happen if the rich people are taxed right out of business? More poverty for the common man. I'm not saying that rich people shouldn't pay taxes, I'm just saying, be careful, America. It's the rich that keep the economy going by providing jobs and when it no longer becomes worth it...well, what do you think will happen?
And that is why rich women will soon blog. They will have time. They will live like normal people and look for other avenues for their creative talents. Besides dusting, that is.
While the average blogger has three or seven kids, a mortgage she can't afford so she runs an Etsy shop on the side and swaps babysitting with the neighbor that she's not totally fond of, but needs some alone time to make jewelry, so she puts up with her. She also is kind to her bratty kids, when it's her turn to tend. She blogs because she wants to give back to the world and also because she needs friends that she really doesn't have time for. She is lucky to read any magazine and does so while waiting in line at the grocery store and it's usually the one that says, "loose 42 pounds by summer." She is frantically trying to find the article when the checker is finished scanning her items but she puts the magazine back because it's too much money. She'll have to be fat by summer. She scrapes her hair back in a pony tail because she can't--or won't--spend the money to have it styled. She would walk through fire for her kids but won't take a half hour for herself on the treadmill. She's collapsed in front of the TV, watching someone on the Food Channel make food out of ingredients she doesn't have on hand and won't buy because she will never use it again. She is frustrated because she has so many things to do so she blogs.
Friday, April 10, 2009
We all grow differently and in different places but we all grow because our Father loves us and wants us back. Whether we remember or not, we have hope and we believe.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
I pretended deafness. And blindness. And then I moved out of state and changed my name.
PS For those who don't like lemon--like my darling daughter-in-law--you can make a chocolate version--with chocolate shavings on top. Very impressive. And how can you go wrong with chocolate?
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Gillmore Girl was at Emily’s and wasn’t home for dinner so we ate without her. After we ate, someone noticed weevil sitting on the top of the leftover chicken noodle soup. There were gagging noises made and then much laughter when we realized we had all eaten weevil—they must have been in the bag of noodles. "More protein," someone said, as if that made it all right. More gagging noises and finger pointing and things said, like, "weevil eater," but everyone had weevil-soup-filled stomachs so we were laughing at ourselves, too.
Gilmore Girl was due home in a few minutes. What was I going to do? We had all eaten the weevil, the soup had been delicious and I had nothing else to feed her for dinner. So I did what any woman who lived through the Great Depression would do—okay, I didn’t actually live through the Great Depression but my mother did and I’m nothing if not my mother’s daughter. I skimmed every weevil off the top of the soup and then stirred it up in case any others surfaced. They didn’t, so I was confident I had found them all. Then I warmed the soup and threatened the kids to say nothing.
Gilmore Girl came home and ate dinner. After she was finished I threw the rest of the soup out. It wasn’t until later—much later that I confessed to my daughter. There were more gagging noises and even a little anger, I think, but you know what? She is the daughter of the mother who is the daughter of the mother who lived through the Great Depression and Gilmore Girl is as thrifty as I am—maybe more so—and I think she may have forgiven me by now. We’ll see what she has to say in the comments section.
PS This is not actually a photo of my chicken noodle soup. I pulled this off the Internet. You can tell it's not mine because there aren't any interesting protein bits floating on top.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
We had watched the morning session and Phil and I split up to get our errands done before the afternoon session. He went to Costco, I went to return our Red Box video and pick up a couple of things from the grocery store.
As I was driving the car locked itself. No big deal., it does that a lot. When I got to the grocery store I could not unlock the car. I struggled to push the door lock up. It wasn't budging. I was trapped!
I finally worked the passenger side lock up and bolted from the car. I left the car unlocked.
When I got back from the grocery store the car was locked. It locked and unlocked itself all the way home. I didn't know if I would be able to escape once I got home but I had my cell phone and I knew I could call Phil and he would come out and rescue me. I got out of the car without any difficulty but as I was going into the house I could hear the "zoop, zip, zoop, zip, zoop, zip" of the door locks, locking and unlocking themselves. I will probably find a dead battery the next time I drive.
But I'm NOT driving that Clown Car--which I think will have to be renamed to the Prisoner Car--until Phil removes the fuses that go to the door locks.
PS This photo is a reenactment in my driveway. I was much more panicky at the grocery store.
Friday, April 3, 2009
1. Lynne and Phil must not run their errands, Lynne must have stomach pains instead and have to go home.
2. Lynne must not fix dinner for her visiting teaching companion who has had a baby that Lynne is dying to see because Lynne might pass on the throwing-up germ. Dinner will have to wait until next week.
3. Lynne must not go see her grandchildren and daughter-in-law dance in a Celtic performance because that would just be too much fun. She must stay home and hold her stomach. And moan.
4. Lynne must also choose "Seven Pounds" to rent from Red Box because she needs to have a good cry. Actually, the stomach flu had no role in this except that we were going to watch the dancers and rented a movie instead BECAUSE THE STOMACH FLU DOES NOT GO AWAY.
Except to say that Phil shared some of his ideas about Movies:
1. Will Smith only chooses to act in movies where he is the star.
2. "I'll bet Will Smith produced this movie." When the credits were run we saw he was right.
3. They ought to make half hour movies.
4. "You rent stupid Movies, Lynne. I went through your Netflix list and deleted a bunch." I think they were a bunch of my foreign films. I don't care because I added three more today.
5. "They need to make more comedies--CLEAN ONES." I agree with that.
I went to a dinner party tonight and took this dessert. Recipe here.
And here is a picture of Phil, just because he is so cute.