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Askmrsmom channels Hints from Heloise!

I had to laugh just writing that title.  I am a little ashamed and a lot relieved to say, I don’t clean my own house. Well sometimes, but I have help.  I am very fortunate. And appreciative I am able to have someone else do what I hate to do. I can be  a whiz in the kitchen, love sparkly countertops (Parsley Plus All Surface Cleaner a favorite)  and rarely leave dishes in the sink unless it is a stubborn skillet that needs to soak and even then, never overnight.  Nothing worse than waking up to last night’s spaghetti noodles floating lazily in tomato-tinged soapy water.

So what got me on this subject this morning, it’s Wednesday and my “person who helps me” (I refuse to call her my cleaning lady) is here. I was walking into the living room to sit down and read the paper with a hot cup of tea and tripped over the vacuum cleaner that was lying across the entrance to the room.  I know, there is so much to needle me about here.  Yes, I was in my PJ’s.  Yes, I was going to repose with some tea and the morning news while someone else dusted and vacuumed around me and yes, I might have been looking at my cell phone when I fell instead of looking where I was going. Only checking weather and headlines, of course.

Anyway, I twisted my ankle on the bad foot I had surgery on two years ago and as I went down, the contents of my tea mug went flying across the room and splattered all over the taupe linen chair I was headed toward. In my scramble to right myself and get at the tea stains ASAP, I  set my warm mug on a lovely old–like in antique old–desk my husband’s father gave us.

First things first, I addressed the brown tea splats that were quickly soaking into my chair with a bottle of club soda that I sprinkled rather dumped all over the stained areas and began quickly dopping the extra up with a terry cloth rag I grabbed from “the person who helps me’s” supply caddy. Club soda is a known helpful hint for most any stain–anywhere–but the dopping motion (a term my mom taught me) is key.  Dopping is a quick patting, not rubbing,motion in a press/release sort of wrist action. It’s hard to explain in words, but you get the picture.  Don’t rub the soda and stain in, pat it out and up and away from the fabric in fluid quick motions.

If you can picture that, you should see my jump shot.

Anyway, as the wet spots on the chair were drying and hopefully disappearing, I turned in triumph to see a huge white circle growing on the desk top at the base of my mug.  I grabbed the cup and thought as my dad used to say, “You have really done it now, Nancy Noble.” Not to be deterred, I ran/limped to the computer and googled very articulately, “how to get white moisture rings out of varnished wooden furniture” and voila!  What to my wondering eyes did appear not one but several solutions, and I tried them all.  Here is what I found:

–First tip was cover the area with a thin cloth and iron, yes iron, the spot on low heat to hopefully remove the moisture.  Did that, worked sort of, but  pale white ring still remained. Was surprised though that one:  the heat didn’t hurt the not spotted surface and two:  I knew how to turn on the iron.

–Second plan of attack was mayonnaise.  I only use Hellman’s, even love it over Duke’s, but for furniture repair, I doubt it matters.  I was instructed to rub the mayo gently into the wood in a circular motion for five minutes. Being a bit ADD, I did  this for about three minutes and then wiped the surface clean. Gave the desk an awesome shine, but still had a pale white ring.

–Bachelor number three was the most aggressive and much to my amazement, did the trick!  I was told to mix white toothpaste (not gel and no whitening agents) with baking soda and water to make a thick paste.  I was lucky to have Tom’s natural toothpaste on hand so I mixed that with the soda I keep in my frig for odors, a helpful tip but everyone knows it, and rubbed away at the stain.  At first, I thought I had ruined the desk as the surface seemed sort of dull but after rubbing the paste off with the mayo cloth, it looked brand new!

Bingo, bango, bongo, as my husband likes to say, mission accomplished.

Maybe I will have a weekly helpful hint.  Or maybe that will go the way of my weekly recipes that show up more monthly or quarterly.  But I will sign off with a few of my favorite stain/spot averters, just as a teaser for future posts:

Cream of Tartar with water paste to clean small stainless steel appliances. Wipe in circular motion and buff dry with clean cloth.  Microfiber cloth and water is simplest and best to remove fingerprints from large stainless surfaces like frig, stove or dishwater. Damp cloth to clean and dry to buff.

Carbona Stain Devils are amazingly good for wine and tea stains on clothing. Even if the piece has been washed and dried.  Use as directed.  Shallow bowl of hot water and soak with Carbona granules.  Works like magic. In laundry section of most grocery stores or in bulk on Amazon.com. Comes in many different stain solutions:  oil, crayon, ink, etc.

Wine B’ Gone for red wine stains on carpet or table cloths. What is a party without a spill? I purchased at a wine store and it is also magic. Spray and it goes away.

So until the Heloise part of my brain reappears, happy Wednesday, happy cleaning and happy hump day. Hopefully that Geico camel won’t lump through here and tip my replenished tea mug.

But if he does, I am now fully armed.

 

 

 

Meatloaf

My son-in-law did me the honor of tweeting about the delicious “1970’s” meatloaf  I dropped off at his kitchen door yesterday around dinner time. Since he is thirty years younger than I, 1970 would seem like antiquity to him and  a pretty “old fashioned” food.

I, on the other hand, think of meatloaf as a 1950’s dinner staple. It certainly was in my house growing up. Similar to other recipes I have posted, my recipe is a family one I have used for years and copied from my sister. It is by far the best meatloaf you will ever taste.

But after the “tweet”, I started wondering just how far back meatloaf goes as a dinner table food. I sort of put it in the southern weekday dinner category or roadside diner menu stuff.  I guess what I am saying, I don’t think of meatloaf as a sophisticated food but a warm and fuzzy, Leave it to Beaver kind of dinner meat.

Comfort food.

So I decided to do a little askmrsmom.com research on this country cook delicacy and I was a bit surprised.  Fact is, meatloaf has European origins and dates back to Roman cookery as early as the 5th Century. It is a traditional German and Belgian dish and a not-so-distant cousin to the Dutch meatball. It appeared on American tables as early as Colonial times but did not show up in cookbooks until the 19th Century.

So there you have it, more than you will ever need to know or care about the history of meatloaf.  So on to the good stuff. Perfecting the art of meatloaf.

Having made it since I was first married, I have learned some tricks of the trade. First, since it is a loaf, it involves some kneading and squishing not unlike mixing dough for a loaf of bread.  Until recently, I always did this with my bare hands (freshly washed, of course), something I sort of dreaded. I’m not sure there is anyone who relishes working with raw ground meat but the result is such a crowd pleaser,  I always forged ahead. Until recently when said son-in-law’s nanny commented, as I was whipping up a couple loaves for dinner,  that she always uses thin rubber gloves.

Duh.

So now I keep thin rubber surgical gloves on hand, pun intended, and they work perfectly. Some folks use pork or lamb mixed with beef for their meatloaf and you can often find that mixture in meat departments by the pound ready to go.  I am a purist and only use beef, in fact, I use grass fed these days for my organic kids. Recently discovered an organic grocery delivery service https://chicago.doortodoororganics.com/shop-good-food that arrives fresh on your doorstep for no extra charge. Not just local but in larger cities across the country. But that is the subject of another post.

So without further ado:

Kay’s Best Meatloaf Recipe

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Ingredients:

2 1/3 lbs. ground sirloin, round or  chuck

2 eggs

1 c. quick Quaker oats

1 pkg. Lipton or Knorr dried onion soup mix

1 1/4 c. whole Carnation Milk (Sorry, not hip or chic.  In a red and white can near baking goods.)

3/4 c. catsup

Fresh pepper

BBQ sauce, Kay’s personal favorites are Masterpeice or K.C. Original

In a medium-sized mixing bowl (I use stainless) whip eggs with a fork unitl smooth and then combine with all other indredients except BBQ sauce.  Add meat and mix well using bare or glove-covered hands. Split mixture in half and shape into two loaves.  Can put in two separate glass or metal loaf pans or side by side in a 9×13 baking pan. (I rub either with oil or butter to make for easier clean up.)

Top each loaf with BBQ sauce, spread evenly over loaf.  Catsup will do if you don’t have any.

Bake for 1 hour at 350 degrees.  Remove and let cool a bit.  Tastes better warm than hot and is great leftover next day on a sandwich, slathered with mayo and my brother adds left-over baked beans.

I know, so un-PC, but so much better than quinoa and kale.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Resolutions…hmmmm…

I resolved long ago never to resolve.  This was not an impulsive decision but a well thought out reversal in my thinking after years of failed New Year’s resolutions. This idea, not unlike my daughter’s comment  that my ramble about the holidays blurring together https://askmrsmom.com/?m=201311, is not original and is even perhaps “cliche” as I believe she labeled that Halloween post.

But this year, I am inspired to get back to a reasonable sort of resolving so I added a twist to my resolutions.  I am going to try to do things that will alleviate stress, improve my personal relationships with others and maybe even increase my life span.  No giving up stuff that only improves my heath or happiness rather than improving the world around me like many Christians do at Lent. As in, giving up chocolate (not for Jesus but to lose weight), stop drinking (not for Jesus but to give your liver a rest), reducing salt intake (not for Jesus’s blood pressure but for yours),etc. This time, I tried to think of things that would make me a better person not a better looking person.

Really hard for me to conceptualize, but I’m gonna go for it.

In keeping with my Christmas shopping list, I’ll simplify these perhaps preposterously lofty ideas into list form. Just share my aspirations and let you know which one, or few, I can actually keep longer than a week or day or five minutes. I’m hoping to give it the ole college try and if I fall flat on my face, well at least that, too, does nothing for my personal appearance or selfish interests.

This 2014, I, Nancy Noble Peck, resolve to attempt to:

1.  Make amends with an estranged friend.

2.  Commit to any sort of exercise that raises my heart rate, even if it is running up and down my front steps once a day.

3.  Talk less and listen more.  Stop interrupting or finishing others’ sentences.  Those actions seem motivated to prove you are smarter than everyone else or have ESP.  Or both.

4.  Let my adult children fend for themselves and make adult decisions and live with the consequences without my opinion, suggestions or intervention. I have realized at last that I can’t help them avoid pain and they certainly can’t learn from my mistakes.

5.  Do things out of love, not obligation.  Hoping for genuine, not guilt-driven, kindness.

6.  Judge less and accept more.

7.  Do something everyday I am afraid of.  Even if it is as simple as leaving the house not wearing mascara.

8.  Learn to fly without the confidence boost of drugs and alcohol.

9.  Stay in the moment; be present.  It’s all we can be certain of really.

10.  Take care of me and let everyone else figure it out.  Finally accept that  I can’t change others but changing me forces them to change their reactions to me.

Overly ambitious?  Sure.  Self- serving?  Hopefully not.  Banal?  Have to ask my eldest.

And if you don’t like them? Tough. You are not my friend. And don’t say you are. I know better. I am going to drive, not walk, to the grocery store after, of course, I apply two coats of mascara. But first, I have to stop at my daughter’s house and tell her my blog is my blog and her opinion is one of thousands and if she doesn’t stop feeding her youngest, he is going to explode and to let her three-year-old watch some TV and have a hot dog while doing it, for God’s sake. I’ve got so much to orchestrate for my son’s wedding, I have no time to run her life and his. And my youngest, I need to fly out to see her and help her juggle all she has to accomplish this year. Do I have to be everywhere at once and chug a glass of wine to get there?! Man, there aren’t enough hours in the day.

11.  Start tomorrow.

Computer glitch repaired!

Yesterday’s post got some great and grateful responses but one alerted me that the hyperlinks did not connect to the items.  All fixed now, (I hope!) so you are back to one-click shopping. Falalalala!!

12 ideas/12 minutes…Male Christmas shopping nirvana…

 

My thought a week ago was to create a twelve days of Christmas list of stocking stuffers and under-the-tree gift ideas for sons, boyfriends and husbands but alas, my days like everyone else’s, slipped away as quickly as my needles are falling off my “fresh” tree.

So with less than twelve days of shopping left before Santa slides down the chimney, all covered in soot, I thought I would give you guys some last minute gift suggestions for your special someone where you don’t even have to leave your house, much less get your coat all sooty.  And, of course, any ladies can simply print out this list and tuck it in a briefcase pocket, outer not inner, or tape it to the remote for the TV.  Or the milk carton he swears he never drinks from. I definitely don’t advise a snow shovel or vacuum handle, if the chore division at your house is anything like mine.

Most of these items can be purchased on Amazon.com.  I advise using Prime so sign up for it if you don’t already have it.  It has some great perks such as free two-day delivery, but more often overnight, instant movie streaming and free Kindle books to “borrow.”  Your membership can also be shared with family members so the sign up fee goes a long way. Zappos.com, my personal favorite, is exactly what the name suggests and their customer service makes Amazon look like the big dominant oaf that it is. But a necessary online shopping oaf, nonetheless.

In no particulare order, my hot picks are:

All -Clad 10 inch fry pan- The perfect size for scrambled eggs, grilled cheese or heating up left overs. Stay cool handle and All-Clad’s signature even heat distribution. Does everything.  Probably the only pan I would take to the moon.  At Williams-Sonoma, Macy’s and of course, Amazon!

http://www.amazon.com/All-Clad-Stainless-Tri-Ply-Dishwasher-Cookware/dp/B004T6PRWM/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1387290795&sr=8-5&keywords=all-clad+fry+pan+10

Lorien Ugg Boot-  Warm and waterproof and not to mention very cute.  Great for everyday in the snow or cold and perfect for apres ski which for me is all day, as I don’t ski. Comes in black, brown and midnight blue.  Full and half sizes. Runs pretty true to size.  If you don’t know her size, look in her shoes. Just not running shoes because most of us size up.

http://www.zappos.com/ugg-lorien-stout

Rodin Lip Balm-  Great lip treatment for any season. Moisturizing shea butter and scented with jasmine and orange blossoms keeps lips soft with a subtle shine.

http://www.amazon.com/RODIN-olio-lusso-Tinted-Balm/dp/B0031KGSBG/ref=sr_1_1?s=beauty&ie=UTF8&qid=1387292000&sr=1-1&keywords=rodin+lip+balm

Chanel Rouge Coco lipstick in color “Boy” #54-  My favorite lipstick and I don’t wear lipstick. More of a tinted gloss in a lipstick tube. Very emolient thanks to more shea butter and stays on for hours. Color “Boy” works for everyone and can be paired with another lipstick or a shiny gloss. My favorite gloss is also by Chanel. Comes in a stick. Color:  Glaze.

Lipstick: http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/chanel-rouge-coco-shine/3142789?origin=category-personalizedsort&contextualcategoryid=0&fashionColor=&resultback=1068&cm_sp=personalizedsort-_-browseresults-_-1_3_A

Gloss:  http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/chanel-levres-scintillantes-glossimer/2826969?origin=category-personalizedsort&contextualcategoryid=0&fashionColor=&resultback=700&cm_sp=personalizedsort-_-browseresults-_-1_2_C  

glo-minerals undereye concealer in beige- Two tones/two sides.  One for dark circles and one for mornings after a good sleep.  Never creases, gunks up or highlights wrinkles you thought were invisible.  Comes in several colors but I think beige is good for most skin tones.

http://www.amazon.com/GloMinerals-GLO3500-glominerals-gloConcealer-Under-Eye/dp/B000TD0UW6

Hanky Panky Signature Lace Boyshort-  A gift for both of you! Adorable, comfortable and flattering to any figure.  Sizing runs extra-small (0-2) small (4-6), medium (8-10) large (12-14) extra large (16).  Some people prefer their undies bigger so if you go up a size, don’t worry.  These are all pretty skimpy.  Favorite part she will love, they don’t make elastic dents on thighs or hips.  She’ll undertand that, if you don’t. All colors are great.

http://www.amazon.com/Hanky-Panky-Signature-Boyshort-Panties/dp/B00989MNTK/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1387290410&sr=8-1&keywords=hanky+panky+boyshort

Peppermint Bark- Nothing says Christmas like Peppermint Bark.  Chunks of dark and white chocolate sprinkled with candy cane crumbs.Williams-Sonoma is most famous for it.  But I think Plow and Hearth has them beat. Williams-Sonoma’s is thinner with more peppermint and Plow and Hearth’s is thicker with less.  So pick your poison. You can’t go wrong.

http://www.plowhearth.com/productform.asp?q=peppermint+bark+tin&search_type=normal

http://www.williams-sonoma.com/products/peppermint-bark/?pkey=e%7Cpeppermint%2Bbark%7C13%7Cbest%7C0%7C1%7C24%7C%7C2&cm_src=PRODUCTSEARCH||NoFacet-_-NoFacet-_-Feature_Recipe_Rule%7CTop_Marketing_Billboard-_-

Thymes Frazier Fir Scented Candle – For those of you who have gone the way of an atificial tree, this is a godsend.  Smells better than the real thing and doesn’t need water or drop needles. Burns slowly. Last forever. Several sizes. My favorite is the large three wick. Comes in soap and spray, too.

http://www.amazon.com/Thymes-Frasier-Aromatic-Candle-Needle/dp/B00EJ9N5RS/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1387291796&sr=8-3&keywords=thymes+candles+frasier+fir

Ray-Ban Wayferer Classic original size-  Made famous in old Hollwood by Grace Kelly and Paul Newman. Tom Cruise in Risky Business sent them viral and their popularity has outlasted his three marriages. I’m partial to classic black. Looks great on all face shapes and sizes.

http://www.amazon.com/Ray-Ban-Wayfarer-Non-Polarized-Black-Frame/dp/B001GNBJNW/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1387291276&sr=8-2&keywords=wayfarer+classic+sunglasses

Bumble and bumble thickening full form mousse – I realize the gift of a hair product seems sort of lame but after years of research, my sister shared this volumizing product with me and think it is the best ever. And it fills practically a whole stocking! Fluffs, puffs and keeps hair perky for at least two days. Virtually eliminates bed head.

http://www.amazon.com/Bumble-Thickening-Full-Form-Mousse/dp/B00BM1WDB0/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1387144745&sr=8-4&keywords=bumble+and+bumble+thickening+spray

Ballistic iPhone 5 cover-  The lightest, most protcetive iPhone cover out there.  Has the front bumper that saves the face from shattering when dropped but thin enough to fit in a pocket easily.  Doesn’t slip on the dashboard or seat either. Comes in great colors. Also made for the 4.

http://www.amazon.com/Ballistic-LS0955-M355-Smooth-Case-iPhone/dp/B009ATUUYS/ref=sr_1_16?ie=UTF8&qid=1387290952&sr=8-16&keywords=ballistic+case+iphone+5s

So there you have it!  You can probably pound out this list in less than twelve minutes, much less days.  And I assure you, she will love you for it.

Well, at least until 2014 or you get your January Visa bill.

 

 

 

Christmas greetings from askmrsmom

Charlie is praying…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…that William gets a shirt from Santa!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

May all your prayers and wishes come true.  Have the best of holidays and I hope someone you love surprises you…

Love to you and yours,

askmrsmom

Turkeys and Breasts

So, I am going to share a “girl thing” and if you “boy things” are not interested, you should be.  Because your wife or significant other or future significant other or your cross-dressing significant other has or will feel this.

Ok, so deep breath.  I am going to pour this all out there, grain and chaff together and hope that a faithful friend will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping and blow the chaff to the wind.  (Isn’t that a sweet quote?  My mom always said that to me, but not in this context.  But I worked it in, nonetheless.)

Last week, I was switching all my summer to winter clothes to my guest room closet (summer out/winter in) and I decided to try on my last year’s winter’s clothes, just for shits and giggles.

Bad idea.  First of all, some of the the pants did not zip (those that did not were quickly ferried off to my eldest daughter) and on the jackets, oh my beloved jackets, the darts for the boobs had moved.  Yes, the seam in the front around the chest area of the jacket that used to point upward toward my breasts were now pointing upward toward my chin. Yeah, picture it.  That means my breasts are inching toward my waist.

So, not to panic, I went to the women my friends have affectionely called the “Bra Nazis” and forged ahead, head held high, hoping my bustline might rise with it.  The store was empty. Just me and Hildegaard.  First she took a pink measuring tape to evaluate my size, shape and front or back clasp preferences–tilting her head side to side, stepping back and quinting one eye, pulling out everything but a slide rule to surmise the gravity (pun intended) of the situation. The dressing room had a peep window that my comrade started handing me bra after bra through, like her measuring tape, a pink seersucker curtain.  At first, the trades through the magic curtain went smoothly, bra in, try on, bra out, another option until the bra outs outweighed the bras in and Hildy ( we were on nickname basis by now) stepped in to get this show on the road.

Standing between me and the mirror, she suggested I was not perhaps bending over properly to get “the girls” in place and giving my options a proper chance.  My girls live with my grandsons in suburban Chicago and in LA respectively, so the reference to my drooping body parts as some sort of sorority sister set me slightly on edge.

Then the dreaded words slipped from her bright red lip-sticked lips, the words that will be indellibly etched in my mind for eternity, “Perhaps we should go up a cup size for the loose skin.” Huh?  Did she say go up a size because I am a perfect 10?!  I have this ringing in the ear thing that sounds like someone left on five tea kettles at simmer in the background of conversations all day long, so words get muffled.

“Excuse me?” I asked as politely as my naked half-upper body could muster.  “Yes, the lose skin.  We all have it. Especially in the back as we get older. We need to accomodate for it when we measure for the cup size. Let me get some more options.”

With this turn of events, the options went from something to harness “the girls” to something resembling small matching hammocks or the bras I used to see on the sale table when shopping with my mom that looked deep and nestlike; something I wanted to curl up and take a nap in.

Needless to say, the “girls” and I were not in a happy place, worse than the one we started in at my closet.

Waiting between curtain-surprise options, I looked in the mirror and realized my mother had secretly attached her hands to the ends of my arms.  My once slender fingers had developed rather gnarly joints that were surrounded by small islands of spots that floated on the tops of my hands like tiny brown inkblots.  I thought of the horror of my image on Face Time with my kids and understood once again why they are only allowed to see an empty couch or my unmade bed rather than me during these sessions.

Seriously, if I look like my image on my phone on Face Time, it’s time for a face lift.

So when option fifteen popped through the curtain in all its slightly-padded parachute back strap glory, I was no longer in the mood for a bra. I wanted the last twenty years back and a stiff drink.

Rather than run out topless in a blur of tears, I gathered what was left of my ego off the floor, picked up the three maybes on the chair in the dressing room and walked out $200.00 poorer with, of course, a pink plastic bag filled with mammoth-cupped bras stuffed with pink tissue.

Onward and upward, I stopped off on the way home to pick up the Thanksgiving turkey.  I do this messy but worth it brining bag thing that takes 24 hours of ice and herbs to seal in the juices and pop out a golden brown bird everytime.  I was busying myself  in the kitchen with turkey prep, pulling out the bag of gizzards and rinsing the old girl, patting her dry and it hit me.  This bird and I had a couple of very obvious things in common.

Loose back and neck skin.  And rather large breasts, I thought, as I stuck an apple and an onion in her now empty chest cavity.

And better still, I could have saved myself all that undergarment agony if I had just done the same with my bra. Round fruits and veggies stuffed in my bra could make for some pretty perky “girls.”

And I’d only have to shop at the grocery store where nothing is bagged in pink.

 

Dressing Up

Halloween or no Halloween, I am not much of a costume dresser upper. Even as a child, it was my mom, not me, who put thought into my Halloween costumes.  And more often than not they were one of a kind, handmade outfits her mother, my Grandma Kyle, had whipped up on her trusty treadle Singer. I was a circus clown, a Dutch girl, Pow Wow the Indian girl, all of which made it to the third generation as my daughter wore the same costumes gently preserved in tissue in a trunk at my mother’s house.

My grandma was a true seamstress. She made my mother’s wedding gown,and her sisters’, and even fashioned a woman’s wool suit out of a suit of my father’s which was the rage during WWII, I am told.  I suppose it was some sweet way to make all the war-torn marriages feel closer together, men in their dress blues and women in wool pinstripes.

Anyway, my grandsons this year were quite the adorable pumpkin and pilot. Not quite, I mean seriously adorable.  The oldest pulled a small airline suitcase to hold his candy and his dad said people on the street were calling him “captain” and asking when his next flight was going out.  The younger, whom we all agree is rather sturdy or borderline plump, probably just felt relieved that his mother finally dressed him in something that fit.

Kids and most adults just love Halloween.  But channeling my best Andy Rooney, I do not. For many reasons, but to save face and space and keep it to the last five of “60 Minutes,” I will highlight only a few of my Halloween aversions.

First, my idea of dressing up as someone else is when I wear jeans with holes in the knees that make me feel 18 or an old black vest that makes me feel like Annie Hall.  Similarly, I love my Meg Ryan thick-soled boots and miss my Princess Di haircut as much as I miss her. I suppose I work so hard at trying to stay age-appropriate and look like my preserved mental version of myself that the idea of taking on a whole new persona is overwhelming to me. Not to mention the self-confidence it takes to wear a costume that makes you look old, fat or ugly.

Oh no.  I work waaaaay too hard not to be any of those all day long to, God forbid, do them on purpose.

Nope, that costume thing? Not for me.  I’ll leave that to the confident, relaxed girls who love blackening a tooth to be an evil witch or wearing their daughter’s push-up bra to be a “waitress.”  I’d rather be wicked or sexy on my own terms, not for some overblown, out-of-control holiday that celebrates the night all the evil spirits emerge from their dark inner sanctum and haunt the earth before they are caught and shoved back where they belong by all the blessed saints on November 1.

Which brings me to another gripe I have with all our holidays, religious or otherwise.  When did we allow commercialism to let them become so over the top and out of whack?  I mean, really, there were pumpkins in Walgreens beside the back-to-school-supplies.  Santa’s reindeer were flying over rooftops in television commercials  on October 29 and do we even remember Thanksgiving anymore?  Other than that it’s the busiest weekend at America’s airports because all the college kids return to mama’s arms for the weekend?

Actually, I’m with Benjamin Franklin who wanted the founding fathers to move Thanksgiving to October with the harvest  where it makes sense like our more intelligent northern neighbor, Canada, does it. But no, that wouldn’t work because Walgreens would have to put the candy corn beside the turkey-and-gravy scented candles before July 4th sparklers and then that would push back Memorial Day flags into Valentine candy and we’d be wearing 2014 glitter glasses as Halloween costumes.

Now actually, that’s one dressing up idea I might oblige.

 

Cartoons make me lonely

My daughter was over yesterday with her one and three -year-old sons and after a couple hours of “let’s play frisbee with Yaya’s coasters” and riding the scooter on the driveway and dinner and bath time, she let them settle on the couch in front of one episode of Mickey Mouse.  My daugher is very good about television with her kids. She never uses it as a babysitter but as a treat and only then on days that start with an “S” (Saturday, Sunday, Sick, mom feels Shitty). She also often watches it with them.  In fact, the one-year-old doesn’t really get to sit in front of it but when he does, he sits very still and laughs loudly at regular intervals to show he is really into the plot and “please don’t move me.” Needless to say, it’s adorable.

So I was in the kitchen doing whatever Yayas do in the kitchen when babies are in front of television.  Probably getting squished banana out of my rush-covered counter stools. And it hit me.  The sound of cartoons make me lonely.

I thought about it for awhile and I think I have an idea why.  First, I was the kind of kid who worried when I watched cartoons.  For instance, when the dog ran through the grocery store, cans and loaves of bread flying, I always stressed about who would clean up all that mess. Don’t even get me started on the mayhem Mr. McGoo created.  Or the Roadrunner. He could ruin a city block in the blink of an eye.

But beyond my not registering these were pictures that could be easily cleaned up with an eraser not a mop, I think cartoons represent a time in my life and a time of day I felt lonely.  When I was in grade school, my mom had gone back to work to help pay for my brother’s college education.  So there was an hour or so after school in middle school through high school that I would, in today’s world, be considered a “latch key kid.”

Now the reason that could be misleading is that we lived in a neighborhood where doors were always open. Playdates were arranged by a tap on the screen door announcing our arrival, certainly not any talk among our parents as to who should show up when. So coming home to an empty house always felt safe as I had Jean and Peg and Ruth and Loreen a hop, skip and a jump away. If I needed anyone or anything, even a hug, they were there.

But lots of days, I would throw my books on the dining room table, grab a bowl of dry Cheerios or a plate of Ritz crackers spread with strawberry jelly and retreat to the basement to watch TV.  And if  Father Knows Best or Leave it to Beaver wasn’t on yet, I was stuck with my chaotic cartoons. Our basement was dark with painted grey cinder block walls.  Dad’s favorite green chair with the stick shift footrest sat empty and the upright piano stood looming, shaming me for not tinkling the ivories for Aunt Alberta, my piano teacher, instead of vegging in front of Porky Pig or Daffy Duck. Which reminds me, cartoons always worried me also because all the characters seemed to have these horrible speech impediments that no one seemd to  notice or write in a speech therapist for.

I mentioned these deep-seated feelings of longing and sadness regarding cartoon time to my daughter and, completely typical of her personality, she hit the nail on the head and said, “It probably was the lonliest time of day raising us, too, mom.  You had done and run and coped all day and by the time you threw us in front of TV, you knew you had a good hour before dad got home and you had some adult relief.”

Bingo, I thought.  That, too.

So the next time you flip past the Disney channel, stop and pull out your hanky and take a moment to think about little Nancy Noble, the latch key kid, who thought cartoons were lonely and messier than her jam and Ritz covered fingers.

But take heart because I can whistle the tune to Leave it Beaver like a master or trip over the ottoman as well or better than Dick Van Dyke. So my salvation always came soon after Tom and Jerry or before my second bowl of Cheerios.

And no, thanks to my mad crush on Mark in The Rifleman, I still can’t play the piano.

Life on rewind

We have all heard quotes  or old adages such as “Youth is wasted on the young,”(George Bernard Shaw) or “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards,” (Soren Kierkegaard) or one of my favorites,“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans,” (Allen Saunders).

In the past, I jotted these in a “things to remember” notebook or shared them in a card to a friend.  I thought if I read them often enough, I might understand them well enough to avoid the pain of their inherent truths.

But alas, I have lived long enough to realize that good advice only sheds light on a mistake after you make it, and emotions trump sound sense or wisdom in most human contact.  So in a fit of self-disclosure and seeking some sort of catharsis, I thought I would share a few of my pivital life moments I wish I could push rewind and relive. You know, the “if only we could do it over again, I would do it so differently” moments when you open your mouth and the wrong words fly out.  And the moment is gone and the regrettable thoughts hang in the air like the smoke of a bad cigar.

So in no particular order some of my moments would be :

My first born telling me she was thinking of naming her first child Declan.

Wish I had said:  Oh that’s lovely.  Isn’t it Irish? So creative of you to be thinking outside the box.

My real answer:  Declan.  Did you say Declan?  Like we’re Irish or something?  Isn’t it in the top ten most trendy, overused names this year?  What’s wrong with Jack?

My youngest showing me a small heart tattoo she had just had permanently inked on her left wrist.

Wish I had said:  A tattoo? How perfect for you.  Sweet, subtle, delicate.   Just like you to wear your heart on your sleeve. I so admire your self-expression. Love it!

My real response:  Is that thing real?!  You did it?  Without telling me?  Why don’t you just move out to LA with Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan and all the other trailer trash with ink all over their skin. (No surprise she soon moved to LA with Britney and Lindsay…)

Arriving home from church on a snowy Christmas Eve, three children in tow, to smell my brother’s arrival by the trail of smoke from his Winstons over-powering the heavenly scent my evergreen boughs draped throughout the house.

Wish I had said:  You’re here safely!  Merry Christmas!  How was your drive? Thanks for having a cigarette in the basement where we agreed you could  smoke…How about some eggnog?

What I really said loosely translated to keep this PG:  Why does your smoke always have to precede you? What’s wrong with smoking outside?  (It was probably 30 below with the chill factor.) It’s Chrismas Eve, for God’s sake. Can’t you take a night off??? Oh, my babies’ little lungs…full of carcinogens…Blah, blah blah…

And on a lighter note, I’ll share a moment in which I have no regets about my mouth working faster than my brain. As I mentioned in my last entry, my left foot is once again either fractured or has a gaggle of torn tendons. I say “once again” because after dragging around a walking bootie  for several months after surgery two years ago, I spent last winter in a walking cast for a stress fracture and now have something again impairing my stride and making me miserable.  The doctor told me to R-I-C-E:  rest, ice, compress and “eat whatever I want with the added bonus of doing nothing and not gaining a pound” (really it’s ‘elevate’) and come back in two weeks. I dutifully “RICED” and waited and laid on the couch as much as possible and returned with the same swollen, red, aching foot. I stood in front of her, painfully balancing on both sets of toes and she said matter of factly, “Well, it’s still swollen.”  And I responded, “Well, duh!!”  Luckily she had a sense of humor.

Perhaps my sometimes too honest tongue is an over-reaction to my mother’s motto, “If you have nothing good to say about someone, say nothing at all.”

We are all some mixture of what we intrinsically are–were born to be–and what our parents tried to mold us into. And I feel certain, none of us say what we should at all moments and more of us think of the perfect response to many encounters as we drive away or rethink the day’s interactions in the shower.

I think Ralph Waldo Emerson may have said it best. Duh!!

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.”