For those unfortunate few born north of the Mason-Dixon, I would like to provide a brief explanation of the expression, “Bless your heart.” Used most often by southern women, the comment is attached as a suffix to a response given to another party in casual conversation.
I was thinking after yesterday’s post of my own little goblins, grown now and living on opposite coasts. They are good kids. The best really. I am lucky. I tell them that as often as I can but when they were little, I probably didn’t. I was too busy worrying about their clothes being clean, their school work, their choice of friends. All that important” being a good mom” stuff that dominates your days as a young mother. You are overwhelmed with the responsibility of these precious little lives and focusing too much on the speed of the cars that whiz past your house and whether they remembered their helmet when they dashed out of sight, late for school.
Oh, I hugged and kissed and loved my kids. Sometimes kept them maybe too close for fear that if I let go, they would be sixteen instead of six.
And then they were. And eighteen and college-age and twenty two and out of the house. Gone. I have always said I am better at giving them roots than giving them wings but in spite of me, off they flew.
My son was reminding me the other day of something I did when they were little. In the rush of the morning’s “eatyourbreakfastdon’tforgetyourhomeworkwaitforyoursisterkissmegoodbyelookbothways” I used to slip a note in their lunch bags. Often it was scribbled on one of the 3×5 index cards I keep by my desk but sometimes I simply printed it in crayon on the napkin I always folded on top. If I was feeling especially prosey, on a day like today it might have said, “Boo, I love you!” Or on short on groceries days it might have said, “Roses are red, violets are blue, pretend this bologna, is homemade beef stew.” Sometimes I would throw in a “Good luck on your test!” or “Don’t forget after school sports!”
Most often it was just a little reminder that I loved them no matter where they were or what they were doing. I still write them “roses are red” ditties when the spirit moves me or send cards to say I love you every chance I get.
But there’s something about a note in a brown paper lunch bag that says it so much better than Hallmark.
As I dust off my twenty year old Halloween candy basket and fill it with chocolate miniatures, I am envisioning greedy little faces at my door rather than tiny cherubs dressed as Snow White or a box of Crayons. Now before you judge me as the Wicked Witch of the West rather than precious Glinda, let me explain. I have lived on the same corner of the same street in a quiet suburban neighborhood for over 25 years. Each Halloween, I have dutifully handed out candy to neighborhood children in a neighborly way with a neighborly smile. And I have genuinely enjoyed seeing my children and their friends shouting, “Trick or Treat” as I swing open the door to their excited grins and giggles.
But in the last few years, I have seen a change in this routine. No longer am I greeted with smiling faces behind the clown paint or Justin Bieber hat. Now I see hoards of strangers, huddled in groups the size of a soccer team, pushing to my outstretched hand yelling, “How many can I take?”
Really?! Has “trick or treat” gone the way of giving a lady your seat on a bus or standing when your elder enters the room? Well, not at my house. I respond to “How many can I take?” with “How many what?” Or more often, “What do you say?”
To that, the Lady Gagas, Harry Potters and Jack Sparrows withdraw their bags, plastic pumpkins or (my least favorite) pillow cases a few inches and murmur a befuddled, “Trick or treat.”
In return they get a big witch smile and as many pieces as they want, especially if they throw in a “thank you” before they run next door.
Last year, two adorable elevenish boys dressed as Thing One and Thing Two, huddled in the bushes before they entered my neighbor’s yard and whispered, “Wow, she was harsh! ”
Mission accomplished. Until “Trick or Treat” is back, I’ve accepted I will never be a Glinda.
I understand we are all up to our reality TV gills with the next big talent America will produce. I watched the first couple seasons of American Idol, I fade in and out of Dancing with the Stars depending on where I am sitting when it comes on and who is dancing. BUT my son insisted I watch the new X Factor to see Drew Ryniewicz perform. And I was blown away. She is only 14 and all talent, all heart. And of course, one of “Simon’s” girls. Tune in on Wednesday at 7:00 Central. The show is worth it for her.
Try this link and decide for yourself. I know it is long but it says as much about the importance of family as it does about her…and of course, it speaks volumes about moms…
I don’t know about you, but I LOVE instant gratification. And even more than that, I LOVE paying less than retail. Zappos.com used to be my favorite online store, especially for shoes. Even in the backwoods of West Virginia, they could find me in 24 hours, at most 36 if there was a blizzard. But then I discovered endless.com. I may be late to this game so for those of you who already know and enjoy endless pleasures, indulge me for the others that don’t. I ordered these boots at 7:02 pm Central Time yesterday and they were at my door by 8:30 this morning– on a Saturday! Free delivery. And no tax. Now I understand this is not giant savings on my credit card but for time and effort expended, they get an A+ from me. Their return policy is again, free. And none of this six weeks to post to your next billing cycle stuff. Three to five days at most.
Unfortunately, they don’t fit but I have been able to admire them all day and, of course, rethink the purchase. Two things I like to do. Especially for free.
He is the light of my life and the reason I have found an extra chamber in my heart. This is what we wade through diapers, terrible twos, dance recitals, baseball games, broken arms,broken hearts, driver’s permits, lost pack packs, D’s in Physics and college applications for.
This is it. The gift for being a parent is being a grandparent. Pure joy and innocence; unconditional love and pride. Our second chance at loving a baby purely, openly without the angst of the right way to do it.
OK, I will ask the first question. What is the best pie to serve for the holidays–or any day? My Grandma Kyle’s apple pie..
Make a perfectly rolled out pie crust. I buy mine in the dairy section perfectly rolled in a red Pillsbury box, two crusts to a box. I have yet to get a complaint, or even an inkling, mine are not “from scratch,” but when asked for the pie’s recipe, which I invariably am, I give them this recipe for the crust. (Well, it IS my recipe.)
Pie Crust
3 C. flour
1 1/4 C. Crisco
1 tsp. salt
Sift above ingredients together. Then blend or cut in liquid ingredients that have been whisked together:
1 Tbsp. white vinegar
5 Tbsp. water
1 egg
Mix thoroughly but lightly and gently form into a soft ball. Place dough on a floured board and roll out into a circular crust. Place in a 9 inch glass or metal pie pan, fold under overlapping edges and crimp with left pointer finger knuckle and right thumb and pointer. If you don’t know how to do this, ask your mother, aunt or Grammy and they will. Save any extra crust.
Apples:
Peel, quarter and and cut into eighth inch slices, 6-7 Granny Smith apples. (Must be Grannies and must be green.) Place in a medium size bowl. In a smaller bowl mix:
1/2 C. white sugar
1 heaping tsp. cinnamon
Toss apples with sugar mixture in the larger bowl and let sit for 10 minutes until a light syrup forms. Put into unbaked pie crust and pour any extra syrup over the apple mixture.
Topping:
1/2 C. white sugar
3/4 C. flour
1/3 C. softened butter
Mix dry ingredients and cut in butter until mixture is crumbly. Put on top of pie and pat gently to spread and cover pie. If you are channeling Martha Stewart, use any left over crust to make a pumpkin shape or a holly leaf and berries and place in center of pie. If not inspired, toss it. (The extra crust, not the pie!)
Bake at 400 degrees for ten minutes. Turn heat down to 350 degrees, cover loosely with foil and bake 40 minutes more or until bubbly and crust is golden brown. Cool on a trivet or cake rack. (I use the burners on my gas stove top.) Serve with or without ice cream.
If you under cook, don’t worry, it will be crunchy but still good and if you over cook, it will be “applesauce pie” which my dad liked even better…
Happy Holidays!
If I know it, I will tell you, and if I don’t know it, I will find it and if I don’t find it, well then, I would say it cannot be found. I am a mother, teacher, counselor and love-to-research researcher. From the best white blouse to God forbid best neurosurgeon. Best college for you, best direction to take, best price for your next car to get there. I have found , and will find, them all. Just ask!
