I was astonished, thunderstruck, speechless, flabbergasted and bowled over.
I was vaguely aware that somewhere I had read that you could turn an overly ripe, frozen banana into something that resembled ice cream. Being hungry and lazy last night I decided to give it a try. I wasn't expecting this. . .
Honest to God, I swear if I didn't know better this could pass as premium soft serve! Don't believe me?? Try it!
Here's how.
1. Take an over-ripe banana. The browner it is, the sweeter your ice cream will be. Peel it. Cut it into small chunks. (I didn't cut mine into small pieces. This was a mistake.) Put it in a plastic container and freeze it solid.
2. Get out your food processor. (I heard it works in a blender too, but I have no personal experience with that.)
3. Dump in your banana.
4. Turn on said kitchen appliance. (My huge chunks of banana were reluctant to be chopped up by my reliable, old Cuisinart food processor. They made such a violent clunking noise that it quickly dispatched both dogs and the cat to the far reaches of the upstairs bedrooms in fear. Guess that's not exactly a bad thing. . .)
5. Be patient as the blades do their work. At first the banana turns to icy chunks, then to small balls that resemble those truly horrible Dippin' Dots things. Persevere.
6. Just as you think this is the dumbest experiment ever, the magic happens. Within a second or two it turns to ice cream. Seriously!
Not being content with something so simple and uncomplicated, I decided to jazz it up just a bit. I threw in a spoonful of peanut butter and a little bit of honey. I'm thinking that a dash of vanilla couldn't hurt either.
With summer on it's way and a never ending supply of over-ripe bananas at my house, my sweet tooth (and perhaps my waistline!) might be satisfied!
Whenever the warehouse that I clean has all three shifts working overtime on the weekend I am required to go in and do my job. When the second shift supervisor told me on Wednesday that I needed to come in on Saturday I did a little good natured grumbling but I quickly got over it.
When I arrived on Saturday afternoon there were some serious bad attitudes going on in there.
One guy in particular was pretty ill-tempered. As I was pushing my cart to the back of the warehouse he stopped to ask if I was angry that I was in there on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I told him I was there to do my job. He advised me to make one pass with the vacuum cleaner and go home.
"F--- them," he said. "This is bulls---!"
I just smiled and kept moving. A little bit later, as I was ducking into the men's room with a mop he walked by and said, "Don't do that! Just pretend to clean and go home!"
I thought about his words. Perhaps it was easier for me to keep a positive attitude than it was for him. He was going to be there until midnight. I would be out by 5:00. I could still salvage my evening. His was blown.
But I also knew, that even if I had to be there until midnight, it's not in my nature to pretend to work. "Why not?" I argued with myself. It sure would be easier.
As I scrubbed the urinal with my little yellow brush, the answer came to me.
Character is what you do, even when no one is watching.
:: Oliver ate half a pack of gum yesterday. It was 15 stick pack of Polar Ice. He didn't eat 7.5 sticks. He ate the top half of all 15. . . His breath was fresh – for a little while anyway.
:: I found this record album from 1981. It's the Kentucky Music Educator's Association All-State Band recording. I auditioned and was selected as a sophomore in high school. That was a big deal.
We played Galop by Dimitri Shostakovich, Ye Banks and Braes O'Bonnie Doon by Percy Grainger, Russian Christmas Music by Alfred Reed and March of the Belgian Paratroopers by Pierre Leemans.
There's my name. 24th chair.
I'd love to listen to this. But, alas, I have no turntable. Anyone know how to convert a "half speed mastered" record album to an MP3 file? Yeah. Me neither.
:: Since putting my 45th birthday post about not doing things just because other people want me to into force I'm amazed at how quickly people turn and run once they realize they aren't going to get what they want from me. It's actually quite amusing. "Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya," as Ali's nephew would say!
:: I've got the great forsythia experiment going again on Gramma's hutch. The windows are open and the evening breeze feels wonderful.
I've always been a little too serious, even as a kid. My parents tried to get me to skip school when I was in elementary grades but I didn't want to miss anything. Not even the temptation of a whole day of playing outside in the early spring warmth was enough to get me to stay home for the day.
I wasn't a brooding kind of thinker and I'm still not. It was, and is, more along the lines of being quietly reflective about things I don't understand. One of the things that truly bothered me for a very long time when I was young was how adults just seemed to instinctively know how to do things. I worried me that as I grew up I might not know all the things that were necessary for basic survival and I might stand out as being a dummy in the world.
I was, and often still am, afraid of looking the fool.
On the way home from church on a sunny Sunday afternoon in the mid 1970's I clearly remember being in the back seat of the car, winding around the hills of central Kentucky and asking my parents how I could possibly be savvy about all I needed to know when I wouldn't have them to rely on anymore. I know they were trying, but they just didn't understand my question. They tried their best to reassure me and I remember feeling the frustration mixed with fear building in my stomach as I tried to put words to something I was truly anxious about. Finally they asked me to be specific.
After thinking for a few minutes I chose an example of something I had never done before and tried to imagine myself being capable of doing alone.
"What if I have to go someplace far away by myself and I have to ride in an airplane? How will I know how to do that? Will someone be there to tell me what to do? Will they make sure I do it right and don't get lost?"
As often happens when naming fears and making them real, I remember feeling as though I would cry by even saying this out loud.
To my utter relief they finally understood what I was really asking and they spent the next few minutes assuaging my fears and assuring me that no one knows everything. They said that there would always be people to help me and answer my questions and make sure that I got on the right plane and tell me how to get my luggage. I even learned that there were people who's whole job consisted of helping people and answering questions. They also assured me that, no matter where I was in the world, or how old I got to be, they would only ever be a phone call away.
In the car on that warm afternoon I came to believe that even when I was all grown up there would always be someone who could help me with all the things I just didn't know how to do.
For the most part, Mother and Dad were correct. With the help of common sense, the ability to read and many kind strangers I have learned to navigate in this world. I can fly in airplanes, buy a house, keep a job, maintain friendships far and near, care for people I love and tolerate people I don't. I can even find answers to questions like who, what, when, where and how.
But there are still things I don't know how to do.
Last week A. and I were looking through a recipe book that I received for Christmas about 15 years ago. It's a little blue book in my Mother's handwriting of all the recipes I remember from my childhood. Underneath each one, she wrote a little note about how this recipe fit in our life story. The words, "Do you remember Small Fry Playschool. . ." is under the sugar cookie recipe that came from my preschool teacher. Underneath the recipe for Scrapple (which I detested then and now!) are the words, "I just couldn't resist!"
A. slowly read through each recipe and asked me to explain each little story and inscription. After we got through all of them she asked, "How do you feel when you read all these, remember all these stories and cook these things?" I didn't have an answer.
When I sew on my quilt there are these moments that I just want to pick up the phone and tell her what I'm making because she's the one who instilled the love of "making" in me in the first place. When I cook something from my little blue handwritten cookbook sometimes I want to tell her that it's still good. Or that I still don't like scrapple.
And, because I know no other way, I just ignore it and do what I need to do. I carry on as though it doesn't still hurt a little. As though it's the most normal thing in the world for everyone to have a mother but me. . .even though I know everyone doesn't.
I just don't name the fear and that way it's never really real. . .
But, just for the record – Is there anyone out there who can tell me how to be a motherless daughter in the world, even when she's only two hours away?**
(This video is what prompted this whole post. This is one of my very best childhood memories – it seems like we sang this song nearly every night, together. It's before all the hurt and division – before everybody "got religion" and before I "got gay." It's from before we all got broken.)
**Note - There are a few people who will read this and worry. I'm OK. I am mostly strong and independent. But I also recognize the shadows of fear and need to tell their stories too. Besides that, who amongst us isn't composed of both shadow and light?
I prefer my eggs over-easy. On top of a piece of toast. Cutting into the runny yolk and letting it soak into the bread is breakfast heaven. The problem is that, even though I've been cooking for for about 40 years now, I still occasionally break a yolk when it's time to flip the egg. Never ceases to annoy me.
No more.
The Perfect Over-Easy Egg (without the Over-Easy part)
:: Warm a dime-size puddle of vegetable oil in a very small skillet.
:: Crack two eggs into the pan.
:: Add 2-3 tablespoons of water to the pan.
:: Cover with a clear lid.
:: Bring to boil and lower heat. Cook 2-3 minutes, watching carefully.
:: Enjoy!
I will never flip an egg again! Like I said, it's the little things.
It's the little things that make me unreasonably happy.
I enjoy puttering around with my sewing machine. I am neither proficient or confident, but messing around is fun and I learn a considerable amount in every failed experiment. I don't really sew often even though I enjoy it, mostly because I don't like feeling quarantined upstairs in the craft room alone. I like to be able to hear what's going on in the house and generally feel like I'm part of my little family, instead of the lonely stepchild in the attic.
Last night we moved the desktop computer (that no one ever uses) into the closet and set up a little sewing space for me in the office! It's out of sight but still part of the general goings-on of our home! Why didn't I think of that a year ago?? I can hear the TV, talk to my girl and generally ignore the problems that the dogs are causing without having to actually do the disciplining! Perfect. . .
Here's what I created last night.
It's based on a tutorial I read here. After reading through her well-written instructions I thought, "Even I could do that!" It's not perfect. There's a bit of wonkiness to some of the squares and some of the seams don't meet perfectly. But with that said, it's the little things that make me unreasonably happy!
I still have to quilt it. I want to try machine quilting. That's another experiment that I've never attempted. I've got my new working space. Now all I need is to stitch together some scraps of courage and dive right in!
On the eve of the beginning of my 45th year I've compiled a list of stuff I will not put up with any longer. After all, when you're more than half way done, why put up with this stuff anymore??
I'm done buying things that are supposed to make me look younger. Just start to google "age defying" and it will suggest the following products – makeup, creams, toothpaste, fitness, foods, secrets, bras and lotions. And that's just a start. I'm sorry. . .an age-defying bra is nothing short of a device of torture and I'm done with that.
Speaking of bras, I'm done with underwear that is uncomfortable. Yes, that probably means that I'll have to wear bloomers from the granny side of the lingerie department, but there is nothing worse that wearing something that promises to make you feel "sexy" and spending the next 14 hours tugging and picking at your ass. It doesn't make me feel sexy. It makes me feel annoyed! Done with that.
In the second half of my life I no longer have any use for doing things just because someone else wants me to. Of course I realize that being in relationship with other people means that I willingly give up my personal desires on occasion so that other's needs might be met. What I no longer have time for is trying to please people who's opinions don't really matter to me anyway. Done with that.
I no longer have time in this life for double speak or for pussyfooting around. I don't play games with people's emotions and I have no respect or time for people who do. I refuse to deal with mixed messages and other unclear communication. I will surround myself with people who tell me the truth. And I will speak truth. Done with all that other stuff.
Finally, I am done with pretending. I am a smart, strong, creative woman. Sure, I may need a few age-defying products. I might have curves in places that some might not find beautiful. But to pretend to be anything other than just who I am in my 45th year would be dishonest.
There's nothing that out of the ordinary about the return of daffodils in the spring. Those nice green ones on the right side of the photo are sprouting in the normal dirt. The rest of them have managed to push their way through more than a foot of sand left from the neighbor's patio building project last summer.
All I can say is that they have more energy and determination that I do today. Maybe I should take a lesson. . .
I've been thinking lately about the disconnection in society. In hundreds of daily interactions with the people around us, we see, slightly acknowledge and then pass each other without ever making any kind of real, meaningful connection. Lots of folks, much smarter than me can tell us why that is, but I have my own theory.
Human beings at our core are mostly self centered. And anymore, we are always in a hurry.
I really started paying attention to this a few weeks ago, on a very snowy, slippery morning on the way to work. As I was white-knuckling it down I-75 I came upon a pickup truck in the median on the right side of the highway. It was on it's lid. The driver's door was open and the driver was hanging upside down in his seatbelt. Having once put a car on it's lid in the snow I knew first hand how difficult it is to get your seatbelt unhooked with all your weight resting on it.
I reached over grab my cellphone as I drove past and dialed 1-877-7-PATROL and let the Ohio State Highway Patrol know that he needed assistance. Only after making the call did I stop to wonder why I didn't pull over and help. That caused me to engage in the time honored human tradition of cost-benefit analysis.
Cost – I'll be late for work. It's cold and I don't have a very warm coat on and I don't have any gloves. I don't know him. What if he's a serial killer?
Benefit – Ummmm. . .feeling good that I did the right thing??
We engage in cost-benefit analysis all the time. And, most of the time cost wins. Most of the time we're self-absorbed, self-serving people. And I don't like that about myself. So I decided to change it. And God laughed.
Last Saturday Ali and I were driving down North Main Street in Findlay. It's four lanes of pretty busy traffic. We saw a beautiful Golden Retriever running frantically across all four lanes. Being a creature of habit, if nothing else, I did a quick cost-benefit analysis.
Cost – If we stop we will be late. (For what??? It's Saturday!) All that nasty snow is melting and that dog is muddy and wet! Sammy is in the car. What if we have to take her somewhere to get her home? If we stop, we might have to endure the trauma of watching her get hit by a car as we try to corral her!
Benefit – Ummmm. . .feeling good that we did the right thing??
This time we did the right thing. She came right to us. She didn't have an address tag but she did have a registration from last year. We took her to the Humane Society (Sammy was fine with that) and we assume she found her way back home. We were a little muddier for the experience but we felt a sense of connection with our community that we haven't felt in a long time.
Yesterday, as we were leaving Big Lots (and talking to the check-out clerk about finding that dog the week before!) Ali looked down in the parking lot and found a wallet. It contained a lot of really important things to the 20 year old woman who owned it. We went back into the store to look for her, with no luck. As we thought about how we would be feeling if we lost our ID, Social Security card, work ID and debit cards we realized that she was probably panicking. There was no phone number to call her and if we mailed it she wouldn't have it to buy groceries this weekend or go to work on Monday.
Cost-benefit kicked in.
Cost – I don't want to go back downtown to turn it in to the police! I want to continue on with my Saturday plans!
Benefit – Ummm. . .doing the right thing?
We went back downtown. The police made us sit in the white chairs outside the locked doors for about 20 minutes. We got a tad annoyed but we told each other they have much bigger priorities most of the time than two semi-impatient women with a found wallet. Eventually they dealt with us and promised to try to find the owner quickly.
Whenever I'm faced with a situation that gives me a choice about my actions I engage in the cost-benefit thing. And it's really not all that helpful. There will always be a cost to doing the right thing. And the benefits will probably never outweigh them.
Doing the right thing is always expensive. But so is fixing anything that's kind of broken. Including me.
The end of February, early March is usually the time that I've let my good intentioned New Year's Resolutions fall by the wayside. That's one of the main reasons that I don't really make resolutions any more. Now I adopt a single word for myself and work at keeping it in the forefront of my mind for a whole year. This year my word is
I set a few goals that were vitality related and as March begins I want to check in with myself and be publicly accountable by writing about the successes as well as the continuing struggles.
My first goal was to walk at least 30 minutes a day. That was my low-end goal. The high-end goal was to walk 10,000 or more steps each day. By setting two goals, both of them pushing my out of my comfort zone, I gave myself twice as many opportunities for success. To measure my progress, I got the world's coolest pedometer (it works in your pocket, resets itself at midnight automatically and keeps track of steps as well as distance!) and 10,000 steps is a bit more than 5 miles a day. (An aside – with a desk job, I can't make 10,000 steps a day if I don't walk for at least 45 minutes at a pretty quick clip in the morning before work.)
I'm happy to report that as of the beginning of March I've met or exceeded my goals at least 5 days each week since the beginning of the year! {Happy Dance!} I've walked more than a half a million steps in the last 61 days!
Intentionally, my vitality goals for the year have absolutely nothing to do with weight. They are all about my internal desires to be healthy, active and energetic. If weight loss comes, it comes. But I'm trying really hard not to allow it to be my focus.
That's a big step for me. I have a pretty distorted body image and it's a struggle not to focus on what I think I see in the mirror. When Ali and I are in public I often pick out someone who I see who has a weight problem, who I think is nearly my size. I nudge Al and ask,"Am I as big as she is?" What I think I see in myself is almost never what others see about me. People who have never struggled with their weight don't realize this but most of us who do struggle with this issue know more about dieting and calories and exercise regimes than anyone. So when someone says to us, "All you have to do is eat less and move more," it isn't all that helpful. Those of us who struggle with food don't need a better book, a how-to manual or yet another piece of exercise equipment. We know what to do. We just don't do it.
And speaking for myself, I can tell you that my weight problem is not going to be solved by another diet. My weight issue is between my ears. I have to work on me, the inside-me, for the outside-me to fall in line. Hence, vitality – not another diet.
Maybe I'm on a soapbox, but it needs to be said. Everybody has at least one issue they struggle with. One thing in their life that brings shame and feelings of humiliation. It might be compulsive shopping, terrible money management, dating people who make you feel bad about yourself or substance abuse. Whatever it is, that problem you have – that's what it's like for someone with a weight issue. It's an issue, just one that everyone can see.
So, I'm on kind of a roll and I'm proud of myself. I have absolutely no idea if I've lost weight. I don't ever weigh myself. Again, it's not the point. I know something inside me is changing though. This morning I overslept. I gave myself permission to take the day off from walking before I even got out of bed. I decided to spend the time before work vacuuming the house since we have Bible study tonight. But before I knew it, I found myself walking around the BFR track and telling myself that the Bible study folks wouldn't even notice a little bit of dog hair on the floor! I didn't want to exercise, I gave myself permission not to but something in me did it anyway. I've never experienced that before.
I still struggle with food. It's my next area of vitality concentration and attitude change. No doubt it won't come easily either. We're eating more vegetarian and I'm working on eating less. But there are miles to go. No doubt I will stumble, but at least for today – There is progress. It's good. And March is moving forward!
Every year I wonder whether I will make it through February and every year I'm amazed when it happens. This February was the fourth snowiest on record for our little corner of paradise. We still have feet of it laying around but when I went to put my stuff in the car this morning something definitely felt different. There were birds singing. It was above freezing. All the icicles had fallen off the eaves sometime in the night.
I believe that spring is on it's way!
A few glimpses of the weekend.
:: Izzy, who loves to "help" with any sewing project that might be in the works. More on the finished product tomorrow!
:: {this would be an audible glimpse – you'll have to hum along} We watched a big chunk of the Winter Olympics at our house. Besides rooting for the USA we cheered for Canada quite a bit. Yesterday afternoon I could hear Ali in the kitchen singing O Canada fairly loudly. It's one of those songs that's fun to really belt out and she was obliging. If she doesn't know the words to something she just generally makes something up on the fly. Ditto with the tune. Before you could say "Royal Canadian Mounted Police" their national anthem had morphed into Somewhere Out There and she was wacking that out for all she was worth.
(Try it! After you get to "the true North, strong and free!" just slide right on into "Somewhere out there if love can see us through. . ." It's seamless. . .and hilarious!)
:: It must be getting closer to spring because I indulged in fresh strawberries at the grocery yesterday. They were grown in California and I can't think of a better March 1 breakfast celebration than strawberries.
:: Just because it's a clean slate, a new month and nearly a new season doesn't mean it's not still a Monday morning. We went out to get into our cars this morning and I heard a crash and some wailing.
That's Al – wearing a can of 7-Up. And doing it with style don't you think??
