Vegetables

     Who would have expected that the tomatoes, squash, spinach, or brussel sprouts we grew in our gardens in the 40s would become the designer foods of the twenty-first century?  We are old enough to have seen the importance of eating vegetables come full circle. In our youth we ate them because they were fresh and free from our gardens. Today we eat them because the nutritionists have given them preferred status on the food pyramid and our physicians keep us accountable. It’s even fashionable to be a vegetarian these days.

     Vegetables aren’t always an easy sell, so it seems appropriate to discuss what I call resourceful camouflage: getting kids to eat vegetables without too much rebellion.  V-8 Infusion has left most of my less creative, more obvious techniques in the dust, but let’s face it; where were those fruit flavored veggie concoctions when we needed help in the 50s-80s?

     When I was growing up, aside from liver and onions which could never be disguised in any way, my mother prepared two foods I really didn’t care for: sauerkraut and turnips. Pushing food around on my plate to make it appear half eaten was never an option. We weren’t far removed from the depression and war rations, so clean plates were the rule.  Since I would never be permitted to hold my nose while eating sauerkraut, I would put my mashed potatoes on top of the offending sauerkraut so I really couldn’t see it. Plus the neutral potatoes (which I loved) soaked up some of the awful acid taste of the sauerkraut.

     With respect to the turnips, my mother automatically mashed them in with the potatoes. As far as I was concerned, that was unforgivable. I think she thought she was doing us a favor by disguising them. She never asked and I knew if I criticized I would become the full time family cook.

     When I had children of my own, I didn’t serve sauerkraut or turnips – mainly because no one could stand the smell. I let the boys try all the other kinds of vegetables, and one son loved them. The other son only ate food in the brown food group so I put mixed vegetables in his waffles! I’m sure he never noticed. Now, to my amazement he has jumped on the designer food bandwagon and loves sushi! Obviously the press is more influential than his mother.

Pilgrim for All Generations

     Pilgrim’s Progress has been #1 on my list of favorite books since 1961. While everyone else I know struggled and swore their way through Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and excerpts from John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, I found my genre of choice: the allegory. Nothing beats a well written allegory with characters and places named for their defining characteristics: Doubting Castle, Talkative, Hopeful, and the piece de resistance Christian, the pilgrim.

     Although it was written in the 1670s, Pilgrim’s Progress is timeless, allowing the reader to apply its symbolism to the present for a perfectly crafted story of man’s struggles to arrive at the Celestial City in a state of worthiness; although, symbolically, I suppose any ambitious goal might be substituted. The challenges are universal.

     I try to read Pilgrim’s Progress at least once a year and have 4 copies – one in the original Old English, one modernized version, and a third pictorial copy. I even have a copy on my Kindle in case I get stuck in an airport with nothing of interest to read. Although my youngest son and I may share a common interest in the genre, I’m fairly certain no one in the family has read my all time favorite. I think it’s one of the best “Yes, you can!” motivational books that has certainly endured through generations. See me if you want to borrow a copy. Or, if you are waiting for the movie, YouTube comes through with an uninspiring read aloud video version.

Surprises

You can’t have lived your life as a parent without being on the receiving end of any number or nature of surprises.  I think part of the nine month in utero experience for babies includes some training in the art of surprising parents.

As the boys left home and returned for the holidays, the stories began to unfold as we all gathered at the dinner table. For instance, my husband had never told me about the day the neighbor came over to complain that one of our sons was calling his son some very, very bad names. Our son was mowing and venting his anger not realizing his voice was carrying through the neighbor’s window. Or how about the time I got a call from Key West to let me know our son and his friends were starting home from spring break, now that they had raised bail to get him out of jail? My husband would have told me about that if he had known!

I think one of their best kept secrets had to do with the big round spot on the wallpaper on the bulkhead of the kitchen. For years I had assumed it was left when one of them bounced a dirty basketball against the wall. Oh no…I learned, at another family gathering, it was the perfect outline of a piece of bologna that was thrown up there and stuck, probably as part of some contest. I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised because it was just a few feet from the kitchen ceiling fan where the boys flung applesauce from a spoon to see what the spray pattern would be like. To this day, I don’t know which son is responsible for either event. That’s an even bigger surprise-no one ratted!

I feel fortunate. On the parent surprise meter these events hardly move the needle. We were lucky parents, indeed. Occasionally surprised, but mostly lucky.

Saying Goodbye to Boys

              Somewhere around the age of 5 or 6, boys stop publicly showing or wanting displays of affection. The big, extended, heartfelt hugs and kisses are replaced with “fly-bys”—cursory hugs with a quick turn of the head so any attempt at a kiss lands somewhere between the left ear and the back of the neck.

                Having been through this phase with our sons, my husband and I were prepared when our older grandson started school. We didn’t want to let him escape out the front door or head off to bed without somehow letting him know we love him, but we knew he certainly didn’t want a mushy sentimental hug.

                My husband and I each have our own approach to this phase in a boy’s life. He can still get away with the “bigger bigger,” a VERY tight squeeze designed to make a young boy squeal like a girl. It’s a man to man challenge and will probably evolve into some kind of bone crushing handshake. All of this is perfectly acceptable. There’s no overt sentimentality; just a testosterone charged competition.

                I’ve taken a softer approach, since it’s not really appropriate for a grandmother to squeeze the living breath out of a child of any age or gender. I have taken the high road which is evolving with each grandchild’s waning tolerance for affection. From the age of 2 or so I lavished each boy at bedtime and upon departure with the same fond ritual.

                “Did you know I love you today?”…head shake, yes. “Did you know I loved you yesterday?”…another head nod. “Do you know I’ll love you tomorrow?”…final head nod. Then we touch pointer fingers while I make a buzzing noise and say “All my love to you.”

                As time goes by, the boys begin filling in the time words and the buzzing sound until that magic age of aloof shyness hits. Then our routine changes to just touching pointer fingers without the schmaltzy narrative. And now, I just hold up my pointer finger to an 8 year old boy who smiles and breezes through an obligatory hug.

                Whenever I write notes to the boys, I leave out the XXXOOOs and draw a circle around an inverted V; it’s the paper version of my buzzing finger. I think this arrangement can take me through the preteen and teen years into adulthood when genuine hugs return to favor.

Saying Goodbye

                I saw a news segment last week describing the latest ap available to a tech-driven, smart phone, ipad saturated generation. This new, must have ap is called ifidie. (Honestly, shouldn’t it be called whenidie?). In short, this ap allows the user to write a last message friends and family that will be distributed to their preferred social media site or email in a timely way, shortly after their death. I’m not entirely sure who sends it out, perhaps St. Peter at their arrival at the Pearly Gates, for surely no use of electronics would be permitted in paradise.

                The users of ifidie say this is the most meaningful way to communicate with their children. How did that happen? My mother-in-law had an expression she often used as she tried to makes sense of the generational changes that were overtaking her genteel traditions: “I feel like I’ve been dropped here from another planet!” I have become my mother-in-law.

                I know I probably can’t control the timing or nature of my demise, so you can bet I’ll take charge of my last goodbye. I’m at the point in my life where hellos and goodbyes are about even, but the time is coming when the goodbyes will begin to dominate, until I finally reach the last goodbye. At that point there will be no last minute reminders, apologies, or words of sentiment required. By then, my actions will have spoken volumes.

                My children already know they are the single most meaningful accomplishment in my life. I couldn’t be more proud of the adults they have become, armed with enviable work ethics and a tolerance for others that serve them well in both their casual and meaningful relationships. My husband knows that 42 years of marriage is not an accidental milestone. If he goes before me, I won’t try again; it would be futile to attempt to duplicate this relationship. My twin sister  has always known what I needed to tell her, and my friends will let my life speak for itself; it’s all there. My grandsons will come to appreciate how much I loved them from our rituals and traditions: cooking, biking, bedtime stories, camping, swimming, and playing games.

There is no sense letting final words create a maudlin smear on the events themselves. I don’t want some fleeting sentiment thrown out in cyberspace to be deleted or forgotten. I’m living life as an epitaph that may grow shorter as it is passed to succeeding generations, but it will never be a final goodbye. Rather, I hope it will be an igniting spark.

A Blog Becomes a Book

View from the Cart: the Story of Mulligan, a Golf Course Dog is finally published and ready for purchase.Click here to learn more or purchase books. It's a privilege to work side by side with our adult children on collaborative works. In creating this book, Greg recorded stories from Mulligan's life. Hearing him tell the stories with his emotions and point of view so evident made it easy for me transcribe his thoughts to create a finished product. We both agree that this work represents his life as a golf course superintendent, with a working Black Lab, honestly and candidly. Greg had dabbled in writing this nonfiction narrative through stories posted on his blog, View from the Cart. Comments from readers lead to a more serious effort to publish.There is something for everyone in this story of second chances. Dog lovers will make a connection to a wonderful Black Lab, while golfers will appreciate the description of the golf courses and peeks at a golf course superintendent's life. The book's 8th grade readability level makes it a quick read appropriate for readers from preteen through retirement!

Ten anecdotes invite readers to take a ride on a golf cart see Mulligan at work. Stories include such topics as golf etiquette for the course dog, Mulligan's first ladies' day, encounters with members and other wildlife, work related injuries, and a touching story of his adoption from the Colorado Lab Rescue group.

A Summoning Stone: the Second Generation

It seems appropriate that Book Two: Vision Caster of the Summoning Stone series would have a connection to generations. Indeed, fifty years after Danielle discovers the magic of the summoning stone, her grandchildren return to Hope via the transforming power of the same stone.

In creating the sequel to the first Summoning Stone book, Book One: the Prophecy, I began to see how people of all ages and stages discover the same timeless strategies for living a life that has meaning. In Book One: The Prophecy, Danielle and Kirk find the Tree of Truth and learn "...each person must choose his own destination and the paths that lead to it." In Book Two: Vision Caster, Gabrielle and Jeffrey begin the maturation process to adulthood when they learn to sacrifice their own personal interests to help others.

I believe whether you have spiked green hair, thinning gray hair, or perhaps no hair at all, you share a universal desire to live life in a meaningful way.