A Monday memory....

My first paying job.....

was in the donut shop section of Tice Farms,

way back in 1968.

Friends had already started working there on the weekends and I couldn't wait to get my working papers and join them.  I worked Saturdays and Sundays, from 8am until 6pm.

My wage? A dollar an hour. Seems a shockingly low number now, but I thought it was great, paying as much as I had previously earned babysitting.

("Farm labor" did not have to pay the same rate as minimum wage.)

Training didn't take long and I soon got into the swing of things. There was a man in the back section who mixed the dough in a huge mixer, then spread it onto a floured wooden table to rise. Next, the risen dough was fed into a machine with a conveyor belt which contained a tiny river of cooking oil.  After the donuts came through their cycle, our task was to remove them and toss them into either the powdered sugar or cinnamon sugar drum.  There the machine would turn round and round, until the donuts were completely covered and exited the other side.

The donuts were then arranged in neat rows, in long rectangular wire baskets.  These were either stacked or placed in the glass cabinet.

Quite new to me, and quickly becoming my favorite, were the glazed donuts.  After rising and baking, they were gathered on wooden dowels and hung up on a rack.  Then a large metal pitcher, filled with the glaze, would be held above the top row and the sweet ooze would flow down over all the donuts.

They were best eaten straight away, while they were still warm and gooey.

Pure heaven!

Less exciting were the variety of "filled" donuts we assisted in making.  These included apple, blueberry, strawberry, and a vanilla cream.  I seem to recall tiny insects circling the large yellow containers that held the fillings, so I passed on sampling those.

Truth be told, the days were quite long and the job was tedious at times.

The most difficult days were those of the Autumn.

People would drive from great distances in order to reach the Farm and soak up the atmosphere, as well as the produce.  Tice's was well known for its sweet cider, made on site.  So "cider and donuts" were as suited as "milk and cookies" - if you bought one, you had to buy the other.

And buy they did!  The line would stretch and wrap around the building, with waits of at least twenty to thirty minutes.  That line formed by opening and continued non-stop for the entire day.  So we workers were truly "run off our feet" most days.

By the time my Dad would come for me in the car, I was often covered, literally, from head to toe in powdered sugar, despite the knee length apron I wore.  I even had it in my hair!  I can recall sitting at the dinner table, exhausted, and unable to eat a bite.  I suspect the fact that I had shoved a couple of donuts in my mouth during the work day probably contributed to my lack of appetite too.

Donut making did not seem to be my calling, so I gave up the job after several months.

Despite all the hard work, the experience certainly taught me a great deal.

If nothing else, it expanded my knowledge of donuts dramatically.

Friday Fotos....

Before....

After....

Amazing, huh?  If you are considering pulling down your upper cabinets and going with open shelving, I highly recommend it!

Pulling down the wall  (as seen in the second photo, in the process of being removed) that separated half the kitchen also made a huge difference in opening up the space.

And did I mention that the Englishman did all the work involved?  Including, building new drawer fronts and cabinets doors, shelves, and the "island" table constructed from an old pine coffee table.

He also put up a new backsplash using tiny subway style white tiles.

How lucky am I?

I love the open feel and being able to display and enjoy my dishes and knick knacks.

Goodness, did I just admit I like the change that has occurred in my kitchen?

I'm making progress!  Yay me!

Wishing everyone a lovely Autumnal weekend!

Oh, and GO ARMY - BEAT LOUISIANA TECH !!

Thursday's Thought for the Day....

"You do build in darkness if you have faith.

When the light returns you have made of

yourself a fortress which is impregnable

to certain kinds of trouble; you may

even find yourself needed and sought 

by others as a beacon in their dark."

Olga Rosmanith

from the book of quotes: believe

I believe there is always some good or benefit to be found, even in the darkest of times.

Wednesday's wisdom....

Change is good!

(But dollars are better.)

The Englishman informed me on Monday that there was an upgrade available for my phone.

Not being very "tech savvy" - I thought, well that's nice.

So he upgraded me and handed the phone back over.

And that's when I panicked.

Because it looks like a completely new phone to me. EVERYTHING has changed.

And I hate change!

From this....to this

Well, hate is a strong word.  Let's just say I've never become comfortable with change, of any kind.

I like to be able to count on things being the same.  Same meals, same clothes, same furniture arrangement.  Same television shows.  Same routine in the morning and at night. 

Change feels like a threat to my security - both inside and out.

Over the years, I have learned to adapt to changes.  Not because I wanted to, mind you.

 But let's face it - sometimes you really don't have a choice.

The brand of soap you love is no longer available.  They cancel The Mary Tyler Moore Show without consulting you.  The doctor informs you that the ingestion of the shrimp you order whenever dining out  is contributing to your high cholesterol numbers and must be stopped.

The changes come and you find you can cope with them.

Sometimes, change can even be a good thing!

New foods are discovered, the table is more workable on the other side of the room, and the promos plugging new television programs actually look promising.

While I am still more comfortable with the sameness of things, change is often welcome and exciting.

I just need to be open to it.

And though it is still early days, there is a slight possibility I will actually come to like my new phone.

Stay tuned.....

Tip for a Tuesday....

Making a list, checking it.....

  at the beginning of each new month.  

That is when I retrieve my master list of "Birthdays and Anniversaries."

All the information is noted on a sheet of paper I downloaded from Susan Branch's website.

Called "A YEAR AT A GLANCE" the single sheet of paper gives me space to note every birthday and anniversary of family and friends I wish to remember.  As each new month rolls in, I note on my large desk calendar which events are coming up and also note the date on which I need to post a card in the mail for timely delivery.   In addition, it serves as a reminder of which cards I might need to add to that week's shopping list.

Easy Peasy. 

A Monday memory....

Not a clue....

When I transferred to a new college my Junior year so as to pursue a degree in Elementary Education, I was met with the news that I now had a "gym" requirement to fulfill.  

What? In college? Are you kidding me?

The course selection booklet I perused offered two suggestions.  The first, an actual gym class, was being taught by a woman named "Helga."  This conjured up in my mind visions of a muscular blond woman, hovering over me whilst I did man-style push ups and her whistle screeched in my ear.

Not a pretty picture.

The next choice was a "Modern Dance" class whose instructor bore the first name of "Kitty."

Well that sounded much better and though I had never heard of a style of dance called Modern, I was sure it would be far less taxing on my body than anything a Helga might come up with.

The class was to be held on Thursday evenings, from 7 to 9.  I donned an old leotard and headed across the courtyard and down the stairs to the gym.  A notice on the door greeted me, stating that class was cancelled.  No problem, I thought. More time to settle in to my new surroundings.

This excursion was repeated the following week with the same results.

By the third Thursday, I was beginning to think there was neither a "Kitty" nor a dance class. As I descended the stairs, I noticed a concerned group of students gathered around a woman in her forties who was sitting on the stone floor holding her ankle.

Not knowing any of the players involved, I hovered at the fringes of the group.  One of the girls finally whispered that the woman before me was the teacher and that she had fallen down the stairs.  An ambulance had been called for.

And yes.  Class was cancelled yet again.

Finally, on the fourth Thursday, we had class.  The teacher appeared sporting a very fancy inflatable cast which began at her toes and finished at her knee.

She had to hobble about but did a rather impressive job of instructing us. 

She was able to attend a couple more classes before it was announced that, yet again,  she would have to cancel a few.

I finally discovered the reason for all these lost classes:

The teacher's full name?  Kitty Dukakis.  

Why yes, that Kitty Dukakis.

Her husband, "Michael" as she called him, had just been elected the Governor of Massachusetts.

(He later ran for the office of President in 1988.  He lost to George H.W. Bush)

I had had absolutely no idea that was who she was!

Kitty was a wonderful instructor.  I came to truly love going to class and learning what turned out to be an extremely different style of dance for me.  

And we were graded!  I had never been graded on my dance performance before. Furthermore, I was shocked to receive a B plus the first semester!

When I questioned Kitty, she responded that she felt I was holding back - that I had much more to give.

My response?  I thought to myself, "Fine.  I'll show you!"

So when class resumed the next semester, I gave it everything I had! 

I exaggerated every move, stretched higher, twisted into shapes I didn't know I could exit from and danced my little heart out.

At the end of class, Kitty approached me with a huge smile.

"That's what I've been looking for" she shouted.  "I knew you had it in you!"

I got an A every semester from then on.

I couldn't tell you anything about Kitty's duties as First Lady of Massachusetts or any of her husband's policies at that time.  Kitty kept our class time purely devoted to her love of dance and sharing it with her students.  If she talked about her husband, it was only as any wife who is clearly and madly in love with him would speak.  And he must have equally loved her, because he actually attended one of our performances! 

I must say, his presence was a little disconcerting for me that evening.  Not because the Governor was in the audience, but rather the awkwardness I felt when I had to slip into the lobby of our college's theater for one of my dance numbers.  Needing to enter from the rear of the theater in order to descend the stairs, I found myself standing next to a couple of Security Agents. They were decked out in their somber looking suits, while I was merely wearing the outfit pictured in the center, above.

It certainly was good for a giggle later on that evening.

Thursday's Thought for the Day....

"Authentic success is accepting your limitations, making peace with your past, and reveling in your passions so that your future may unfold according to a Divine Plan.  It's discovering and calling forth your gifts and offering them to the world to help heal its ravaged heart.  It's making a difference in other lives and believing that if you can do that for just one person each day, through a smile, a shared laugh, a caress, a kinds word, or a helping hand, blessed are you among women."

Sarah Ban Breathnach

Simple Abundance

September 15

Wednesday's wisdom....

         Those elusive z's....

For the most part, I find I crawl into bed early each night and have no difficulty in getting off to sleep.  However, it's the waking up during the night which often causes me trouble -

for my mind immediately switches "on" and I resort to a lifelong habit of worrying.

Yes, I'm a worrier.  I come by it naturally, having descended from a very long line of worriers.

Like many who suffer, I have this foolish notion that if I worry about things I will somehow be able to control them or keep bad things from happening.

I've come to realize that this course of action, at least during the nighttime hours, is completely futile and serves only to rob me of sleep.  Stop it I must.

My solution?

A quick conversation with myself.

"Ahem, where are you?"

"In bed."

"Is there anything you can do about it at the moment?"

"Well, no, I'm in bed."

"Then stop thinking about it.  If you get the sleep you need, you might actually be in better shape to deal with ________________ during the daylight hours."

That little back and forth in my head is quickly followed by a series of Hail Mary's and before you know it, I'm off to sleep once again.

Quicker than a trip downstairs for a glass of milk or the temptation to watch TV or read.

With the added bonus, I disturb neither the Englishman nor the Basset Boys who share our sleeping quarters.

Does it work every time?  Well, no.

But repeated efforts over the last several months have resulted in more sleep and less tossing.

So I will continue the practice.

Who knows - maybe I'll even try having a go at stopping the daytime worrying too!

A Monday memory....

Tiny dancers....

1950's

1980's

2013

Mother....daughter....granddaughter

Seems like only yesterday - when I climbed the towering set of stairs and ran down the long hallway to the Florence Dance Studio.  I began a life long love of dance at the tender age of 2 1/2 there.  For the next ten years I took classes in ballet, then toe, two years of tap and several years of jazz.

After a break, I resumed dance classes in college with two years of Modern Dance.

My parents spent years shuttling me back and forth to the studio.  My mother sat alongside other mothers at the ballet school in the early years, cutting and sewing yards and yards of tulle into ballerina skirts.  In later years, the table would be pushed to the wall and I would spend hours practicing my "solo" across the kitchen floor.

Among the many joys I anticipated when I gave birth to my own daughters was that of becoming a "ballet mom."  Our girls also began dance classes at tender ages, with varying degrees of enjoyment.  They attended several ballet schools over the years and sampled an assortment of styles.

I was as excited and nervous as the girls at their recitals each June, whispering "one, two, three" as they would sweep across the stage.  

Just as my mother had when I was performing on stage.

And now a new chapter in our family's dance history has begun. 

My middle daughter was sweet enough to ask if I would like to come along to my oldest granddaughters very first ballet/tap dance class. 

Though I was certain it would be fun to go with them, I wasn't quite prepared for the level of joy it actually brought me this past Saturday morning.

Peering through the glass, watching M as she followed along with the teacher, was almost like looking in a mirror.  The expression on her face, as she came running out halfway through the class to change from her ballet shoes to tap shoes was priceless.  A quick hug and kiss from her mother and she was racing down the hallway back to her class.

It made me think of that Kodak commercial from years and years ago, when Paul Anka would sing, "These are the moments of our lives."

Oh, such precious moments!

Such a gift to be there and share in it.

And I just know that my mother was watching M from above, smiling proudly and 

 counting out, "one, two, three..."

Friday Fotos....

Just a few photos to show how our garden is starting to grow - from tomatoes,  peppers and zucchini to a lavender patch and rose section.

And just look at this incredible sky tonight, just outside our kitchen door!

Wishing everyone a lovely, safe weekend!

Thursday's Thought for the Day....

Oh so true!

Whether it be facing a loss, speaking in front of a classroom of students or 

facing the crowds in Shop Rite on a Saturday morning.

As I always tell my girls, 

"We can do this!"

And we are always the better for having faced the fear and done it.

We STILL remember....

The following is taken from last year's post on this date.
The thoughts and feelings are the same today, as they have been since September 11, 2001.
The Englishman and I paused this morning to remember those he lost and everyone else affected that awful day.
I am also so very grateful, each time I remember this day, to the caring people I worked with at the school I taught in, who offered me comfort and support that day and for weeks after.



We will NEVER forget....

Not in our family.  Not ever.

September 11th will forever be a solemn day of remembrance for my family.

Life changed that day.  For each and every one of us.

For the Englishman, who watched as a dozen friends perished before his eyes.

For our daughters, two far from home on college campuses and the other kept at her high school, frantically searching for information and longing to be home.

For me, in a Third Grade classroom, trying desperately to act as though nothing was happening when every fiber of my being wanted to run, gather my family and hold on to them as tightly as I could.

For my nephew and his friends, in their Senior year at West Point, whose future would now include trying to survive in a war zone.   

We still remember.

Prayers and gratitude for all those who work tirelessly to keep us all safe. 

May God bless and protect them.

And all of us.

Tip for a Tuesday.....

Twinings "Spiced Apple" Tea

Autumn is my absolute favorite season.  Last week, when the temperatures dipped slightly, I thought I would try something new in the way of an afternoon drink.

While in the supermarket, the word "chai" caught my eye, since my youngest daughter recently introduced me to a vanilla chai tea and I enjoyed it very much.

Seeing the list of spices on the Twinings box convinced me to give it a go.

I'm happy to report that it is wonderful!

Just a few sprinkles of sugar is all I add.

Though Starbucks "Pumpkin Spice Latte" is a great way to begin an Autumn morning, a cup of tea with Twinings Spiced Apple is a lovely way to take a break in the afternoon. 

Thursday's Thought for the Day....

I found this on Pinterest.

I think the same can be said of Mothers and so many other roles in life.

It does matter.

What we say. What we do. What we model for others.

Thinking of all the teachers, aides and principals heading back to school.

A part of me wishes I was joining you.

*These are the credentials of Todd Whitaker, listed on his website. I post them in case they are a source of information for the many teachers I know.

"Dr. Todd Whitaker has been fortunate to be able to blend his passion with his career. Recognized as a leading presenter in the field of education, his message about the importance of teaching has resonated with hundreds of thousands of educators around the world. Todd is a professor of educational leadership at Indiana State University in Terre Haute, Indiana, and he has spent his life pursuing his love of education by researching and studying effective teachers and principals.

Prior to moving into higher education he was a math teacher and basketball coach in Missouri. Todd then served as a principal at the middle school, junior high, and high school levels. He was also a middle school coordinator in charge of staffing, curriculum, and technology for the opening of new middle schools..

One of the nation’s leading authorities on staff motivation, teacher leadership, and principal effectiveness, Todd has written over 30 books including the national best seller, What Great Teachers Do Differently. Other titles include: Shifting The Monkey, Dealing With Difficult Teachers, 10 Minute Inservice, The Ball, What Great Principals Do Differently, Motivating & Inspiring Teachers, and Dealing With Difficult Parents.

Todd is married to Beth, also a former teacher and principal, who is a professor of Elementary Education at Indiana State University. They are the parents of three children; Katherine, Madeline, and Harrison."

(I just love the internet, and how quickly I can learn about people and millions of other things!)

Wednesday's wisdom....

I've been struggling all day to find some "wisdom" to write about.  So I took a long walk, down and back, to our local CVS.   While I don't feel any wiser, I do feel a bit better.

So maybe that's the wisdom - recognizing and doing those things that I know will help me to feel better, to pass through this storm of grief I'm dealing with.

 There are certain activities which I have drawn on in the past and found comfort in. 

Among them are long walks, crocheting a scarf for a soldier, staying in touch with friends, and rereading a favorite book series, Miss Read.

I've now added bike riding, puttering in the garden, rearranging closets and listening to classical music.

Adding to my daily dose of dark chocolate has also been of benefit.

The "wisdom" is that I need to do those things that are self-caring, most especially when major life events occur.

They always work.  They have before. They will now and in the future.

Tip for a Tuesday....

What lurks beneath your fridge?

When I returned from a quick shopping excursion on Saturday, the Englishman greeted me with the news that our refrigerator was not running up to snuff. The fancy numerical indicators located atop the inside of the fridge alerted him that the temperature was dropping fast.

Well, that and the quickly melting ice cream in the freezer below.

Fortunately, I've paid enough attention over the years both to my father 
and to the team on This Old House.

My suggested possible solution?

Vacuum the coils.

After removing the cover plate located at the base of the fridge, I was able to vacuum out the accumulated dust from the front section of the coils.  Slowly but surely the temperatures in the fridge and freezer started to return to their correct setting.
Phew!

The Englishman and I were frustrated at not being able to reach and clean out all the dust.  He did pull the unit out, removed the back panel and vacuumed what he could reach.
But there were still sections, way in the back....

Long story short, after literally jacking up part of the fridge/freezer, we came to the conclusion that what we had managed to clean was going to have to be sufficient.  It was not worth risking personal injury to do a "perfect" job of it.

I'm happy to report - so far, so good.
Fridge/freezer is now running at correct temperatures.
Even better news?  No ice cream was lost in the process.

(Hey, we all have our priorities, right?)

By the way, have you vacuumed your coils lately?
It is recommended that you do it at least twice a year.  More often if there are pets in your home.

A Monday memory....

Mothers vs Teachers

The photo above from 1916 is of my paternal grandmother and my father, who was then six years old.  There were thirteen years separating he and his older sister, with four children having been born in between.  From what little my father knew, none of those four children lived beyond the age of two, and the reasons for their deaths is not known to me.

As a result, you can imagine how protective my grandmother would have been of my father, particularly in those early years.  He often related stories of her spending hours preparing nourishing foods for him and watching over him closely.  One story in particular came to mind the other day and I will attempt to recall the details.

My father was born at home and raised in Brooklyn, New York.  His parents lived in an apartment, which must have been on at least the second story, as he mentioned the "L" train being almost level with it in those days. One morning, I believe during the first week of a new school year when my father was in first grade, my grandmother was busying herself washing windows.  Having taken the time to walk her precious son to school, carefully negotiating the busy streets of growing traffic in 1920, she was perched on the ledge of one of her open apartment widows so as to reach the outside for a proper job of cleaning.  Looking down for a moment, who should she spy but her darling boy, walking down the street.  She immediately shouted down to him to "stay right where you are."

As quickly as she could manage, she flew out of her apartment, down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk.  Horrified to find her child no longer safely in school but rather wandering outside unattended, she quickly inquired as to what on earth he was doing. My father was pleased to announce that his teacher had entrusted him with a job.  He had been directed to go to a nearby shop, with money she had provided, to pick something up for her.  

I'm sure many of you can imagine her reaction to that news.  She immediately took him by the hand, marched right back to his school, and straight into his classroom.  My grandmother then told the surprised teacher, in front of the entire class and in no uncertain terms, that she was never to send her son on an errand for her again.

My father could not remember the specific words used during their little exchange, but he recalled that the teacher did not choose him again for any further "trips" outside the classroom.   The twinkle in his eye when he would recount the entire episode led me to believe he was quite proud of himself, both because the teacher had entrusted him with a mission and that he had managed to get as far as he did without incident.  

I, on the other hand, feel complete sympathy for his mother and the fright she surely had suffered.

I suspect the teacher was equally frightened that day too.