The Spirit of Liberty

The local Freedom Festival was last weekend. It’s always held the weekend before July 4^th and usually on the hottest weekend of the year. Freedom Festival 2005 was no exception. It was 98 degrees in the shade.

Perversely, I was reminded of Valley Forge. Many years ago, during one of Indiana’s coldest winters, I read a book about Valley Forge and George Washington’s soldiers. I sat huddled under an afghan in a drafty, but heated, apartment and read about men who were huddled around meager campfires, rags bound around their feet because marching had worn out their farming boots. Rations were in short supply, clothes were threadbare. Why did these men stay under those conditions? Why had they left their homes to fight for unproven ideas and a strange concept of liberty?

I have heard that they wanted to make George Washington king, but he refused. Washington believed that the strength of America was, and would always be, the people. Two hundred years later, I bow to no man nor to any woman because I am an American.

To all the Valley Forge soldiers, all the Revolutionary soldiers, and the families that sacrificed for them, I say thank you. I hope you know it was worth it. Happy birthday, America,

HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!

I like dreaming

I recently read a magazine article about the powers of visual motivation. The author recommended that you decide what you want out of life and paste pictures that represent those desires onto poster board. She assured the reader that if the poster was displayed where you could see it everyday, you would achieve those things with little conscious effort. The premise of her assurance was that if you were reminded daily of your dreams and desires, you would subconsciously strive to attain them.

I have an inquiring mind. I want to know if that really works. So I “pasted” pictures on an 8 x 11 sheet of card stock using computer graphics and taped it on the wall across from my computer so I can see it every day. We’ll see how it goes.

On my poster, I have a picture of Townsley Lake. It’s a picturesque lake in the middle of nowhere. A beautiful, secluded spot that apparently can only be reached by backpackers. At my age, hiking has lost some of its earlier appeal, but the lake still beckons. Before I die, I want to take a picture of Townsley Lake.

Just above the lake picture is a smiling woman sitting in the middle of an office. She represents “my own business”. I’m too lazy to make a success of a business, but I like the idea of making money.

A graduation cap and diploma are in the middle of the board. I want a doctorate. When I win the lottery, I’m going back to school and become a doctor of something. I just don’t know of what. I probably should narrow that down to something less vague to give this experiment a fighting chance. I just don’t know of what. It’s hard to reach your dreams when you don’t know what they are.

Zigzag up the side of the poster to the top right and you’ll see a house. I want my own house. Just a little cottage I can call my own. I must be growing old to think about settling down. I’ve always liked having few possessions that wouldn’t fit in boxes when the need arose to move them from one spot to another. My motto was throw ‘em in a U-Haul and move on, across town, across the state, across the country.

Top left is a picture of a woman jogging. I have no desire to jog. The picture is suppose to represent a healthier, more active life style. Though that might be too much of a shock to my system.

Near the bottom of the page, is my fondest dream. It’s a simple graphic of a book with me as the author. The title is written on the open pages. The Cubicle Wars It’s a mystery about office life. I work with enough characters to make the book a real page turner. But, then again, maybe it would be easier to write as a comedy.

Beans, Beans, and more Beans

I had Beans and Rice for lunch today. It's not a dish I usually serve when it's over 90 degrees outside because it's a hot, hearty, stick-to-your-ribs kind of meal better suited to Antarctica than Hell. But ... it's also a dish that's easy to fix and only takes one pot and I was too lazy to cook yesterday - and yes, I also had it for lunch yesterday.

When I fix authentic Red Beans and Rice, I use the recipe out of the New Orleans Junior League cookbook, River Roads Recipes. I have a friend from New Orleans who claims the three fattest ladies in the world live on her street because the world's best cooks live in Louisiana. She's the one who recommended the River Roads book and I have found no reason to doubt her.

Yesterday I used my own recipe, the unauthorized version of Red Beans and Rice. I'm going to share the recipe with you, but don't give it to any southern cooks - they'll die laughing.

Dump 1 can of Red Gold Petite Diced Tomatoes with Green Chilies (Hot) and 1 can of Chili Beans (or Joan of Arc Red Kidney Beans) in a large pot, add 1/2 - 1 cup liquid (to be more specific at least enough water, broth, or vegetable juice to equal twice the amount of rice you plan to use). Bring this to a boil and stir in 1/4 - 1/2 cup uncooked white rice (depends on how much rice you have and how much you want). Turn heat down to low and simmer 15 to 20 minutes or until rice is done. Serve in a bowl and top with shredded cheese.

This unauthorized version can be served with crackers, corn bread, or tortilla chips. If it gets thick enough, you can wrap a tortilla around it and serve it as a vegetarian burrito. Just throw in some chopped onion and celery with the tomatoes and beans if you want more vegetables or you can serve them raw on the side. (Sprinkle the onions on top and use the celery sticks as a salad.)

Besides being easy to fix and clean up (just one pot!), this is a healthy dish. It's low in fat and high in fiber. Because you use beans with rice, you have a complete protein and the tomatoes count as one vegetable serving.

Sometimes I throw a little Polish Sausage or Kielbasa into the mix. Then it's a Creole, Mexican, Polish dish and it's every man for himself.

IS IT HOT ENOUGH FOR YOU?

Is it hot enough for you?

The last time I checked it was 94 degrees outside. That’s hot. Even for summertime in Indiana, and summer is only a few days old.

During the summer when I was younger, you could go into the local gas station - grocery store in any small town in southern Indiana and some old guy would ask you that question. Then he’d cackle at his own wit, probably slap his knee, and sometimes spit tobacco juice.

I’d laugh and respond politely, “It sure is. I hope it rains soon” But I always wanted to drawl, “Naw, I like living in hell. I’ll probably spend eternity there if I don’t change my ways.”

It wasn’t proper for a sweet, young thing to use the word hell, so I always refrained. Now I’m old and I can say it all I want, but the old men sitting around those small stores are long gone. The stores tumbled down and the gas pumps rusting away.

So I have to ask for them, “Is it hot enough for you?” I’ll laugh and maybe slap my leg, but I won’t spit. I’m still a sweet, young thing at heart.

On Observation Hill

It's time to write another blog, but I can't seem to gather my thoughts enough to compose an intelligent paragraph this evening. I'm so groggy today because I stayed up and watched Sinbad (the comedian) on The Tonight Show. He was very funny and it seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I'm thinking getting more sleep would have been an even better one.

Sleeping is one of those things that inexplicitly change as you grow older. I don't seem to dream as much now. Maybe I just don't remember the dreams. Maybe they just aren't worth remembering.

When I was younger, I used to have a recurring nightmare that I was driving up Observation Hill. The hill was so steep my car would fall backwards off the mountain before I ever reached the top. I would always wake in a panic, too scared to scream, just seconds before the car crashed.

One night I was exhausted and the dream came again. The car neared the summit, close to the spot where it always left the road. The panic was rising in my throat. I knew I was only seconds away from that awful moment when the car would topple over and I would plummet helplessly through the air.

I gripped the steering wheel, clenched my teeth, and said, "This is my dream and I'm taking control. I'm not falling off this mountain tonight."

I drove to the top of the mountain and I've never had that dream again.

The Kiwi Won

I just finished watching the U S Open and realized today is Father’s Day. It’s because of my father that I watch golf, even though I have never played.

When I moved alone to Florida in my late 20’s, my parents followed. Not out of any sense of parental duty, but because my father disliked the cold of Indiana winters as much as I did.

My father was retired. He retired at a relatively early age related to a heart condition that limited the work he could do. For the most part, he found retirement extremely boring and tedious.

He would watch any thing on TV that was advertised as a sport, and because my brothers lived in other states, I would join him on Saturday afternoons so he wouldn’t have to watch alone. In retrospect, he probably didn’t mind watching alone, but it gave us a chance to bond that we had missed while I was growing up in a home with 5 brothers and sisters.

My father and I watched everything from golf and basketball to tennis and pro-bowling to lacrosse and curling. (He was on his own when it came to football.) Being transplanted Hoosiers, our favorite, of course, was basketball. I already knew when to hoop & hollar and when to yell at the ref and when to blame the coach. It was a game with rules that made sense to me. I learned to follow Big Ten college ball and discuss the games at Sunday dinner. When my father died, I stopped watching basketball.

But I still watch golf.

UPDATES

I have watched the summer TV show Fire Me .... Please! It is actually amusing, not hilarious, but occassionally laugh-out-loud funny. I think it's only on once a week for about a month - which is just about right. The amusement will be waning by then.

My international garden is doing well. The tomato plant is bearing fruit despite outgrowing its pot. The oregano is thriving and the peppers are still alive even though they almost succumbed to dehydration last week. One would think Habenero peppers could stand a little heat.

Unfortunately my indoor plant aren't doing as well. Normally they like neglect. (Yes, they do.)

The Pooka filled an ice cube tray with water and put it in the microwave instead of the freezer. I swear it was the Pooka. Nobody else around here would do something so silly.

I have caught up with my on-line writing course. I almost dropped it because it was BORING, but last Friday's lesson was much better so I'll keep at it for another week at least. Only 3 weeks to go. Don't tell the instructor, but I still haven't done any of the homework.

My toe is so much better it doesn't bother me at all. Now I'll have to find another excuse to get out of housework. Oh, well, if it's not one thing, it's another.

The Pooka Did It

I am still doing spring cleaning type housework. I have misplaced my trash bags and it’s hard to do a good clear-out without them. I reorganized my kitchen yesterday and I probably put them somewhere sensible. I just can’t remember where that is. I’m contemplating going to the store to buy some, even knowing that I will spy them as soon as I get back in the door.

I probably didn’t put the bags anywhere. I think my Pooka did it. He’s a little guy that moves things around the house just to drive me crazy. He disappeared several years ago (probably off annoying some other family), but he has made sorties in here several times since then to hide things I needed. He’s very good at hiding things. I can search for a lost item for hours, then suddenly, just as I’ve given up, it reappears right under my nose. This little trick is especially annoying when I've given up all hope and bought a brand new item, only to return from shopping to set the new one down right on top of the lost object. It makes me want to scream. With is probably why he left. I curse like a sailor in the tropics when I get upset and it no doubt offended him.

But then again, it might be good to have him back full time. As I get older, I get more forgetful and it would be nice to have someone else to blame.

(A Pooka is a "harmless", but mischievious, imaginary sprite. That's one acount. Other dictionaries say they are malicious supernatural beings that often take the shape of an animal. Jimmy Stewart's Harvey was a benevolent pooka. If you haven't seen the movie Harvey you should; it'a a classic comedy as old as me. Reportedly, during the filming of the movie, Jimmy Stewart insisted the director make some shots wider so that Harvey could be in the scenes. If you don't know why this is mentionable, you probably haven't seen the movie.)

Housecleaning

I did some actual housework yesterday morning. It’s not that I mind doing housework, it’s just that I’m so bad at it. My mother was a poor housekeeper and her daughters do only marginally better. I have seen worse housekeepers, but not many. No brag, just fact.

Yesterday, I cleaned out my kitchen cabinets. I got almost all of them done before I kicked a box and injured the fifth toe of my left foot. I tried to ignore it, but after I tripped over another box, I realized it really hurt. So I stopped working, elevated my foot in front of the TV, and got out my newest mystery book.

I learned that trick from my sister. If you get hurt, you don’t have to work – somebody else will do it. Which when we were growing up, was usually me. My youngest sister had another ploy: “I don’t know how.” and then would aptly demonstrate how inept she was with a vacuum, a hammer, a broom – so somebody else would have to do it. Sister Kay also perfected “I have to brush my hair first”, when there was a group chore like clearing the dinner table and washing the dishes. By the time she got through brushing – somebody else would have finished the dishes.

My oldest sister taught me a trick about dishes. Don’t bother washing the dishes before you go shopping. If you get in a wreck and die, somebody else will do them for you.

I have one housekeeping trick. If you see company pull up in the driveway and your house is a mess, put the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the floor and greet them at the door with a dust cloth and can of Pledge in one hand, “Hi, please excuse the mess; I was just getting ready to clean.” With any luck, they’ll answer, “Oh, here let me help you.” Unless it’s one of my sisters. They’ll just suggest you go shopping till the urge to clean safely passes.

The Nothin' Trilogy

The Nothin' Trilogy. You've read about it under other names in such places as the funny pages (think Family Circus) and if you've been in charge of boys for any length of time, you've experienced this phenomenon in person. This trilogy consists of the three phrases: Nothin', Who me?, and I dun know.

For example, if you hear suspicious noises, or no noise at all (even more ominous), coming from a group of boys just out of eyesight, and you ask them, "What are you up to?", you are going to get one or more of the trilogy responses (usually with a look of wide eyed innocence and/or the shoulder shrug).

The Not Me Trilogy is directly related to the Nothin' Trilogy . The Not Me Trilogy responses are: Not me!, I dun know, and Whut? used to answer the question "Who did that?"

These customs are not confined to one region of the country or one socioeconomic group. I have heard the trilogies used across the country by totally unrelated groups of kids and the responses never varied. No matter what accent a kid normally uses, when responding "I don't know", it's pronounced "I dun know." and “What?” becomes “Whut?”

Age is not a common factor either. 4 or 24, it doesn't really matter. My own nephews vary in age by at least 20 years and they were all proficient in Nothin’ and Not Me trilogeze. I have even heard adults use one or more of the six responses to deflect questions from bosses and spouses.

I, myself, would never use one of these colloquial phrases to respond to a a serious inquiry. Nope. Not me.

Nothing

I am on vacation this week, doing what I do best. Nothing. It isn't easy to do nothing, but I have been practising for years and now it comes easier to me.

Doing nothing is actually a science when done right. For example, yesterday I spent all morning on the computer looking for a schedule for house cleaning. That way, I could say I was doing house work without actually exerting any energy in that direction.

I watched TV in the afternoon. To do it properly, you plop down on the couch with the remote in one hand and a drink in the other. (My drink of choice is iced tea, but to each their own.) The trick is to see how many shows you can watch simultaneously on one TV. (I have been known to do it on two TV's at once, but that's not for amateurs.)

One of the local Christian stations has family program on in the afternoon. That means shows so old they were re-runs before you were born. Shows like My Three Sons, Lassie, Jeff's Collie (Lassie before it was Lassie), Leave it to Beaver, and westerns. Yes, old fashioned westerns. I only get to watch them when I'm doing nothing.

Yesterday I watched The Lone Ranger. Some people probably think The Lone Ranger ridicules Indians. They should have seen yesterday's show. They were making fun of masked heroes and bad guys. The Lone Ranger (LR), Tonto, and the local sheriff found a dead man on the floor with a pencil clutched in his hand. LR turned him over, spied the pencil, and said "Maybe he was trying to leave us a message." He then begin to look all over, up the walls, on the ceiling, till Tonto pointed out the message on the floor - just where the former clockmaker's hand had been. LR read, "Dover boys did it. Bomb on stage will explode at 9." He looked puzzled until Tonto pointed out, "Maybe it mean 9 am." I swear I saw Tonto roll his eyes. You know he was thinking, "Like, duh, kemo sabe"

LT and the sheriff figured out that the stage left at 7 and it was 8:45 so they'd have to ride hard to catch up. (Heigh-Ho, Silver!) Tonto and LR reached the stage about 8:55, had a gun fight wiht the Dover boys, and stopped the stage, but when they tried to get the passengers off, an old lady got her heel caught in the step and her husband wouldn't leave her. The bad guys were standing on the other side of the hummock watching while Tonto climbed on top of the stage and began throwing luggage off before it exploded. A trunk landed at the feet of one of the Dover's, he looked at it, looked at his brother, looked at the luggage, looked at his brother and began to run. He was too late of course.