Waiting to Exhale

For many years, I made every loaf of bread that was consumed in this house, and with four kids - all teen-agers - that was a LOT. As they left home - the Squire's nephew to the military, and the girls to their own homes - I made less and less, until now I may only make a loaf or two a week. Of course, I also don't have the frustration to bang out, but that's another story!



I've been on a cleaning binge recently, and found a Tupperware container of yeast hiding on a top shelf. I used to buy it by the pound, not the packet.  I mixed a cup of warm water and a tablespoon of sugar with a teaspoon of yeast, and waited to see if the yeast was still viable.

Nada.

Well, even if it's not fit for cooking, I can still flush it down the toilet, a quarter cup a week, as it helps the septic system.  I flushed some last night, and left the container on the kitchen counter.

This morning, we came downstairs to discover the animals had gotten into the yeast. They'd knocked the container onto the floor and eaten a fair amount of it. Everywhere they had licked the floor, the yeast had stuck, and what didn't get eaten was like l-e-e-e-tle tiny marbles, all over the kitchen.  The worst of it was that the yeast had given all of the animals gas. Bad. You have not lived until you have shared a house with two large dogs and several cats, all of which have a bad case of The Farts.

It is too cold to open the windows, and I'm almost afraid to turn on the gas stove.

How Hard Can It Be?

Several years ago, the Wednesday Morning Coffee Bunch made bookmarks from plastic canvas and red or blue ribbons, one for every Prayer Book and Hymnal in our church.

I am constantly amazed at the number of ribbons fluttering loose in the pews like so many Tibitan prayer flags. People will open the Prayer Book to the Order of Service, toss the ribbon aside, flip to the Psalm without marking their place, and then scramble to find it again.  One man even removes his marker completely "because the ribbons are never in the right place, anyway". Does he think we have a team of pixies who go through the church and mark every hymnal on Saturday afternoon?

Today was Boy Scout Sunday, and I noticed almost every visitor carefully used the bulletin to mark the books.  Now, how hard would it be to get our members to use the ribbons?

That'll Teach Me!

Well, it just goes to show you.

I worked all day Thurday and Friday, sorting and tossing, and woke up this morning - to snow! This is the first honest-to-goodness snow we've had all winter. We had a couple of periods where it neared white-out, but the ground is really too warm for it to stick. It is 30 at the moment, and supposed to go down to 20 overnight, and not get much warmer tomorrow, but it will be back in the 50s on Monday and Tuesday.

Practically spring, and we finally get winter.

Spring Cleaning

I have no idea what came over me, but I decided to dig out all of my unused Barbie "stuff" and sort it out. Furniture I've made but never used, the Santa's Workshop I did one year in place of the general store and never set up again, enough pots and pans for a small restaurant. I filled an entire Xerox box with bits and pieces and put it out on Freecycle.

The next item is to sort through all of the things on the front porch. When our grandson was about five, he and I were going to put together a lighthouse kit. The Squire bought me a lot of nautical goodies for Christmas that year - a nice rowboat, a superb telescope, some pelicans and harbor seals - all of which are still on the front porch. Our grandson will be 25 this summer.

I've also been sorting through books, and in our house that is a major undertaking! Lots and lots of stuff to take over to the Smith College book sale. I have complete sets of the Brother Cadfael novels, and all of the Peter Wimsey books, including the two that were written by someone else, using Dorothy Sayers' notes after she died. It's hard to accept the fact that I simply cannot keep everything. (Lord knows I've tried, though!) The last two days to donate books are this coming Sunday and Monday, so I'll have to load the car and drive to Timonium Monday morning.

I haven't felt this ambitious since the day before my last child was born! And believe me, like Sara, I am well past that sort of thing.

Spinal Block

We were up at the unheard-of hour of 6:45 this morning to get to the Surgical Center by 8:00. I sat in glum silence while the Squire - the fink - ate his breakfast before we left. I couldn't even have a cup of coffee; it wasn't a pretty sight.

Anyway, the spinal block seems to have been a complete success! (Applause, please!) The bottom four discs in my spine are completely shot, and the doctor doesn't want to do a fusion, so we have been making do with injections of various sorts. I did have a partial discectomy in 2006, which was a tremendous help, but he he said these discs are beyond even what that procedure could do.

When he hit the nerve that runs down my right leg, the pain was horrendous, but it only lasted a few moments, and then the leg went completely numb. When I had collected my wits, the staff moved me to the recovery area and the Squire came in to keep me company. At first, I could only wiggle my toes, then lift my knee, and finally, after about 45  minutes, I was able to move the leg normally so they let me go home.  Lunch and back to bed.

I am so accustomed to moving very carefully to avoid making my leg hurt, that it is odd to be able to move as I please.

Thank God for modern medicine!

So Much for Manual Dexterity

We had a work day at church on Saturday, and after I managed to drip white paint all over the kitchen floor and myself, not once, but twice, popular opinion was that I'd do better dusting and polishing in the sanctuary. I took the step ladder in so I could vacuum the tops of the windows - dead stink bugs by the hundreds - and managed to pinch my finger in the process. Twice. Blood and band aids.

As I was dusting under the pews I was reminded of my years at boarding school. (That tells you a lot about what kind of kid I was, doesn't it?) We all had chores to do, and one of mine was mopping the upstairs front hall with a mop that was nearly as wide as I was tall. Could have made good use of it Saturday morning.

Tonight was another Prayer Shawl meeting, so I took along my little green worm. I've been working on it all week, but it is not obvious to the untrained observer. It is about 20 inches long and an inch wide, and seems to be sort of zig-zaggy. I've been working with some YouTube videos on "Crocheting for Left-Handed Dummies" but not having much luck.

One woman in the group has knitted five shawls in the last two weeks. I am suffering from feelings of inadequacy. Big time.

Too Early to Think Straight

Before Christmas, the Squire got an ingrown hair inside his nose, which caused him to bear a strong resemblance to W.C. Fields. Our family doctor sent him to Patient First, where he was prescribed first one, and then another, antibiotic, neither of which worked. They, in turn, sent him to a dermatologist who did a culture and put him on Bactrim. I happened to mention this chain of events to the Army doctor, and she very casually remarked that "they frequently use Bactrim for MRSA." Lovely. That was a heart-stopping announcement!

The infection cleared up but about two weeks ago it came roaring back, settling in his sinuses.  I don't mind telling you that an infection this close to his brain was a tad unsettling.  The Squire simply called our family doctor and asked for a renewal on the Bactrim, which promptly caused him to break out in a head-to-toe rash. Back to the dermatologist for a round of steroids and yet another antibiotic and a cream to dab, via Q-tip, on the sore in his nose.

This morning about 4:15 he got up to blow his nose, and then left the bedroom. Suddenly he was shouting from the bathroom that he needs to go to the hospital NOW. He had awakened because he was gagging on his own blood! I don't think I have ever gotten dressed quite so fast in my life. I grabbed yesterday's clothing from the laundry basket and ran! Off we go, him with a wad of bloody tissue and me without my contacts. Anyway, we were in and out of the hospital reasonably quickly, with a bottle of some sort of spray, which he is to use twice a day for three days and then toss. The doctor also told us that everybody has MRSA is their nose, and that is where they test for it, so it's nothing to sweat about, but just to be careful. No more sharing spoons and all that jazz.

The ER doctor suggested the Squire see his ENT today to have the inside of his nose inspected and possibly cauterized, but the doctor only has hours in Bel Air on Tuesday and Thursday, and they can't possibly squeeze him in until Thursday afternoon. I made an appointment, but I have the feeling that he is going to figure the heck with it at that point. We know what happened and how to handle it, and unless he has another flair up we're just going wing it.

TMI and all that jazz...I'm going back to bed. I don't do 4 AM any more.

Back in the Saddle

I didn't remember my camera; this is from several years ago.

I taught yesterday for the first time since my second stroke, and it really went very well.

I had made absolutely sure I had all of my props ready and sorted out on Sunday afternoon. It's a good thing I checked my garment bag, as I had neatly packed the boys clothing, but had not put in any on the girls costumes. That would have been a disaster! The Squire helped me load the van, and even rummaged through the fireplace to find a few chunks of burnt wood to put in the foot warmer and the iron.

I've been working for weeks on a toddler doll and Sunday I whipped up a cape for her. I had made one, but it didn't fit properly, so my friend the Army Doctor stopped at Joanne's on Saturday afternoon and got more felt. The new cape took less than an hour; easy-peasy if you know what you're doing!

When I went into the school I took "Martha" and stood her so she was looking over the back of a chair while I got my visitor's badge and then went out with a cart to collect my "traveling circus". One of the teachers said she was just about to catch this little girl before she tilted the chair backwards when she realized it was a doll!

My tables were waiting for me, and I was early enough that I could get all set up. My models had been selected, and - for once - the boys remembered "the flap goes in the front". Most of the time I have to send them back to put their breeches on right way round.

The students were all beautifully behaved, and asked good questions, which kept me on my toes. As the students had returned to their classes, one of the teachers came up and asked me how long I had been doing this. "Oh, just about forever", I told her. "I started when my grandson was in the fifth grade and he's 24 now."  She told me I had looked familiar when I came in, and as I was speaking she realized that I had come to her class when she was in elementary school. Yeesh! I'm on the second generation, now!

For Queen and Country

A friend sent me this link. This song belongs to all of us, no matter what country we call home. For everyone who has sons, husbands, cousins,  or friends who serve in the military, it will both elate you and break your heart.

 

The women are all wives of British servicemen, and the words of the song are based on letters between them and their husbands.

 

http://www.youtube.com/user/militarywiveschoir?feature=watch

A Death in the Family

Our oldest grandson died on February 1, 2010 of military related causes. Since that time, the Squire and I have attended twenty-five funerals or viewings. Not all family - I don't have that many relatives! - but we have lived and gone to church here for almost forty years and our friendships go deep.

I lost my sister to ALS, my mom to simple old age, and an uncle to the same sort of brain tumor that killed my dad in 1999. The Squire has lost both his mother and his stepmother, and several aunt and uncles. Three friends have been widowed, our vet (and dear friend) had a heart attack, a lady at church lost a long and courageous battle against cancer. Wednesday I attended the service for a member of the DBE (Daughters of the British Empire) and today we went to a viewing for an old friend.

Edna worked with both the Squire and me at the old Equitable Trust Bank, and her nephew was my sister's first husband. They met at a family reunion, so there was another connection there, too.

I just hope this two year anniversary brings us a bit of a respite. We're running out of people to bury!

My dad really was late to his own funeral. The person who drove the hearse had grown up in Bel Air, but moved away. I had handed out printed directions to Christ Church, but the driver disregarded them, turning onto the old road instead of staying on the main highway. Bel Air had undergone some tremendous changes, with new roads and traffic patterns, which was why I had made up maps to get to the church. They pulled into St. Mary's, but the parking lot was empty, so the hearse, and my mom and sister following in the limo, pulled into every church along the road.

In the meantime, we had no idea what was going on - this was pre-cell phone and GPS - and I kept getting out of my seat and going to peer out the church door. Back to my pew and then another circle around the church. Finally, the rector told me to please sit down. "I promise you we won't start until he gets here."

It was a good thing his funeral wasn't on a Saturday. The way things run on my family, there'd have been a wedding at St. Mary's, and they'd have ended up dragging my dad down the aisle behind the bride!

Strawberry Ice Cream

When I was in the grocery store the other day they had a sale - buy two bags of salad and get a pint of strawberries free. Such a deal!

We eat salad every night, but it was obvious the berries were being given away because they were verrry close to the end of the line.  No problem. I looked over the boxes carefully, as some had already started to mold, and brought home what I thought was the best of the lot. I also picked up a pint of whipping cream, because I had ice cream on my mind. I filled a large bowl with water and about a quarter cup of cider vinegar, and dumped in the berries. I hulled them and cut out the soft spots, and then stashed them in the fridge until yesterday morning.

I put the cream in the bowl of my stand-up mixer and got it started, pureed the berries and poured them into my Salton Big Chill, then put a cup of milk and a cup of sugar in the blender to a) make sure the sugar was really well mixed, and b) to get the last of that precious strawberry gloop out of the blender.
Poured all that into the Big Chill, gave it a couple of spins, waited fifteen minutes and spun it again, and then stuck it back into the freezer.

Heaven! Absolute heaven! No carrageenan, no xananth gum, no modified food starch, just milk, sugar and berries. And it couldn't have been easier. I could have just as easily poured it all into a metal bowl and stirred it a couple of times, and skipped the Big Chill. We have forgotten how good plain, unadulterated food can taste.

Try it! You'll like it!

Stormy Weather

It's been unseasonably warm so far, but we had about an inch of snow and sleet on Saturday, the first of the season.  Sunday was bitter cold, but today it warmed up again, with a bit of rain. As a result, it was very foggy - I felt as if I was driving inside a milk bottle!

I was supposed to meet Eldest Daughter and my oldest friend  for breakfast at 9:00 at Bob Evans.  Discovered they are closed for remodeling. I did not discover this until I had driven around several dump trucks and stepped over some scaffolding. Oblivious? Me? Well, it gave they guys who were working there a story to tell their wives...you won't believe this dippy woman...

I called Tina and suggested we meet at Panera, which is just across the street, then called Merrie. We all arrived in a heap, but there really wasn't much on the menu, so we decided to go to the diner  across the street from the hospital, since I had an 11:00 appointment there, anyway.

Both Merrie and I are perpetually on diets, and I am a vegetarian, but Tina will eat anything. We all had omelets. Merrie and I had mushrooms and green peppers, and Tina had bacon and a side of fried potatoes. There are only two vegetables I don't like; refried beans and potatoes. Weird. I just don't understand what people see in potatoes. Just plain old white mush. Ah, well. At least Tina didn't offer to share them with me.

So - long discussion with the neurosurgeon about my aching back and right leg, which has taken to folding up under me at the most inoportune moments, not that there are any good times to take a tumble, I guess. My bottom four discs are shot, but he doesn't want to do a fusion of that magnitude, so we decided to try a spinal block, time and place to be decided.

Our church's ladies group is making Prayer Shawls, and somebody has offered to teach me to crochet. I'm not sure how this is going to work out, frankly. Talk about teaching an old dog new tricks.  I can smock, I can do counted cross-stitch, I can sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam, but crocheting has always been beyond me. This lumpy little worm is the result of an hour and a half of cross-eyed concentration.  I think my shawl is destined for somebody who hasn't even gotten sick yet!

Let Me Introduce Myself

     Somebody once said a name is a mortal blow from which a person never recovers. I wish my parents had thought of that. My first name was a horror; there are no really nice nicknames for it, and my mother insisted on not only using all four syllables, but generally added my middle name as well.  I discovered that in Maryland, at least, it is not necessary to have a court order to change your name. You can change it just because you want to so I waltzed up to the DMV and am now officially just plain "Anne".
      The church we attend is a Queen Anne parish, and dates back to 1692. Almost every year we have a Colonial service - usually close to July 4th, although this photo is from Maryland Day - and a lot of people get dressed up for the occasion.  Because I am a history teacher, I sort of got "elected" to either make costumes or provide patterns for other members of the congregation. Well, as long as I'm doing this, I might as well make nice costumes for my husband and myself. Besides, I convinced myself that I could use mine for my classes. Sure thing. You betcha. One of the fellows at church began calling us The Squire of Joppatowne and the Lady Anne, and so we have been ever since.
     I have other names as well, some of them even repeatable. Most folks call me Dani, which is a contraction of my late husband's surname, just as somebody named Anderson might be called Andy. When I was a teenager I was painfully shy (a confession which sends those who know me now into gales of laughter) and was called The Mouse. I am still Aunt Mouse to a couple of people's kids.
When I was growing up, my mother's mother convinced me that I was a princess. Somehow, we were related to the Austrian royal family. Tracing your family tree can be most enlightening.  We're from Germany, not Austria, and there's not a drop of royal blood in my veins! I think most of my friends saw through this fiction well before I ever caught on, but "Du bist ein Prinzessin" stopped me in my tracks more times than I'd like to remember. Any slip up, and my Grandmother would tell me sternly, "Look at Princess Anne. She doesn't (fill in the blank) and she's just a little thing." Yeah, well, Princess Anne didn't have to pick string beans or clean the cat box, so don't give me that jazz. I grew up hating the woman, and she never did a thing to me. Yoo-hoo, Your Highness, I'm sorry for all the things I said!
     (I did have a German cousin who married some very low-ranking Austrian peer while I was still in high school. She had twin daughters the year I graduated, but she died in an auto accident when the girls were eight, her husband remarried, and we completely lost contact. I don't even remember the man's name!)
     So, the Lady Anne and the Squire, also known as the Lord of the Manor, have three daughters and eight grandchildren. We also have two great grandsons. One of our girls lives near us, one lives in Winchester, Virginia, and one lives in Nashville. As I said, I am a history teacher; I specialise in the period from Henry VIII to the end of the American Revolution. I go to schools in Harford County in costume, take clothes for the students to put on, along with lots of props, and we talk about what it was like to live in the 1700s. I love it! I absolutely adore teaching! I am also very much involved in miniatures, kit bashing, and furnishing houses. I'm fast running out of room for regular 1 to 12 houses, so have gone to doing more and more 1 to 48, also known as quarter scale or even O gauge.
     My dad was an Episcopal priest and my mother was, well, "a piece of work" describes her about as well as anything, but I do wonder what sort of tales my grandmother told her, so that probably explains a lot. You'll be hearing lots and lots about my mom. She made me what I am today. Oy!

How did I get here?

First bit of advice - never buy a house in the winter when the ground is frozen. My husband and I fell in love with this place almost forty years ago, handed over our hard-earn down payment, and moved ourselves, our three daughters, one dog, and two cats without a backward glance. Actually, for two theoretically responsible adults, we didn't give it much forethought, either.

When the ground thawed out, we discovered we'd bought two and a half acres of marsh. There are five springs in the front yard alone!  We don't call this place "The Rice Paddy" for nothing!

We wanted to put in a garden, but it was like trying to plow chocolate pudding. We finally simply gave up, rented a back hoe, and dug a HUGE pond, which is home to a gazillion tadpoles, a fair number of blue gills, and at least three snapping turtles, one of which is a bit more enthusiastic about his meals than I'd really like, frequently trying to climb out of the pond to grab at the store-bought white bread that is staple diet for the pond critters. There are many things I will do, but actually hand-feeding a thirty pound snapper is not one of them. And he's free to stay there as looong as he likes. My momma didn't raise me to be no alligator wrestler!