Busting thru the gate

"Keep Out"

When I was ten the world was mine.
From the woods by Grandma's pond,I traveled anywhere.
With all the time in the world, there were no worries.




I wanted to go back to my youth,
But there was a gate with a "keep out" sign across the road
And memories get fuzzy and fade like old photographs.

The best summer vacations ever

Growing up in a small town, I spent the school year running around town, doing "urban" things. There was the movie theater, the skating rink, the Boy's Club to fill up free time with. Home was 3 blocks from downtown if I got messy.

But summer time was different. Summer time was when I became someone else. Climbing trees, swimming in the lake, bare feet, smelly fish, woods to wander trough. I liked being dirty in the summer.

I learned to love the outdoors on camping trips with one set of grandparents and at my other grandparents' cabin on Campbell Pond (more like a small lake). These were days of freedom. My parents would be working and I was in the hands of my grandparents. They knew kids should get dirty, scrape their knees, have fun.

Grandparents S would camp all summer, mostly at Rend Lake. Weekends all the family came out and pitched their tent nearby. All the cousins (17) ran in a pack and terrorized the campground. Well, we at least disturbed the neighboring campers tranquility.

On Sunday, the parents went back to town and the lucky kids got to stay. That was when the real fun happened. Now there was room in Grandpa's boat for a kid or two to run trot lines with him. Up early, out on the lake in the dark, it was almost mystical. I didn't know that word then, I just knew I wanted to go.

Walking the shoreline looking for treasures was another favorite activity. Bare feet on wet sand or squishy mud between your toes. A dip in the lake without going to the beach was a no-no if the parents were around. But under Grandma's watchful eye, we could walk out in a cove far enough to duck under and cool off. I can remember my cousin T and I shampooing the lake out of our hair under the ice cold water pump. Though we didn't care about fishy smelling hair until our pre-teens.

Grandma cooked outside on a Coleman stove. The picnic table was her kitchen. Grandpa had made a wooden box with a raccoon-proof latch to store everything in. We ate standing up or off our laps in lawn chairs. Manners were not enforced. If you dropped it, u picked it up, rinsed it and ate it anyway.

While tent camping might sound primitive, there was electricity, flush toilets, and showers. The cabin was another story. One and a half rooms with a wood stove for heat and kerosene lamps for light. An outhouse stood just far enough away to be too scary to walk to by yourself after dark. When we were little, Grandma D kept a lidded pot by the door so we wouldn't wake everybody up trying to find someone to go outside with us.

My sister, brother, and I were the only grandchildren here. The only cousin I can remember coming here was T, though I'm sure others came from time to time.
Imagination blooms in the quiet woods with only yourselves to entertain you. We made a house where a couple of trees had fallen into natural rooms, propped across other trees. Discarded items found in the woods decorated our play house. The bedroom even had a an old rusted bed frame. Old duck decoys decorated the living room "shelves".

Evenings might be spent reading books by lantern light or playing cards. Old army cots were our beds. On nights without too many mosquitoes, the cots would be set up outside and we would sleep under the stars, the sound of crickets our lullaby. We'd leave bread under our cots to get a close up look at the baby raccoons while their mothers snuck onto the porch for the scraps from dinner.

These were the best summer vacations because they were fueled by imagination not itinerary, days and nights of freedom. The freedom to explore, discover, pretend is a freedom I have tried to give my children with our own camping trips and hope to give to my grandson.

"Secret" Family Recipe

I made pancakes for breakfast yesterday morning. Not the ones you just add milk to. Or the the ones you heat up in the microwave. Real pancakes, with flour, eggs, milk.
It was a special occasion. My daughters had a friend spend the night. I always make these for company. I even make these when we go camping. There is something about eating great pancakes outdoors that takes me back to camping trips with my grandparents as a kid, but that story will have to wait for another blog.

While I was waiting for the kids to wake up, I got on FB and told everybody I was having pancakes. I received a few requests for the "secret family" recipe. So here it is.

K's Scratch Pancakes

2 c all-purpose flour 1/4 c sugar
1 1/2 tsp baking powder 1/2 tsp ea. baking soda and salt

Sift together and set aside.

1 Tbs vinegar and 1 1/2 c milk, set aside to sour, or 1 1/2 c buttermilk
1/4 c vegetable oil 1 - 2 eggs, beaten

"Secret" ingredient: 2 tsp vanilla extract

Mix gently into flour just until wet, leaving small lumps. Cook on griddle at 325* till golden. Makes enough to serve 4.

Other "secrets' :

Beat egg white separately and fold in last for extra fluffy pancakes.

Dice an apple into 1/4 c hot butter and saute till tender. Leave out oil and add apple and butter with 1 tsp vanilla, and apple pie spice or cinnamon to taste(1/2 to 2 tsp)

Make a mix taste "homemade" by adding 1-2 tsp vanilla

Enjoy

Why old people make young people uncomfortable

By old people, I'm referring to those whose age has begun to change them, has robbed them of who they were and what they could do. Age has imposed unwanted limits.

The young are so full of life and purpose, they don't want to acknowledge what life may hold for them at the end of it. The middle-aged don't want to be reminded that they are drawing closer to this stage in life.

There are exceptions I'm sure, but the younger you are and the older they are, the more uncomfortable you feel. They might be a beloved family member or someone you see in your job, even just someone you see at the mall. You may not even realize how you feel, just have an general feeling of unease. Don't glance past them, take notice. Ignore that uneasiness and your life maybe enriched.

This is on my mind because lately I've been spending time helping out my 90 year old grandma-in-law. While she's not decrepit or bed-ridden, she is frail, sometimes forgetful.

Grandma was a farmer's wife. She worked hard all her life, did the jobs that needed done, took care of herself and others. Now she can't do as much. Her life has shrunk to her house, which she still tries to clean herself despite that it's my job now. Her daily routine revolves around bodily functions, the need to eat, and the need to nap. Daily she is confronted with the reality of no longer being who she was, doing what she wishes to do. She is often frustrated with herself, sometimes to the point of tears.

Her tales of the people she knows are last week, last year to her but are often 5, 10, or more years ago. She hasn't forgotten the present, doesn't have Alzheimer's yet. She has some interesting theories on a wide variety of subjects that point to the beginnings of some form of dementia. (Did you know that during WWII, the Japanese infested the USA with the Asian Lady Bug as a form of biological warfare?)

When I first started visiting 2-3 days a week there was no uncomfortable feelings. I enjoyed her stories and opinions, her feistiness. The more I was around, the more I noticed the slipping of her thoughts, the frustration and even the fear she feels at the changes she cannot control.

I had never dreaded going over, didn't realize I was feeling uncomfortable. I just found my thoughts drifting into darker areas. I began to think it was time I labeled all the family "heirlooms" so my kids would know why this "junk" was important. I would be driving and just start thinking what I would do without my husband, of raising my grandson if my daughter was no longer here. I began to worry about finding Grandma dead when I went over. I was dreading going to see her.

It took me awhile to realize my sense of doom had to do with not a fear of dying, but a fear of living and being limited by my body and mind. Grandma was a reminder that I may be fortunate enough to live to a ripe old age, but I may not be in control of that old age.

As the visits have racked up, the discomfort and feelings of dread have passed. Now I find that I am looking forward to her company, to her happiness at my visits, her gratitude for my help around the house.

I have seen that Grandma still has a purpose in this life, she still finds as much joy as frustration in living. She is giving me as much or more than I am giving to her. I have learned from her that as long as we have purpose, life is still worth living.

What is Grandma's purpose...

...to piss the devil off. It is what keeps her going, the deal she made with the Lord. "I'm ready to go now but as long as you leave me here, I'll keep praying." And her belief that the devil is trying to kill her so she can't pray anymore may not be just another one of her "conspiracy theories".

I believe when she wakes up in the morning, the devil says "OH NO!! THE BITCH IS AWAKE!!"

50% ain't bad

It's not good either. It's down the middle. Right now I'll settle for that.

My problem trying to write everyday could be that I've always wondered if I had anything worth saying. I grew up not too far from the "kids should be seen and not heard" era. My dad was a firm believer. My mother was just too busy. I heard "Get to the point" and "Don't talk just to be talking" alot. I learned to talk to myself. I always listened, nobody else did. Everybody thought I was the quiet one.

When I was a teenager, I wrote all the time...on napkins, in my math notebook, anywhere. The thoughts and ideas flowed like the Mississippi in a 100 yr. flood. I even daydreamed of being a writer. (I still toy with that one sometimes.) Then low self-esteem and life in general got in the way. I never got back to writing down all the randomness in my head.

Trying to "practice" writing for a blog I'll have in the future with a specific subject but not having a subject while I practice has brought up the "Don't talk just to be talking" rule. I guess I just have to remember that blogs give us permission to not get to the point if we don't want.

Already messed up in practicing

I was gonna try to do this everyday and I messed up on day two. I guess that's what practice is for.
I've been making lists in my head about needs done before K gets here. Things like: clean; organize; kid-proof ; Katy's room needs cleaned and all the boxes I've stored in there since Christmas need put up in the closet. I don't see myself doing any of it real soon.

I'm a notorious procrastinator. I will wait until the night before a big get together at my place to clean. Then I'm up all night cleaning, prepping food, a couple of hours of sleep, cook food, everybody shows up and everything is fine. (Sarah, I know I started that sentence with a preposition. The whole sentence is incomplete and I think I'll leave it. My inner teacher would like me to fix it but I've ignored her my whole life . Why start listening now?)

I have work to do so I have to go. (Work for somebody else. I'm always willing to do for someone else what I'd rather not do for me.lol)

Beginning

Okay, so I've never done this before and have decided I need to practice before I do it for "real".

The deal is: My daughter, M, is headed over seas in May. She is Army. She'll be leaving behind not only me, but her 3.5 year old son, K. While she's gone K will stay with me until his father is in a position to care for him. Don't ask, it's too complicated.

I hope to blog every day on what's going on with K and me so she can check in when she has the chance and know that all is well with him. I won't kid myself that this will keep her from missing him. I just hope she will worry over him less and that the updates will bring her some bright spots during a tough assignment.

I'm gonna try to write something everyday on here to get in the habit, maybe learn to be a little more concise. So, talk to you tomorrow.