A Remembrance of Goodbye

My Dad.

Today is the anniversary of the day that my daddy left this world nine years ago. I got the call as I was making a dinner of hamburgers. Mom had thought dad was upstairs sleeping before dinner, as was his custom. She had been working on the computer, answering emails, etc. when it became time to make supper. She came up from the family room and started preparations.

When dinner was ready, she called upstairs for dad. He didn’t answer. It was then that she noticed the front door wasn’t latched. Dad had installed the latch so my young niece wouldn’t get out and wander by herself on the farm. Mom looked out the screen door and saw dad lying by the barn, a gas can tipped over next to him. He was going to fill up the tractor so he could cut the lawn the next day. It was Sunday.

She immediately called me and I started out toward the farm. She then called the sheriff. Since my dad had a heart condition, she requested there be no autopsy. What was the point? He was 83 years old. He had lived 33 years past that first heart attack.

From what we can figure, dad must have gotten one of his dizzy/tired spells and sat down to rest. He fell over when his spirit left him and knocked the gas can over with him. He died just a few yards from where he fell shoveling snow all those years before.

When I drove down the long driveway, the sheriff and coroner vehicles were blocking where I usually parked, so I was forced to drive around the circle to park by the machine shop; past dad. All I could think was, “Oh, dad…” I knew I would miss him, though I also knew he was oh so tired. He was ready to go home.

Arrangements were made quickly, and while everything went according to plan, nothing could fill the void of his absence. Child #1 was extremely devastated. She idolized my dad. He was her hero, as her father never could have been. She played her viola for the Mass and it was truly beautiful. Dad was so proud of her.

All these years later, I still remember that it was only child #3 and I that cried, actually sobbed, at his funeral. The other three were too terrified to make a sound, as they were sitting near their father. J and I just bawled. My mother never shed a tear. Not then, nor ever. I’m not sure I ever forgave her for that, but in her mind, she was given the gift of an extra 33 years after his first heart attack, so why cry?

So, here we are, nine years later. Child #1 is now an official adult. Child #2 is also an official adult. Children #’s 3 and 4 are partway through their teenage years and it is going well for one and not so well for the other. Such is life. “This too shall pass,” as dad used to say.

Just a little note about my dad. My sister did a wonderful job of the memory boards for his funeral. There were so many great shots of my dad, including the one where he had tucked his blue plaid pj pants into his socks, donned a hat, and pretended to be golfing in the kitchen hallway. Oh, and one other pic of note: one where he is surrounded by his grandchildren and trying to teach them something. What is he trying to teach them? Only to play poker! That was truly dad!

Have a blessed day and hold your loved ones close. You have no idea when God will call them home. Love you, dad!

Friends?

Dad with children #’s 1 & 3 a few years back.

I have always made friends easily. In fact, that is one of the things that employers find best about me. As an administrator I am outgoing and cheerful; almost endlessly optimistic. This is not an act. I am these things. Why? Let’s start at the beginning.

When I was a child, I quickly learned that the world was out to get us. We, the poor, I mean. My dad had his first heart attack in the horrible winter of 1979. I remember getting a pillow for his head after our snow-plow man carried him across to the house from the barn, where he had fallen shoveling snow, and laid him on our kitchen floor, with it’s fake, red-tile brick flooring. My older sister freaked out and wouldn’t retrieve a pillow from the living room couch for his head and so I ran to do it. The pillow was tan. I can see the scene vividly in my mind to this day. I was four.

My father recovered, slowly, but then was struck by another heart attack in May. His doctor warned us that if he had another, he wouldn’t make it. We were seven and four respectively, and all I could think of was loosing my daddy. No child should ever have to go through that. I don’t remember much from that time, besides the pillow-fetching, but the little grey stuffed dog my dad purchased in the hospital gift shop; one for me and one for my sister. I still have Drooper Dog.

Ahh…but I digress. Since my father was out of commission on the work front and my mother felt ill-equipped to return to office work as while she had been away having and raising my sister and I, computers had come in, and she had no training in them whatsoever, we were forced to live on very strict means. Treats that my children take for granted, were few and far between for us.

Our Barbies were an inclusive group, including ones that my grandfather (my father’s father) deemed had been “in the war” because of our puppy, Yoshi’s, tendency to find their feet, legs, arms, and even heads, a delectable delicacy. Our Barbies had a wheelchair before Matel ever thought to make one. My dad fashioned it of spare wood. It was amazing and it rolled seemlessly.

I always knew that my dad had a gift for talking to people and making friends. Everyone liked the usher in the funny suits (resale shop finds, or ones used car salesmen couldn’t use anymore!) with the big personality. It was an act with him. He was a very angry, bitter, depressed man. He was always trying to figure out everyone’s “angle” and could never accept that anyone just wanted to do good. He would never take charity, though we were very poor. He was a proud man.

For Christmas, we received things that my parents had bought and fixed up (though we didn’t know it at the time) and reveled in the baby furniture or dollhouse or whatever lovely things they got us. We never knew that money was a problem at Christmas. At other times during the year my mom would spill out her money troubles to me and I would try to be sympathetic, though I was a child. But at Christmas, it was magical.

We lived on a small farm, surrounded by evergreens and deciduous trees. The setting was idyllic. My family, as most, was dysfunctional. Dad was strict and violent. We tiptoed in fear of what might be coming. On the other hand, he could be goofy, and so much fun! It’s hard to reconcile those two images to the same man, but there you go. My mother would make us sit on “the settle” bench in the kitchen when we did something wrong in an effort to control us and not alert dad that some crime had been committed. If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times, her telling my sister (the loudmouth who did not know when to quit!) that she would be getting a much worse punishment if it wouldn’t alert dad and send him into a tailspin.

I can’t really blame my dad for how he was. He had a terrible childhood. His mother was but a teenager when she married his father. She had four children that lived past infancy, though one of the boys drowned as a child while my dad watched and couldn’t get to him. Add to that the fact that his father was a violent alcoholic, who would pull dad from a dead sleep to beat the hell out of him, just because he could. How do you get over something like that?

To the day he died, my dad woke up swinging. You learned to call him for dinner from afar. I only stood too close once, and I learned to never do it again. When he realized what he almost did, he apologized and explained to never wake him standing too close to the side of the bed.

Since my father’s generation did not believe in therapy, he really couldn’t heal, though I believe he did find God and that helped him, he was a very negative person. I would say, “Dad, the sky is so blue today! Isn’t it pretty?” and he would reply with, “we’re supposed to get a storm tonight.” It was disheartening to say the least. How could one stay positive in such a situation?

So, here’s my point: You see what you choose to see. It’s that glass half empty or half full thing again. If things are going badly, praise God, and know that He has a magnificent plan for you. If things are going well, praise God, and know that He has a magnificent plan for you. In all things – PRAISE GOD!!! THIS is where your joy comes from and that is no act!

Have I had bad things happen to me in my life? Yes. Awful, terrible things. Has God always been there. Absolutely. He cries with me when I’m sad and holds me when I’m inconsolable and rejoices with me when I am filled with joy!

So, what do friends have to do with this? I have had some terrific friends, and I have had some “friends” that end up hurting me. Sometimes they’re there for a season, when I need them most, and other times, they’re there for a lifetime. Some friends can’t handle my “drama.” Ok. Did I ask for a dramatic life? Don’t I want life to settle down so I can breathe? Of course. I’m not an idiot!

This is the life I was so graciously given by God. I have yet to figure out all of it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I never will. And that’s ok. I will continue to live in the way that I think pleases God. If I am down on myself or life, well that happens sometimes. If I am so very pleased, well that happens too. It’s a roller coaster ride, isn’t it? What makes a difference is who you take on the journey!

Most Uplifting Quote

Some soothing greenery.

This morning, my mother sent me a forwarded e-mail from one of her favorite sights. Sometimes these quotes are beautiful, and sometimes, I find them barbed with intention of what my life should be and isn’t. That’s probably just me projecting, but nonetheless, is how I sometimes feel. Today’s quote, however, struck a chord with me and I wanted nothing less than to shout a hearty “Amen!!!” Since, it is still early for some members of my family, I held back, but I wanted to share it with you:

“Prayer is the place of refuge for every worry, a foundation for cheerfulness, a source of constant happiness, a protection against sadness.” ~ St. John Chrysostom

That just lifted me up, you know? You all know that I have my “prayer chair” and that I find such refuge when I swing in it, but this goes beyond that. I want to be a cheerful, worry-free person. I strive for it. How wonderful that what I do everyday will help me to achieve that goal, and for once, I’m doing something right!!!! Yay!!!!!!!

Swings

Since I was a little child, swings have always been my go-to method of calming myself. I never really thought about it in that way until I happened to be in a local farming store a few weeks back and sat down in an egg-shaped swing that was on display. My troubles flew away as I gently swung from the chair. It was a stand version, suitable for placing inside or out. It was nice, but a bit too much for my budget. I reluctantly got up and continued shopping.

The next week I was back for something, and discovered the swing was on sale. It was still a bit of a stretch, but I reasoned that I needed it for my mental health, what with all that had been going on with child #3. I bought it and haven’t regretted my decision for a moment.

You see, I turned my new egg-shaped swing, into my prayer chair. This is where I go when I need to pray for someone or something or work a prayer strategy. The movie “War Room” is where the idea of having a special place to say your prayers and work a prayer strategy came from and if you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it.

It’s amazing how God works in our lives, especially if we write down what or who needs our prayers and use that to remind ourselves how to pray. We need to spend time every day in prayer. If we do, our lives would come together more in peace. I find that everything is better when I pray every day and make that special chair time with God. Then, not only do my worries fly away with the freedom of the swing, but they fly to God, who can figure them out and enlighten me!!! I need all the help I can get!!!!

Give Me S’more!

My Yummy “Grown-up” S’more!

It may have started out as bad grammar, but there is no doubt that s’mores have become a staple to children here in the US. What exactly is in a name? Well, to the best of my knowledge s’mores received their moniker by someone wanting “some more.” This got glued together (much like the s’more itself!) to become “s’more” and a new treat was born.

The traditional s’more is made of graham cracker, milk chocolate bar, and toasted marshmallow all together in one gooey, ooey, sandwich mess, which one can’t help smearing all over one’s face, fingers, and clothes. It is a sweet treat beloved by children all over the United States.

Adults, on the other hand, may find them a bit too sweet, and, let’s be honest, a bit too messy. Kids love the gooey, chocolatey, sugaryness of it all, while parents are just a bit sickened by the amount of sugar their offspring can consume in front of a blazing fire. In our family, I have to put a limit on the amount allowed or my dear children would finish the bag of marshmallows!

So, how does one make a s’more? Simple. You will need this:

A bag of your favorite, gf brand of marshmallows (most marshmallows are naturally gf, but it’s wise to check your bag every time as companies are want to change ingredients!)

A package of your favorite milk chocolate bars (Hershey is a staple for these in the US)

A box of gf graham crackers (Yes. You can make these, but for a quicker solution, I bought a box of them!)

A roaring fire

Sticks for roasting said marshmallows (We just break a few sticks off in our yard from young saplings, but I hear they actually sell metal poles for this now. We prefer to “rough it!”)

Start your fire and when it is going nicely, skewer your marshmallow onto your stick and roast gently on all sides, being careful to get it nicely browned. Lighting it on fire and turning it black is not recommended, however, I have a couple of impatient children who love their marshmallows this way!

My marshmallow roasting.

Break your graham cracker in half so that you have two even sides (or approximately!)

Place a piece of chocolate approximately the same size as the half-graham cracker piece on the bottom of your sandwich.

Sliding the marshmallow onto the chocolate.

Gently slide the beautifully browned marshmallow onto the chocolate covered side of the graham cracker sandwich by placing the other piece of the graham cracker over the top and pulling the stick out. There you have it – a s’more.

Yum!!! (with dark chocolate, of course!)

Now, if this sounds like a complete, slightly sickening, mess to you, I do have a suggestion. Instead of the milk chocolate bar on your s’more, switch it out for a piece of lovely dark chocolate. This gives the s’more a more sophisticated taste and is far less sweet that it’s sister sandwich! Problem solved! I prefer this, though I know children everywhere will disagree! “Give it a whirl,” as my dad used to say and you will definitely be hearing, “I want s’more!” You may even get a “please” out of it!!!

Just Peachy!

My lovely peaches!

The other day I bought some rather large peaches from a local store. I wanted to make peach freezer jam. If you’ve never tried freezer jam, I encourage you to do so and soon! Freezer jam is just the fruit, sugar (or other sweetener,) lemon juice, pectin, and calcium water! There is no cooking and it is just like having a fresh piece of fruit on your toast. Since that would be quite awkward, I prefer this method!

You will need the following:

About six pounds of peaches, give or take a peach!

Pomona’s Pectin (available online or in your local health-food store) This is the pectin I like the best. It works and it’s gluten free! It also comes with the calcium powder, which you will add to water to make the calcium solution.

Fresh squeezed lemon juice – 1/2 a cup

Sugar to taste (approximately 1 1/2 to 2 cups)

3 Tbsp. of pectin mixed with the sugar

1/2 cup calcium solution

Water

Ice

One large pot

Two large bowls

One metal potato masher with the little squares

Approximately 7 – 12 clean glass canning jars depending on size,) rings, and lids (used ones are fine since we’re not expecting to can them) or other freezer-proof containers.

You will need to blanch the peaches. For this, you will boil water in a large pot and drop the peaches gently into it once the water is steaming (I did three to four at a time.) After about two minutes you will remove your peaches from the boiling water and place them in an ice bath to cool and stop the heating process. (Ok, so there is some cooking involved! It just doesn’t mean you’re going to boil the heck out of the jam itself!!! You’re going to preserve that fresh fruit flavor!)

Blanching the peaches.

Once the peaches are cooled you will peel them. Start by pinching the skin and then gently peeling it back. Child #1 and I had quite the good time skinning the peaches and making them into slimy, large orange globes!

Peaches resting comfortably in the ice bath. Looks like I need to add more ice!!!

Next, slice the peaches into a large bowl. When all the peaches are sliced, add 1/2 a cup of fresh squeezed lemon juice, 1/2 a cup of Pomona’s calcium mixture, and 1 1/2 to 2 cups of sugar, depending on taste, mixed with 3 Tbsp. pectin. Make sure to mix the pectin with the sugar when you pour it in, or you will end up with lumps and it won’t set correctly. If there’s anything worse than lumpy gravy, it’s lumpy jam!!!!

Use your old-fashioned potato masher to mash the peaches into a mash with a few large chunks left.

Finally, bottle your jam into freezer-proof containers with at least an inch left for expansion, remembering to mark them with the type of freezer jam and the date. Freeze to remember a warm day in the middle of summer in the middle of winter!!!

Post-Partum Flashback

Grey clouds of post-partum depression will lift.

Here in the states, we have a program that explores what regular people would do in uncomfortable situations. Tonight, I happened to tune in and they were talking about post-partum depression. It hit me hard.

The show pictured a young mother (an actress) with various people overhearing her conversation with her friend (another actress) or her husband (you guessed it, another actor.) As they gave her bad advice about how she’d get over it, or how she should be so happy to have this beautiful baby, completely ignoring that fact that she needed major help, strangers stepped in to help her.

It was heart-warming that so many people reached out to this young woman, who they thought was suffering. In the end, the host came out to tell them that they were just actors, but that they were impressed at how these strangers took the time to help someone who they thought was in need.

This subject is near and dear to my heart. I had post-partum depression after child #1 and only missed it with child #2 since the doctors knew what medication had worked the last time and immediately put me on it to stave off the depression they knew was coming. After that, I discovered I had celiac disease and changed my diet to strict gluten-free, which changed my whole body chemistry.

When children #’s 3 & 4 were born, the medication that had worked with children #’s 1 & 2 no longer worked with #’s 3 & 4. Yeah. That was a horrible time and my GP finally figured out what would work and I got back on track.

I remember that time as horrible and dark. I dreaded the night. It was a terror for me; the long, dark hours, when I knew my body should be asleep, but could never get enough of it. I would start to get anxious in the late afternoon and it only got worse when I had to try to rest, knowing that I would no sooner close my eyes than someone would be awake crying, screaming, needing me. I was so overwhelmed, I felt like my entire world as I knew it had ended and I was left in this unending hell of sleep-deprivation, agitation, anger, and crying. It was a never-ending cycle of depression.

One thing I will say is this: if you find yourself suffering from “baby blues” (I personally just LOVE that name! Talk about downplaying it!!!) or crying for no apparent reason, feeling overwhelmed, etc. TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR! They are there to help you. Post partum depression can last longer than you think, and why suffer when there is so much help out there for you? You got this, girl. Just reach out for help!

Searching for Peace

This past few days have been extremely rough on our family. As I shared before, child #3 was up at a healing place to get treatment recommendations for her issues. She was there for six weeks and came home on Friday. We made it two hours before she had a panic attack and broke down crying. We left the store as quickly as possible, but it just got worse from there.

In fact it got so rough today, that we, again, hosted a police officer. Not just one from our village, though. We hosted the chief of police and two county deputies. It wasn’t pretty, but with her caseworker’s help, we were able to get her calmed down and functional again.

Please keep praying for our family, as we so desperately need it. I know God has a plan for this child and I refuse to give up. That, however, doesn’t mean I do not need much help from everyone, especially prayers. It makes it very difficult at our home, which seems to trigger her. It is possible that is because this is where her father abused her and her siblings, as well as me. I would love to move far away from it, but the financial situation being as it is, that is not possible. God knows this and He will see us through. He always has.

God bless you all,

Rita

An Italian Feast

The other night we had an Italian feast. We love all sorts of different foods here, but Italian is one of our favorites, though my indigestion does not always agree.

Child #4 was scheduled to cook dinner and we were having spaghetti, meatballs, and garlic bread. YUUUUUUMMMMM!!! This is a big dinner for anyone, so I decided to help child #4. She mixed up the meatballs, something I don’t bother with if I’m cooking on a weeknight. Frying the 1 inch meatballs took only about 20 minutes, but it’s a step I skip in the essense of time. I usually just stir in a little ground beef and Italian sausage and then add the sauce.

Now, I know there are purists out there, but I need shotcuts when I’m cooking, otherwise we’d be eating at 9 p.m. or later! So, I found this sauce that I truly love and then I add some of my spices to make it my own. There’s nothing wrong with that. It is no longer jarred sauce when I am done.

My favorite spaghetti sauce is the Classico 4 Cheese sauce. To that I add the following:

1/2 Tbsp. dried oregano

1/4 tsp. dried basil

1 tsp. granulated onion

1 tsp. granulated garlic

While your sauce is melding flavors, boil your gf spaghetti noodles to package instructions.

Garlic Bread

What would Italian food be without garlic bread? Not nearly as delicious!!! So here is how to make it gluten-free and so mouth watering that you might want to double it to have left-overs!!!!

1 package, Schar Gluten Free Baguettes (2 baguettes – 13.2 ounces)

1 1/2 sticks butter (no substitutes, please!)

1 Tbsp. minced garlic

Dried parsley for sprinkling

Good parmesian for sprinkling

Cut your gf baguettes into 1/2 inch slices. Prepare your pan by covering a cookie sheet with foil. Melt butter in a wide dish, like a glass pie plate (30 seconds at a time in the microwave, stirring after each cycle.) When butter is melted, add minced garlic and stir in. Dip each bread slice in the butter-garlic mixture and set face up on your prepared pan. When all your slices are dipped, use any extra butter-garlic mixture to pour over the bread on the pan. Sprinkle with parsley and parmesian and put under broiler (not too close!) until golden brown. This could take anywhere from 5 to 10 minutes, though I can’t be sure how your oven or toaster oven will work, so keep a close eye on it!

When it is golden brown remove it from your oven and serve. Absolutely the best garlic bread you will ever taste! Just make sure you use the parmesian that is sold in the cooler case, and not the one that is stored on shelves until it is opened!!! Enjoy!!!!

Zest for Life

Ready to Zest?

Have you ever wondered what the difference between lemon peel and lemon zest was? When I first started cooking as a child, I had absolutely no idea about zest. What we had was an old bottle filled with dried “lemon peel.” It was old and I in no way wanted to add that to any of my baking.

Fast forward about fifteen years and I discovered the magic of zest. Zest is the colored part of the lemon. You carefully zest a lemon to get just the colored part, leaving the white part, the pith, behind. Zest gives a spectacular flavor without having to add a lot of lemon juice. In fact, before I knew I had celiac disease, this is what my sister and I used to make our lemon bars zippy. I don’t care for lemon bars that taste like sugar. If they don’t have the zip of lemon zest then what’s the point? They may as well be called sugar bars, because the certainly don’t taste like lemon!!!

So, what exactly is my point? What if I told you that you could have fresh lemon, lime, orange, or grapefruit zest year-round and not just in January when those fruits are at their peak? You can! Here’s what you need to do:

When you find a good deal on citrus, buy it! Take it home, wash it, and zest it onto a large, flat, movable surface. I like to use a dinner plate. Lining your flat surface with parchment paper will help it not to stick to said surface. When your zesting is done, spread out the zest on the parchment paper on your flat surface and transfer to your freezer for an hour or two. When your time is up and your zest is frozen, take your flat surface from your freezer and store your frozen zest in a food storage bag or other container until you are ready to use it. Freezing it first on the flat surface allows it to harden into more individual pieces and not into one hard lump. This way you can easily break off a piece for some yummy lemon bars, lime bars, Greek-style chicken, etc. Now that’s a good use of zest!!!