Blank Writing Books

Buying a white covered 8x11-1/2 blank book shouldn’t be that hard. But for me it became my quest of sorts.

Before a few of the stores closed in the area where I live, there was a school supply store called Holcombs. Since they carried every imaginable school supply, the store became one that I frequented a lot.

That was the store where I found small and large hard covered books. They were white books with 28 pages inside. The book had exactly the same amount of pages in found in a professionally published children’s’ book, for a budding author to write and illustrate his or her own book.

I would purchase a number of these books and gave one or two away as a present to my grandson, Matthew, who loved to write his own stories and illustrate them, too. I even found those blank books in a kit at Target. I bought them as well and would put them away for later use. I stored them for a later time when I would need them. Then the school store closed, and Target stopped carrying the book kits. At least I had a few of those hard covered books squirreled away.

I started to look for those hard covered books everywhere. On my computer, I Googled blank white covered books, and ordered some but they were never the right ones. One day as I was looking at the back of one of the older books that I had, I noticed a SKU number and a name – Ashley. I typed in the name, and blank hard covered books and I was rewarded with a site on Amazon for Ashley books. I found exactly what I was looking for, and ordered a few of the blank white covered books. I now have a source to buy more of these books.

I hope the books will be around for a long time. All I know is my grandson has his own library of books that he has designed and written by himself. Besides giving him more blank books, I am planning on keeping enough for me, so that I can write a story about each one of my grandchildren and put photos in them.

Maybe some day if I’m lucky, my grandson will write a story about his tenacious grandmother, who never gave up searching for 8x11-1/2 white hard covered blank books.

Anyway , I did pat myself on the back for a job well done.

The Missing Christmas Stockings

While cleaning out my closets I actually uncovered the ten Christmas stocking that I thought got thrown away a few years ago. The first four, I bought from a quaint shop in some small town in Missouri. The stockings were hand made, and quilted in colors of red and green. The three that I bought for my boys had lollipops on one, a train on the other and a figure of an Amish looking boy. The other one was for my daughter and it was of a little Amish looking girl.

Then we had a set of twins and another little girl. I found someone who took orders for quilted Christmas stockings. The three matched in various colors but the lady added a ruffle on the top for a little girl. Then when I had my last two children…I bought the material and made a quilted stocking for both, and one each for myself and my husband.

My husband actually cut a strip of wood and hung it up under the mantle of the fireplace. It had enough hooks to hang our 11 stockings. The wooden strip with the hooks is still up and every Christmas the stockings hang there waiting for Santa to fill them. Even long after my children have grown, I still hang up those colorful stockings, which is always a reminder of the past and when nine little children would wake up Christmas morning a few hours after we, Santa’s helpers, would go to bed. They loved what they found in their stockings. I still fill up the stockings of my grown adult children…the ones who are not married yet.

For the last two years the stockings were hidden underneath junk in my closet. It wasn’t until I pulled my closet apart to clean it that I found the missing stockings. I felt overwhelmed with joy and happy to have found them. Now I can continue my tradition of hanging my Christmas stockings under my mantle. Maybe this year, Santa will fill mine with a reward for finding and hanging the stockings back up.

For everyone else – Merry Christmas!

Continuing Work in the Kitchen

I arrived in the catering kitchen a little before my daughter. I looked over the list that she had dictated to me…make two garden salads in big bowls. Use greens from bottom shelf. Make cucumber salad. Dressing is labeled.

I start off by cleaning the food trap in the dishwasher. Rinse it, replace it, fill dishwasher with hot water. Washing my hands, I pull out the two salad bowls off the shelf. I walk into the big Walk in Cooler/Refrigerator and pull greens from bottom shelf. I notice that the Romaine lettuce that I had cut the day before and take that as well. Usually I am supposed to mix the two. The Romaine had turned brown and some of the mixed greens look slimy. I do my best to find good greens, and mix them together. Halfway, I pull out some tomatoes, and cucumbers to put in the salad, along with olives. Picking through more greens, I add this to the remainder of the bowls, and at the top I put on more tomatoes, olives and the whole, sliced cucumbers. I wrap the salads and labele them for Saturday’s wedding.

My daughter walks in and goes ballistics. “What is that? I told you to use the mixed greens, not the Romaine. What the hell happened to the Romaine?”
“That is how it looked…I picked through it. Besides the mixed greens looked awful as well,” I sputtered, and then clammed up. I listen to her yell some more and then both of us pick out the cucumbers, tomatoes and olives and threw away the mixed greens.

“Why did you use these cucumbers?”
“Well there were three containers and I took the ones labeled for Saturday’s wedding,” I explained. I thought that was logical but I guess not in the kitchen.

Finally, my daughter has vented enough. She apologizes and said something appears wrong with the Walk In. It seems to be 10 degrees warmer then it should be and she will have some one come in and look at it.

Finally, I make the cucumber salad using the half sliced cucumbers and cut the remaining ones in half, mixed in the salad dressing. I add more salt and pepper, dill, and paprika, and then cover it tightly with plastic wrap, and set it on a shelf in the front refrigerator.

While working in my daughter’s kitchen, I have learned a few things - nothing goes smoothly, try not to react because the chef is always right, and everything can be remedied.

I Love Pressure Washing

I live alone now I have to either hire people to help me out, or if it is my kids who are helping me – I usually throw in a dinner to pay them back. Since this will be the first year that one of my kids do not live here or no one has moved back in, I am totally on my own.

My friends and family knows that I hate asking for help. Then I feel guilty about asking for help because my kids have their own lives, families, homes and responsibilities. I wish that my kids would just come over to help without being asked.


But this weekend things changed for me. The young man who does my lawn showed up to mow it, and he picked up the leaves around my house. The next day, my youngest daughter came over with her boyfriend and he brought along his pressure washer.

For four hours he cleaned the moss off of my house and then he worked on my cemented patio. I never even knew that one could clean off their patio. He worked hard and long and cleaned half of my patio. It was a contrast from black and white. Finally, I made him stop. Poor guy, he even missed the entire Steelers game to do all this work but I did scrounge up three beers and gave those to him. And of course I had a lot of snacks, dinner and apple pie to serve him and my daughter.

He left the machine and suggested he would come back next week to finish the job. I said that I would call one of my boys and let them finish it. Afterwards, I made two phone calls to two different sons; one I called and asked to clean out my gutters, which now seemed to be sprouting small trees in different places. The other call was to my youngest son, asking him to clean the rest of the patio and to do a few more chores around my house. Both said yes.

The next day – something very interesting happened. I looked at my book on Home Repairs with Rosie the Riveter on the cover, flexing her muscles, and I stared at her long and hard. With an unspoken message, I changed into my work clothes. I pulled in the grille and took down the hammock and put both into the garage. For my finale, I hooked up the pressure washer to the hose. For 1 -1/2 hours, I worked on the rest of the patio. The machine is light and not bulky, making my job pretty easy. Yet, I have to say it is a tedious job. But, once I found a nice sweeping rhythm, my job moved along and when I was finished…I was pretty excited. The patio looked great, and I did half of it myself. I jumped around singing…”I did it! I am woman hear me roar,” as the next door St. Bernard barked along with me.

I love that pressure washer and I know next year, I can and will do both those jobs on my own.

Paper Clips

Love them or lose them. I, in face love them and covet paper clips. If you would look inside of my writing bag, or on my desk, or in some of my drawers, you would find quite a few packs of them.

I hate the small ones. I hate the boring metal ones. I don’t like the metal ones because they get old and rusty if they are the cheap ones. I prefer the jumbo sized paper clips. I love the metallic neon colored ones – the delicate pink, lovely blue, funky purple and mellow green ones. They perk up my papers. They perk me up. Paper clips help to keep me organized and orderly, and my individual stories together, my blog pieces together, and my research information together.

When I start to run out of them, I sometimes have to check two or three stores to find the right ones that I prefer. I guess I am what you might call a paper clip geek. I admit to this vice. I just wish that I had been the one to have invented this little gem – the paper clip. Instead, give thanks to the Norwegian, Johan Vaaler who invented this simple but clever little gadget in 1899.

I guess I really got so hooked on paper clips was when I started to mail out my stories to publishers and editors. In order to keep the pages together, I used a paper clip. Most publishers and editors do not want a writer to send their stories in stapled together. They request the writer to use paper clips. Now it is acceptable to send out ones stories within the email or as an email
attachment. This keeps the cost of paper and mailings down for the author. And the editor doesn’t have to bother to return the author’s work.

Whatever, those metallic jumbo paper clips serves an important purpose. Besides that, I like them. If you are interested besides holding papers together there are many other uses for paper clips…

Use as a zipper pulley.
Hang ornaments on trees.
Hold together a bag or plastic bag shut.
Hook together and use to count the days for the end of school or to count down toward a holiday.
Poke someone.
Clean your nails.
Use as earrings.
Get into a lock to unlock a door.
Too many more to list.

These are just a few uses, but you can pretty much let your imagination run away with ideas as how to use those paper clips. I bet once you do, you’ll love them as much as I do.

Lessons Learned

After going through all the events surrounding my stolen purse, trying to order new cards, check, keys, and wait for days to receive all of them, now I am able to breathe a little bit easier. Someone asked me if anything good came from this incident. I thought about it and this was what I came up with…

1. I learned how to use my key pad, so if I ever lock my keys in the car (and believe me I have done this a number of times), I can now open the car from the keypad.

2. I now have two new car keys, a remote, and a start up key (the towing service will be happy). Before I had only one key that I misplaced often and went crazy trying to find it.

3. After having my car serviced by the Ford dealer, they washed my car and it looks brand new! I never washed my car, and depended on the rain to do that chore.

4. The Ford dealer replaced the tire sensor that was causing my tire pressure to lose air, and go flat. The other three tires went through the same problem – lose air, the sensor light was always on, the tire would go flat and I would have to have it towed. Now I don’t have to worry about that for a long time because I have four new tire sensors.

5. I found out that soaked leather purses in dumpsters smell so rank that they make you want to puke. I will never buy another leather purse.

6. Without a debit or credit card, it kept me from spending money for 8 days!

7. I was out $37.00 for gas, when the thief used my credit card. But since it was stolen the credit card company supposedly took the charges off.

8. Thank God for Equifax, who put up a 90 day Fraud alert on all my accounts.

9. My children stepped forward and offered me money, until I had access to my own.

10. I now use my house key and make sure that all my doors and windows are locked.

I learned that now that I have replaced all that was taken from me, I definitely can handle whatever comes my way. Maybe this all made me a bit stronger. I would rather get stronger through my daily exercise works outs, though. But I found that jokes and laughter help the most. I also will be more careful with my purse.

Luxurious Comforter

A few weeks ago, I was at the mall with my youngest daughter. We were at the bedding department at Macy’s because my daughter was looking for a new comforter set for her bedroom.

While walking around and looking at the different displays, my eyes zeroed in on a striking red cover. Actually, my daughter and I saw it at the same time, and we both walked over to it at the same time.

It was a luxurious, rick looking comforter. As I touched it, (I’m that shopper, who has to touch and feel things), the word luxurious crossed my mind. The satin cover was a Ralph Lauren design, a color of bright cherry red with a field of flowers of pinkish and orange poppies, and small white, and blue flowers. The flip side of the cover was a kitchen plaid. The comforter came with a flowered dust ruffle and two European shams.

To be honest, I loved it right then and there. I never possessed anything quite exquisite as this comforter. I have had light weight, inexpensive quilts but nothing like this beautiful comforter.I knew as I touched it, I wanted it. Actually I wanted to jump on the bed and lie on top of the comforter. Then I thought…do I need this or do I want it? The answer was no, I did not need it but I definitely wanted it. There was a sale going on, 50% off the regular price. Yes, the price was right. But I really didn’t need it. A need and a lustful want was where I was at.

My daughter also liked the comforter. Yet, she thought this cover would look great on her other bed. In the end, she bought a different comforter set which was beautiful. We both passed on the flowered comforter.

The next week, I went to the Macy’s store close by my house. I was being led by my desire to see if that comforter was still on sale. I walked to the bedding department and saw my comforter. Unfortunately, the sale was over and I definitely couldn’t justify buying it at the regular price. I kept going back and forth to the mall, hoping that I would find the comforter on sale. Still no luck. But the fourth time, as I stood by the display, a Macy’s salesperson walked by, asking if I needed any help. “No,” I responded. Well, yes, I love this cover but can’t justify the price. I saw it when it was on sale and should have bought it then.”

“Well, you’re in luck because this set will be going on sale on Friday for half price.” My mouth dropped open and he continued. “You can buy it now for that sale price and then you can pick it up on Friday.”

I didn’t know that could be done but I wasn’t going to hesitate or pass on this second chance. I bought it and picked it up on Friday.

The comforter is on my bed now and I love it. That beautiful cover looks like it belongs in my room. The beauty of it made me clean up my bedroom and keep things off of my bed. Everything but the two cats, that is, who love sinking on the plush comforter and curling up and sleeping on it. Funny thing is that I had trouble sleeping but since I bought this cover, not any more.

A need or a want? It doesn’t matter, I am glad and happy that I bought this comforter; it is as simple as that.

Stolen Purse

Last year, my computer was hacked and I had to contact Equifax, cancel credit cards and get a new checking account and change my email address and password. It took time and it was a real pain.

This year, the day before Thanksgiving, while helping my daughter prepare the turkey dinners for an abused shelter for women, one of the abused women not only picked up her free dinner for four but stole my purse as well! The woman was the only person to come into my daughter’s catering kitchen to pick up her food while I was working there.

When I was ready to go home around 9pm, my purse was missing, and so were the only set of keys that I had for my car. This would be the beginning of my holiday nightmare. I lost a new, expensive leather purse, $40 in gift cards, $70 in cash. My keys and house key was gone. I called to cancel my credit card and found that it already had been used for gas. I was able to find out the time and the area. This was within 45 minutes after my purse was taken.

I had to do some damage control…like, cancel my debit card, file a police report, and call Equifax to put out a 90 day fraud alert, and wait in the parking lot until 2 am for the Triple AAA tow truck that would be delayed until 4:30 am. This call was cancelled and my son drove me home.

I would have to wait until Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, to cancel one other credit card, go to the bank and sit there for 1-1/2 hour to close an account, open a new one, call the Social Security office to have the monthly checks directly deposited into the new account, and get a bank check to pay for an important bill, and not be charged a late fee. Next on my list was to call my health care provider for new medical insurance cards. Then to Triple AAA for a new membership card and to the DMV for a new drivers license. After this I had to call the Ford Dealer for a start up key to get the car into neutral and have it towed to the dealership where they would cut two new keys and make a new remote. Later the battery died and had to be replaced along with some broken lights and a torn back windshield wiper and a few other problems.

The cost added up and I was out $1,000. I still need to change the locks on my house. I spent a lot of time on the phone, waiting in a parking lot and replacing the things that were stolen from me.

The biggest insult was that I had donated some money toward the food that I was preparing for the shelter. In the end, I would have to borrow money from my children until I had my new debit card and new credit, which will take 5 to 7 days.

To the big loser who stole my purse and identity – I hope it was worth it? I will have been inconvenienced a lot but you will still be you, a loser, for the rest of your life.

Holy Cannoli!

Think of the times that you have gone to an Italian restaurant, looked over a menu, spotted a Cannoli and looked at the price, and thought, “Holy Cannoli! That’s one expensive dessert!”

Well, let me tell you how much time that goes into making the Cannoli and you will appreciate it and the amount that it costs. I took a class on Cannoli making with my daughter, Kate, at my local Community College. The fee to register for the class was $39.00. We would learn how to make the dough and the filling. We needed to bring along an apron, measuring spoons, measuring cups, a bowl, and a spatula. That sounded easy enough.
The first thing that we learned was that the instructor had bought the ricotta cheese and wrapped it in cheesecloth and put it into a drainer in her refrigerator for three days. The ricotta needed to be very dry, and it was.

The filling was divided into two bowls and then some powdered sugar was added and some imitation vanilla and that was stirred up until it was light and fluffy. Then semi sweet, mini chocolate chips were added to one mixture. This is the American version of the Cannoli filling. In the other bowl, the powdered sugar was added, imitation vanilla, and finely chopped citron. This is the Italian version. Each bowl was set aside.

Each person worked on their Cannoli dough. This wasn’t easy. For the dough, flour is needed, and a small amount of sugar, cinnamon, water and vinegar. The vinegar makes the bubbly effect to the Cannoli shells when it is fried in a pot of vegetable oil.

As I said, mixing the dough is the hardest part and it takes a lot of strength to knead it. Knead it we did…for about one hour. I can honestly say that my fingers, the palm of my hands, and my wrists were sore. As a matter of fact, they are still sore.

Eventually, when the dough was done, we rolled it into a smooth ball. We cut pieces of the dough, and rolled it three times in a pasta maker, to be wide and thin. When that was completed, the dough was cut into a square. The metal Cannoli rods were sprayed with Pam for the first use. The square was wrapped on the rod like a triangle. To keep the seam together, we dipped a finger into egg yolk and wiped it across the seam. The rod with the dough was put into the bubbling oil and taken out when it was golden brown. The shell would slip off the rod and the same process would be used until all the dough was gone. The dough can be kept wrapped in a refrigerator for up to three days.

Rosie the Riveter

I have decided to become the second Rosie the Riveter. Am I referring to Rosie the Riveter from the war years? Yep, that’s the one. She became an iconoclast for that generation and the other generations to follow. One just has to see a photo of this woman with her red bandana with polka dots, and her right arm up and her hand rolled into a fist and her left hand exposing her biceps to know that she was extremely capable woman. That is the person that I want to be. She was the woman that first graced the posters and ads during the war years and represented women as an important commodity in the workforce. Because women were needed, it became socially acceptable for them to come out of the kitchen and into the work force.

I want to take control of my life and try to do things like Rosie did. If I can’t, I will hire someone or ask one of my sons. But I do have a Home Repair book on my kitchen shelf above my desk, a handy book aimed at “Woman of the House.” It even has Rosie the Riveter on the front cover. I have used this book from time to time.

Yeah, that is who I want to become, Rosie the Riveter, the capable, no nonsense woman, the I can do anything, I can do everything woman. I figure that I am strong, I am woman, and I sure as hell can be heard when I roar. I am also the woman who had nine children in eleven years. I carried each one full term and beyond. I had a set of twins that I were 2-1/2 weeks overdue. The two of them together weighed over 16 pounds! Talk about a woman who looked like a “beach whale,” that definitely was me.

So far, I have become a force to reckon with at my house. I have tackled cleaning the tiles and grout on my hallway floor, and the tile and grouts in the bathroom. The old caulking is off, and I cleaned all the black mildew off with bleach and cotton balls. I will tackle the caulking next.

My next major project was to paint a hallway…and I did. It looks pretty good. Thankfully it is the same color as the old one but I did get rid of the black marks that my grandchildren made from spider walking on the walls. Just like my children used to do. Then I tackled a bedroom with white walls. I used a cool color, Aqua Sphere. I taped around the wood and my son, who used to work with a painter during the summer, pointed out that I only needed to use one long piece of tape instead of the small ones. It worked for me. Then he cut out the top and sides and bottom. Amazing that he never got any paint on him and did an amazing job not getting paint on the ceiling, floor or wood. I still have white paint in my hair from my painting job and the old clothes that I am waiting have blue and whit paint on them as does the freckles on my face and arms.

I did clean the brushes right but threw away the holder that keeps them just right. I did find them later in my trash and noticed that after you put the brushes in the holder, there is a small Velcro button to keep it closed. My son asked me why in the world I had covered the tray with aluminum foil. Don’t know but that was how my ex used to do it. My son pointed out that once the paint dries you can put other paint over it. Another lesson learned from the son who weighed over 8 pounds and shared the beginnings of his life with his twin, who also weighed over 8 pounds. But he did point out that I did a good job and with that…I pulled my blue bandana tighter and flexed my right arm up with my hand rolled into a fist as I wiped the paint off of it.

The Killing of Lincoln

I read The Killing of Lincoln by Bill O’Reilly and Martin Dugard. I loved the book and couldn’t put it down. While reading the book and even after I read it, all I could think was that this is the way history books should be written. This book makes history come alive in an interesting way. If kids would read history books written like this one, they would learn to love history.

This is a history book but reads more like a big sweeping book of “Who Done It.” There was a lot of information to digest, and I actually underlined it or highlighted it on my Kindle. (Yes, Kindle has this capability). I found out new facts and other facts that I had totally forgotten.

Some of those interesting facts were:

The history of the Ford Theater, and that it was originally known as First Baptist Church in Washington.

Lincoln was shot during the play Our American Cousins, but he really wanted to see the new popular play, Aladdin.

Lincoln dreamt of his death.

His body guard spent the evening in a bar drinking, instead of protecting Lincoln.
During Lincoln’s years in office during the Civil War, he aged dramatically.

Lincoln wanted the union saved and did his best to make it easier for the return of the South after the war.

Lincoln died on the same bed where John Wilkes Booth had laid on a few weeks earlier.
Lafayette Baker found and killed John Wilkes Booth.

Booth was killed by a bullet.

Four people were hung for their part in Lincoln’s death.

Four people served their punishment for their involvement in Lincoln’s conspiracy by serving time in a remote penitentiary at Ft. Jefferson in the Gulf of Mexico.

Robert E. Lee was reinstated as a citizen of the United States in 1975 by President Gerald Ford.

It has never been proven that Secretary of War, Edwin Stanton, wasn’t involved in the conspiracy to kill Lincoln.

President Andrew Jackson (Lincoln’s Vice President) was the worst president in history.

I definitely re-learned a lot of history. Pick up and read The Killing of Lincoln and give your brain a much needed exercise. You won’t be disappointed. Bill O’ Reilly and Martin Dugard both did a meticulous job in presenting the facts in this well written book, The Killing of Lincoln.

Published on Kindle

Last Christmas I received a Kindle as a present. I was so excited that I blogged about it. I have always been an avid reader. My father instilled the love of books and reading in me. Growing up, I lived in the city and walked everywhere. The neighborhood library was a few blocks from my house and across the street from my grade school. Every week, I found myself at the library, reading and taking out books. In the summer, I would check out at least 10 books on a weekly basis and I would read every one of them.

My house is filled with books. The books are everywhere – in bookcases in the kitchen, family room, living room, bedrooms, bathroom and of course in my computer room. When I am finished reading a book, I give it to a friend or family member to read. I keep, a number of my favorite books, or I sell them to the Half Priced Book Store.

I still have books that I have re-read, and others that I haven’t read yet. I do have a quirky theory that if I read every book in my house, then I would die. So, that is the reason why I still haven’t read every book.

As for Kindle, I never thought that I would own one. Then the more that I saw it being advertised, the more interested I became. One day, I mentioned to my oldest daughter that I was thinking about buying a Kindle. On Christmas Day, I opened my present from my daughter and her brother and there it was…a Kindle! The other kids bought me a lot of Amazon gift cards to use toward ordering books on my Kindle.

I love my Kindle and use it every day. I can store over around 1500 books on my KIndle. It has to be re-charged once a month. My Kindle can be used with or without Wi-Fi and I can read it even in the sun.

This past week, after working on writing my own novel for the past two years, I published it on Amazon and in the Kindle form. A friend helped me with the cover. My daughter used her photo shop program to get the cover ready to publish. Then my daughter formatted my work to Amazon. After receiving my book, a committee http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifchecked it to make sure that it contained no pornography. Finally, it was accepted and put up on Amazon, in the Kindle form.

Yes, I love my Kindle and I am proud of the fact that I have written and published my first Novel. The book is called The Doctors’ Wives by Mary Aiello Gauntner. I can’t believe that I have a book on Kindle with all those other famous authors.

My dream as a published author has become a reality, thanks to Kindle!

If anyone is interested in seeing my book and reading a sample of it, go to www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=mary+aiello+gauntner&x=0&y=0

Goodbye Borders

It seems like Borders has been closed forever. It seems as if it never even existed, except for the faded name on the building. When I drive by the empty store and parking lot, I am overwhelmed by a deep sense of loss. Borders had been my “home away from home.”

Sometimes, I spent three to four days at the store. Sometimes after my morning exercise I would go to Borders for a few hours to write. Borders became my anchor, my writing companion, a great source of writing inspiration and information, as I went back to grad school and wrote my papers. I painstakingly wrote my stories and my graduate thesis at Borders.

I never left Borders empty handed. It was normal for me to leave the store with a book or two, or a few magazines, or a DVD or CDs, or even a card. I loved being around the books and the magazines and hearing the music being played in the background or the chattering of the people around me.

Listening to people say that Kindle killed off the bookstore irritates me. Or the people who say, I have to have a book in my hand to read. I beg to differ…I am a book-a-holic and love my books. In my house, I have a lot of bookcases and shelves filled with books that I love. Despite having my Kindle, I still buy magazines and certain books that I want to hold and keep. Yes, I love the feel of paper in my hands, I also know that eventually if you keep your books long enough, the pages turn yellow and sometimes the books have that old musty smell.

Kindle or electronic readers did not close down Borders. I point to Barnes and Nobles that still exists, and I rest my case. I watched Borders being mismanaged, and being in disarray for years and not stepping up to the needs or wants of their customers.

The beginning of the stores decline was when Borders changed around the Children’s area and books. Something happened to that department, and things were never the same. The charm was lost with the changes to the Children’s area. It was no longer a comfortable place for children or adults. First, Borders cut down their story hours and then the story hours completely disappeared. The Managers never seemed to understand that they needed to offer something to pull in the customers. Some of the things that they once had were gone, like their monthly, in-house events bulletin about what was going on, the writing groups that met, the book club discussion groups, the weekend music and open microphone that was occurring. Borders just stopped trying and became a dinosaur. Borders had a big hand in killing itself off.

Goodbye Borders. I and a generation of readers will sorely miss you. We will miss sitting in a chair reading books, or miss sitting in your café and enjoying coffee and a pastry while skimming through the magazines.

Every time I drive by your empty store front and parking lot, the reality and sadness once again descends on me. Oh---sure, I can drive 25 minutes to the Barnes and Noble store, but it isn’t the same.

The Borders store was part of my neighborhood and I and a lot of others will miss you--------------- forever.

An Engagement Moment

A few days ago, my youngest daughter, Becca, called me up to talk. She had taken four days off for a vacation and was in West Virginia when she called. Three sentence into our conversation, she paused and then said, “Mom, I got engaged.”

I was so happy for my baby. She had wanted to get married for a long time and she wants to have babies. I could tell she was as happy as I was at that moment.

Then she sent me a photo of her engagement ring. It was breathtakingly beautiful. There isn’t much to say. In the next year, I will have two daughters getting married, and I’ll have two new sons in law to add to my growing family. We have outgrown our table even when we extend it but we always manage. There is always room for one more.

In a way, I guess it is another milestone for me. Hey, this is my baby, who I taught to be as mouthy as me. She is something else. She kept the gray creeping in my hair, and my feet moving when I felt old. I was lucky that she and I spent one year alone together when all the other kids went off to school. She even taught me how to row, despite that I thought I might capsize. She was the one who wondered about who would do the turkey dance when the person who used to do it left. I watched her cry and in turn, she watched me cry. We have taught each other some small life lessons. It is hard to believe that my “baby” will be getting married and someday have children. But time goes on, and in amazing fashion, history has a habit of repeating itself.

Good luck, Becca and Jimbo! May every day be as special as that very magical moment when you two became engaged.

Jury Duty

I was up early. My anxiety level was up as well. I was wishing that I just had the day to myself. I could do that but then if I don’t report to jury duty, I could also be arrested. That probably would make for an interesting blog.

I got to the court house ten minutes before I was due and spent the next 20 minutes trying to find the right floor and the right room. I rode on an elevator to a dead end floor with an elderly lady and her walker and her friend, who looked totally confused. The woman with the walker is what I would label, a Juror Junky, one who babbled on about the procedures and what to expect, while we waited for the elevator to take us back downstairs and start all over. She kept talking while I broke out into a sweat, only wanting her to stop talking, so that I could get to my destination on time.

Eventually, I was successful and found the right room, with a line of jurors walking into the room. I took up my place at the end. After sitting and getting a questionnaire to fill out, I am called up front and shown my summons card and told that I should be across the street in the Civil Court and not here, in Criminal Court. That makes sense to me as I look at my summons and the yellow highlighted information. My veil of stupidity is lifted as I read Room 700 on the 7th floor of the building across the street. I am in Room 418, 4th floor of the wrong building. If I thought my anxiety level was up before…I am just about up on the ceiling.

I make a mad dash, down the stairs, out of the building and across the street. I go through another security checkpoint, and find an elevator to the 7th floor. The floor is crowded with people everywhere, standing or seating in chairs, talking. I am not late and hand my summons to a man, who hands it to one of the woman in charge of jurors. She tells me I am fine, and points to Box 3, Seat 15, as she hands me a clipboard and another form to answer. This one is two sided. I race through it and stop at the part where I have to list my children’s names, education level, employment, and tell if they live with me. There are four lines. I have nine children and use the lines, and the spaces in between the questions, and the margins to list all of them. That took me a bit but I finished it. I hand it in and am told to go and wait in the lounge.

The lounge is filled and I choose a lone table and sit down, pull out a notebook to write in. The table is wobbling back and forth, so I write on my lap, until we are all called back to the courtroom. We are told that there were two cases and they solved them without a jury and we are free to go. We are given our money voucher. I sign mine over not wanting to go into another building and wait in another line

It is now 10:00. Lots of work for spending a little time serving the law. My assessment is that I was happy to be done with jury duty for now. I know that I will be called again and hope it is longer then a month. I was in the Criminal Court a month ago and now in the Civil Court.

Jury duty is just that – a duty. I have to say that those who were at the civil court were much nicer then the ones in the criminal court. Then again that makes perfect sense to me, since those in the criminal system probably see and hear the worst acts of mankind. But at least the questionnaire that they provide me with was only one sided.

St. Paul's Shrine

I finally accomplished something that I have wanted to do for a very long time. I attended Sunday mass at St. Paul’s Shrine, located on Euclid and East 40th Street in Cleveland, Ohio.

A few years ago, I read a book about St. Paul’s Shrine called, Stalking the Divine by Kristin Ohlson. This is a treasure of a book that I have read a number of times. I have given this book as gifts to a few of my friends, and even blogged about St.Paul’s, last year. Now, I finally participated at mass. Before I went inside the church for a visit, I stood on the steps of the church, soaking in the perfect day. The sun was out, the sky was a beautiful blue and the temperature was just right. On their way inside the church, four people greeted me, adding to my already positive attitude.

The church itself is beautiful. It is a fine example of Victorian English country gothic architecture. From the mid 1800s to the early 1900s, the church was situated in the midst of Millionaires Row, with the likes of John D. Rockefeller, Jeptha Wade, benefactor and founder of Western Union Telegraph Company, Alfred Atmore Pope, iron industrialist and art collector, as well as many others.

The interior of the church is just as spectacular. The church is wide and not quite so long, giving the congregation the feeling of being close to the altar. There are a series of columns and gothic arches with gold leaf throughout and period colors on the walls and ceilings. The ceiling has beautiful carved beans, which drew my eyes upward. The stained glass windows are exquisite. The focal point of the altar is the Holy Eucharist, which is exposed in the monstrance (a vessel), beneath a gold canopy.

To the right of the altar, is a walnut carved screened area with full figures of wooden angels standing guard along the top. Inside were the Cloistered Poor Clares. Their voices carried throughout the church, like invisible angels singing in a surround sound.

I felt at ease and totally happy in my surroundings. I was at home in this simply gorgeous but peaceful church. Father Andrew, a Franciscan Capuchin Priest, said a wonderful mass. His homily was poignant and the comfortable way he talked to us, made me feel as if I was not a visitor but an old member of the congregation.

This was one Sunday mass where I experienced a close intimacy with God. It was one of the special days, where all my senses seemed to be fully alive. I felt like I spent my time in a very holy place.

If you live in Cleveland, it is worth a trip to historic St. Paul’s Shrine located at 4120 Euclid Avenue.

Homecoming Milestone

My oldest granddaughter, Hannah, just attended her junior high homecoming dance. So, I decided that I wanted to go to her house and watch the preparations for this milestone moment. A milestone moment for a grandmother who can’t believe that my granddaughter is old enough to be in junior high school, and even old enough to go to her fist homecoming dance. Maybe being a grandmother, I have learned to make time to enjoy the present and to treasure the moments.

When I walked into my granddaughter’s bedroom, the room was packed with other people, and I made my way to an empty space on her bed. Two of my daughters were there, along with Hannah’s younger sister and her mother, and a few of Hannah’s friends. With all those women in the room, it was like being in a college dorm room. There were a lot of women talking and offering advice and admiring my youngest daughter’s handiwork, as she worked on Hannah’s hair. As time went on, people would come and new people would show up.

My daughter curled and fixed Hannah’s hair and then they went into the bathroom to apply her make up. When they were finished and Hannah had her dress and shoes on…she looked amazing. The dress she wore was a short satin purple one with an oversized jeweled pin on the waist. Hannah is a tall girl, but with her heels on, she towered over everyone and she looked breathtakingly beautiful.

All I could think of was…when did my oldest granddaughter grow up? Where did the 15 years go? I remember the night she was born, when we went to the hospital and saw her and now…she is on her way to homecoming.

Time goes on. It never stops or slows down. I have a ton of memories of Hannah…Hannah the little blond haired, blue eyed baby sitting in a baby seat, playing games with her on the family room rug as a child, the granddaughter that I babysat for the past 13 years. When she was little we watched the Lion King over and over and over, along with every other Disney movie that she loved. One of her first stuffed animals that I bought her was the lion, Nala, from the Lion King. Hannah is now in junior high, and continues drawing, and is an artist and a darn good one, a gregarious person with tons of friend, a smart student, a basketball player and the nicest, most considerate kid that I ever have had the pleasure to know. She now babysits, and works as a dishwasher for my one daughter’s catering business and also works at a pizza shop.

Before I know it, she will be finished with high school, and off to college and then who knows, maybe get married and have babies, hopefully, not for a very long time.

Still, we can talk to one another. Hannah loves coming over to my house and eating my food. She still hugs and kisses me and makes me feel like the best grandmother in the world. I hope that this will last forever. Hannah was the first grandchild and for five years the only one. But my bond with Hannah has been a long special one and it always will be.

Chef

I never met Bourdain or Emeril
or Mario or Ramsay or White.
I have worked with a Chef
and she is like those chefs with
qualities of fouled temperament,
bullying, maniacal tactics. A
chef knows what they want.
Their kitchen is their realm, their
domain. They own it. To be
in a kitchen with a chef is to
serve them. Do your work quickly,
quietly, precisely and correctly.
Stay out of their way, do your job
right the first time. For God
sake’s – keep your apron clean!

It Gets Hot in the Kitchen

Every time I take off over more then one or two days and return to work with my daughter in her catering kitchen, my cooking brain cells seems to have forgotten to accompany me. I guess they are still in their days off mode. When I go into the kitchen and seem to forget everything. The first job for today is to cut up 20 pounds of potatoes and put them in two buckets of water.

My next job is to make the broccoli cheddar salad. I pull out the broccoli and onions from the Walk- In Refrigerator. I walk over to the prep table and start to ask my daughter, “Do you want me to mix all or the broccoli and onions for the salad?”

The Chef says, “Don’t ask me. You know how to do it. Just do it”

I smart from the reply and decide to use it all, and cut up one more purple onion, add crumbled bacon, shredded cheddar cheese and the salad dressing. Sample it to make sure that it tastes good.

I help to prep other dishes, like make fresh pasta, cool it down and cut up yellow squash, green zucchini, add pepper jack cheese and salami, along with black olives. Then I add the balsamic dressing and mix this up, cover it with plastic wrap and label it, and put it on a shelf in the Walk In.

Pull out the Romaine lettuce and cut it up, all 24 heads, soak it in a big plastic container. After I will drain it, cover it and put that into the Walk In.

My other jobs are to cut up three red peppers, three green peppers, and two white onions and sauté these. They too will cool down and be placed in a small hotel pan and put into the refrigerator. In between I rinse and wash whatever is waiting to go through the dishwasher and put those things away when they dry. I finish with putting cheese puff pastries on sheet trays, cover, label, and put those in the Walk In. I do the same thing with the fried chicken. Finding places in the refrigerator is tricky; some will be staked on shelves, carefully on top of one another.

Ever so often my daughter snaps at me about something I did or didn’t do. I try not to react or talk back. Later, I walk by and watch her working at the deep fryer. I tap her lightly on her shoulder and say, “Good job. Good job.”

She looks at me and says, “You are a pain today.”

But at least she is smiling. Hey…everyone needs that tap on their shoulder, reinforcing that they do a good job.

Defending the Caveman

Recently I attended a one man comic play, Defending the Caveman at the Cabaret. To say the least, it was very funny. I along with a friend, and the audience of men and women, laughed myself silly during the whole play.

I have to admit that the play was like reading the book; Men are from Mars, Women from Venus by John Gary. And yes, for anyone who hasn’t realized it yet – men and women are definitely different. I don’t mean just physically different. Men and women live in their own worlds and by their own lingo and word meanings.

Vince Valentine who played the title role was hilarious. The perfect way that he delivered his lines, was what made him so funny.. He fit the type, Caveman in a modern, bearish kind of way. Even though you might disagree with him, you still would want to be around him, to see if you could rehabilitate him. Don’t bother. Besides that he was funny, he handed out quite a few gems of the differences between the sexes: men are hunters and can only focus on one thing at a time like watching television, eating, and drinking beer, sitting with his buddies and not saying a word. (I have grouped these activities together because it makes a lot of sense to me.) Men are really good at tuning women out. So true, but then women are great at tuning out kids. Women are gatherers, who pull in bits of information from all their encounters and they definitely are multi taskers and bond easily with other women. Women love shopping, men do not. Men love to control the remote control and they do it well, standing in front of the screen. Women would rather talk.

But from living with men…like an ex and my six sons, I know what it’s like to cook a meal and eat alone or in silence. I know sometimes after cooking a meal, that person comes home and isn’t hungry. From a close friend, I know when her husband came home from the office, he went off to his Man Cave, and ate dinner alone, in front of the television without saying a word. I definitely preferred the Man Cave in the play form for the 1-1/2 hours with appetizers, a drink and an intermission, along with laughter and tears sliding down my cheeks.

Yes, men and women are different and that is one of the simple facts of life and both sexes need to accept this and don’t even bother trying to change it or figure it out.

I do have one question…if a Man Cave, why not a Woman Cave? Let’s just leave it at that!

Nothing is Easy

Every time I am asked to babysit, I usually say yes. But there are times when I have other plans and I say no. The other day my one son asked me if I would pick his son up from football practice. Since I had nothing planned, and knew exactly where the field was, I said, “Yes.”

I wanted to get to the field early and then it started to pour. I figured they would still have football practice, so I left but had to stop for gas, because my tank was running on fumes. Then it really started to pour and I heard the sounds of thunder rumbling above. I stepped on the gas and drove toward the field and made the detour. It was now getting dark and like older people, I hate driving in the dark because it is hard to see. I followed the detour sign but when I got to my last turn…I made a left and found myself going the wrong way. I realized…I blew it. I had to follow through on the wrong route, until I could safety turn around.

After I turned around…I saw lightning and stepped on the gas because I was afraid that I wouldn’t make it to the field on time. The scenic detour didn’t help matters and my blood pressure was rising.

I found all my landmarks, the field and I saw the football team huddled under cover, sitting on the picnic table. I stood in the now light drizzle, so that my grandson would know that I was here.I listened to the coaches; all eight of them give their pep talks. The first mentioned the importance of playing and beating their opponents, who would not roll over and play dead. He also invoked Madison Square Garden and alluded to Ali and Fraser. I am thinking…what the h#**? You are talking to 10 and 11 year old kids, who are wiping the snot off their nose and looking around, and don’t even understand what you are saying. Each coach said hia piece, and then the head coach yammered some more. One would have thought they were preparing the Steelers for their Super Bowl game.

Afterwards, my grandson received the star stickers to put on his helmet, we started to drive home, when my grandson said, “I am hungry."

I suggested, “McDonald’s?”

“No, that makes me puke."

I said, "That would make me puke. So, I gather Wendy’s is off the menu, too?”

“Yes,” he said. “How about Arby’s?”

“Well that is across six lanes of traffic, in the opposite direction. I will have to turn around."

“Would Taco Bell be easier?” he suggested.

"Sure would since it is up ahead on the right."

He wanted six tacos…which one gets for two dollars. His order was six tacos with only cheese, and this from a kid who barely eats. And he ate at least two on the drive home. When we got to his house, no one was there. So, we sat in my car, in the rain while he ate and we talked.

After 30 minutes my daughter in law drove up and apologized for being late. “Hey no problem…it gave me some one-on-one time with my grandson.”

Anyway, the nest time I am asked to pick up my grandson, I need to get more information like maybe the time, who will be home and can you leave a key?

Electronics and Me

Let’s face it; I’m a child of the 60s. I love music, flowers and love. I grew up with a radio, record player (later hi fi stereo), a black and white television with the official rabbit ears. Rabbit ears that operated so much better with aluminum foil wrapped around each tip.

While my kids were growing up, they moved from a black and white television set (because we were the honest-to-God last people on the face of the earth to have one), to a colored television, to boom boxes, Walkmans (and I totally coveted these yellow radios, because they made me feel like an athlete), tapes, CDs, computers, computer games and Television games.

We had an Atari game and they could figure out the system and the games. I could actually play Pong but that was it. I sucked at Donkey Kong and everything else that is remotely related to electronic games. Although I can play the Angry Bird game on my daughter’s iPad…which I am going to buy someday for myself.

My kids were naturals with their eye and hand coordination. They were already on their way to conquering the electronic highway of knowledge while I fumbled away with how to make my floppy disk ready to use. After I wrote down all those steps of how to prepare and save my floppy disk - technology inside the computer changed and made everything easier. Thank you little genie inside my computer…you have your work cut out for you!

Forget that I couldn’t figure out how to tape a Television program in the old days. I had plenty of kids to do that. Now, television has high definition and a controller that has a DVR on it. Whatever! As for televisions, they now come with their own controllers, and then there is the DVD controller. Don’t forget the universal remote control, which can be used for the TV and DVD player. In my bedroom, my one controller turns on my TV but the other controller operates the volume. I have four controllers, the third one controls the DVD and I have no idea what the fourth controller does other then takes up space and dust. But thank heavens that I now have “air in a can,” and a dust cloth to remedy all of that.

At least my son, who lived here with me for the past few years, was able to help me figure out how to go from watching TV to watching a video. After some incompetency on my part and frustration on his, he actually wrote each step down on a yellow Post It note and put it on the door of my TV stand. Now I can figure it out myself. Thank God for Post Its.

Cell Phones - a Necessary Evil

I really do know how important cell phones are, even if I don’t use mine. I have one and half of the time I leave it at home. Usually I use it for when I am driving out of state…other than that, I can live without it. But cell phones seem to be every where. I actually think there is an epidemic where the phone seems to have grown out of most people ears. That is my explanation. Cell phones are important in an emergency. But the cell phones seem more important to a number of people who need to own a cell phone and talk on it – 24/7.

I am tired of driving on the roads and seeing people on their cell phones, going slow or cutting off other drivers because they are not aware of what is going on around them, except for what is being said on their phones. They are the people who drive in a car and have to talk on the phone. Paying attention to driving is no longer important. Or they are the ones that I have stood behind in the grocery check out line where they cannot even be bothered to acknowledge the clerk. Or the ones that I have stood behind in Starbucks, who order their drinks in between the words of their sentences. Oh my…how hard would it be to say, “Hello,” ‘Please,” or “Thank you??” Pretty hard, I guess.

I used to work at a greenhouse, where women would come in, ask a question, and then continue to talk on their cell phones. They expect to be waited on, and have your full attention, as they talk away on their phone. I even go through this with my daughters, who talk on their phones while I am sitting next to them. Maybe the next time, I should just bring along my cell phone and call them up and we can talk that way…next to one another on our cells.

Recently I went out to dinner with a friend to a really nice restaurant in the North Hills area. A couple sat down next to us and before I knew it, the woman’s cell phone rang. Of course the ringer was on the highest volume possible. After she had her conversation, she hung up and started to text away. She and her spouse said about four sentences to one another and then that was it. What kind of people sit at a table at a restaurant and don’t talk to each other…you got it, married people.

So, why am I cranky…because people do not seem to have any knowledge of etiquette. People use their cell phones everywhere and never seem to stop talking. Everyone has to have a cell phone and that includes little kids as well. No wonder our kids have no idea how to carry a conversation, face to face, without the aid of a hand held device, called the cell phone. What if all our cell phones lost power? It would be a pretty quiet world.

The other day I had my oil changed at the Valvoline Oil Exchange…my eye fell on a sign that said, “If you are on your cell phone, we will wait on the next person in line, so that you can finish your conversation.”The sign made me smile and shake my head in agreement, as I put a nice green tip in the tip jar.

Farmers Market at Shaker Square

I love going to the outdoor Farmer’s Market at Shaker Square, in Cleveland, Ohio, regardless of the time of the year. There is nothing better then walking around outdoors and viewing the fresh, fruits and vegetables. I wasn’t disappointed seeing the brightly green colored zucchini, yellow squash, green beans, peppers, onions, edamame, different types and varieties of tomatoes and mushrooms. Since this is apple season, I was able to choose from a few different types of apples: McIntosh, Honey Crisp, Cortland or Jonagold.

This is the 17th year that the Farmers Market has been at Shaker Square. I love going any time that I am visiting my friend in Cleveland. There are always different types of flowers for the different seasons. I especially loved the late spring flowers. One in particular that caught my eye was the deep red cockscomb flower. I passed that up and bought a tiny baby tear plant in a terra cotta pot. As usually, there are lots of vendors at the farmers market selling donuts, kettle corn, and bundles of brightly colored flowers, and potted plants. There were also different types of cheeses, artisan bread, fresh poultry, hand made jewelry, and pottery items.

Stopping by the Amish stalls one could buy their homemade jellies and pies. One other table even had a man who sharpened knives. I wish that I had realized that because I would have brought some of my cooking knives from home.

The one table where miniature desserts were displayed on small antique plates, especially caught my eye. I had to buy two of those delicious homemade desserts. One was a miniature pear tart and the other was a miniature lemon tart. I ate half of each dessert later in the evening and was not disappointed. The pear tart had a wine flavor and the lemon tart was delectably tangy. They were both delicious.

All in all, walking around the farmer’s market, sampling and buying whatever caught my fancy, was a delightful way to spend a few pleasant hours on a beautiful Saturday morning.

Oh My Aching Thumb!

While working at my daughter’s catering kitchen, I have always admired the professional way she handles a knife and chops and slices meats, fruits, and vegetables. She makes it look so easy. Of course I can slice and chop. Not as fast though. I would love to chop away quickly but I’m always afraid that I am going to look down and see one of my fingers lying in a pool of blood along with whatever I am working on. I prefer to see my fruits, vegetables and cheeses on the cutting board and not one of my fingers. I want those in tact, still attached to my hand, so I cut the foods that I am working on slowly.

But lately my chopping is starting to look like I am a professional. I love it when my knife is sharp and slices cleanly through the foods that I am working on. I actually have gotten quicker with my cuts and slices.

Today, I worked my way through an entire box of cucumbers. I had to thinly slice a few for a vegetable tray to be used at the Saturday’s wedding. Then I moved on to a few more cucumbers where I had to peel them, cut them lengthwise and remove the seeds. I chopped them, finely, and added sour cream and salt and pepper for Tzatziki sauce.

My final job was to slice the rest of the cucumbers for a huge wedding salad for the Sunday wedding. To be frank – I’m not that crazy about cucumbers. I must have cut up well over 25 of them. Besides, losing my appetite, I now hate cucumbers. My thumb on my right slicing hand is in actual pain, and so is my wrist. I guess that’s not so bad because it actually took my mind off my aching toes, feet, ankles and legs.

Being a chef or caterer is tough work. Ask me – I’m the chef’s helper…even if it is only for a few hours.

Upcoming Events at Erin's Fine Foods

Coming soon:

Cooking Classes for Adults and Children

Limited Space Available!

Singles Cooking Class Series $39/class or $150.00 for all 4
Dates: October 6, 13, 20 & 27, 6:30-8:30pm

Date Night Cooking Class 6:30-8:45
October 21, November 4, December 2

Gourmet Cooking from the Pantry $39/class or $150.00 for all 4
Dates: November 1, 8, 15, & 29, 6:30-8:30


Thanksgiving 101 Course

November 10 9:30-12:00
November 17 6:30-9:00

Coming This December

Edible Gifts from the Kitchen
Fancy Holiday Appetizers
Cooking Decorating for Kids

If anyone is interested in taking cooking classes from Erin's Fine Foods, check out her website at erinsfinefoods.com

Weekend with my Granddaughter

The weekend lightened my dark mood. I was going to pick up my oldest granddaughter from her job and then I would spend the weekend with her at her house. My son and his wife and youngest daughter went camping for the weekend.

Friday night, we spent our time watching the cooking network – enjoying the Iron Chef show and the Cupcake show where three pasty chefs try to outdo each other and make it as the cupcake chef at the Oscar Show.

Saturday, we got up and watched a few more cooking shows before heading out of the house. We went to Dick’s for a school backpack and then to Office Max for school supplies. We stopped at my one son’s new house, Barnes and Noble for books, drinks and pastries, Pizza shop to pick up a pizza and sandwich to take to my oldest son’s house and see his and his wife’s new baby.

Later that evening we went out for a Chinese dinner before seeing a movie. Throw in going to Borders to look for deals at their “going out of business” sale. After all of that, we went home and went to bed.

Sunday was more of the same. I went to breakfast with one of my daughters, while my granddaughter stayed home, and ate the Chinese leftovers. Eventually the three of us went to a fun store called Five Below, where everything is $5.00 and under. It’s a store for kids but even my adult daughter and I bought a few things for ourselves – nail polishes, and some DVDs.

Another stop at Borders, where we all found more books to buy. After we killed enough time, we headed to the show to see a movie. Afterwards, I dropped my daughter off at her house and then said goodbye to my granddaughter as I dropped her off at home.

All in all, it was a busy weekend, a bit out of my ordinary weekends. It was a fun way to spend a “one-on-one” weekend with my oldest granddaughter. I have already been booked for a week in February to stay with my oldest granddaughter and her younger sister, while my son and his wife to go on a cruise. You can be sure I will blog about that week. But more important, besides being with my granddaughters, I can’t wait to sleep on my son and daughter in law’s comfortable mattress!

Madeleine Cookies and Murphy's Oil Soap

The 20th Century French novelist, Marcel Proust dedicated a few pages of his book to the memory of a Madeleine cookie after dunking it into his tea. This Proustian experience did a lot for French literature and Proust became one of the most beloved writers of his day.

As I pulled out a bucket and filled it with hot water and added Murphy’s Oil Soap, the pleasant sudsy smell evoked a Proustian memory of the past for me, just as the Madeleine cookie did for Proust. My memories get triggered from food, life experiences, and now from a golden liquid cleaner, Murphy’s Oil Soap.

I first encountered this cleaner, while going to a Catholic grade school in Cleveland. Our hallways and desks at St. Patrick’s always smelled of that wonderful distinctive odor. In high school, I worked for half of my tuition. My job during the summer was to clean the desks and lockers with that same trusty cleaner.

Murphy’s Oil Soap takes me back to my grade school and high school days. In my home, I always use that cleaner for my walls, woodwork, wood trim, doors and floors. I love it. It has a mild, gentle smell but it cleans everything so well. It is also a comforting smell. It takes me back to my grade school and high school days. Those were the days that connect me to my mother, father, and brother. Days and times were good ones, holding good memories for me. Murphy’s Oil Soap connects me from the present to the past. Murphy’s Oil Soap is a reminder of a job well done.

Working With My Daughter the Caterer

For the past few years, I have been working with my daughter in her catering kitchen. I respect her for the hard work and long hours that she puts into her business. I used to work at a greenhouse and I also respected the people who worked there because the work was long and it was physical. When I first began to help my daughter, I helped to decorate her reception area and her tasting area. I along with a friend found the furniture and bought the additional accent pieces, and some of the pictures, and even added some wallpaper and borders for pizzazz. Then I would change the decorations for the seasons, I also did some of her press releases and writing.

Eventually, I graduated to running my daughter’s dishwasher. I kind of liked this job. It seemed easy and harmless enough, except when I would forget and open the door just before the rinse cycle. Usually the floor and I got drenched. My daughter, the chef was not amused. This didn’t happen all the time but enough of the time to get dirty looks from my daughter.

As time went on, I started cutting up vegetables and arranging them on trays. I learned how to cut up fruits. I loved working with the long serrated knife and cutting off the skins of the fruit, and cutting or slicing the fruit and arranging it on a platter. I actually became quite good at this job and my daughter would congratulate me and tell me how good and creative my platters looked. I also did a good job with the cheese platters.

Over time, I realized that despite cooking for a family of 11 for over 30 years, making food in my daughter’s catering kitchen was totally different. She is my boss, teaching me new tricks. She is the chef and knows how she wants things done. I help her but sometimes I hinder her. I have learned or tried to learn not to react and keep my mouth shut and at least make an attempt to follow her directions. Sometimes I fail but most of the time, I manage to get the job done. I know how to sharpen my knives but I can’t seem to keep my apron clean.

From time to time, I’ll be blogging about my helping my daughter. In the mean time - I know one thing – the chef is always right.

A Treasure in a Purse

As I continue to clean out my closets, I pull out a basket filled with a number of items. I open one big plastic bag and find two things: a pair of brown slippers, which belonged to my father, and a purse. But it is the purse that makes a surprised “Oh,” escape from my mouth.

I stare at my mother’s purse, which is well over 40 years old. It is probably the last purse she bought and owned. After she died in 1972, my father gave me some of her personal items. This purse, along with her jewelry, is one my personal treasures.

The purse is a small black one with a handle and a gold snap. It is hard and sturdy. It reminds me of an old fashion lunch box but not as big. I realize the maker of this product made it to last forever. It seems these days…no one makes things to last.

When I snap open the purse, I intended to be able to smell my mother’s scent. But it wasn’t there. It was like walking into a room that was kept cool and had no odor, pleasant or unpleasant. Inside the purse were a few things: two match books, a miniature ash tray with a lid, a white handkerchief with a tatted edge made by my mother, a small drawstring purse with a few coins inside, a bulletin from St. John’s Cathedral, dated January 30, 1972. I was sad to see the date on the bulletin because that was four days before she died.

There was also an avocado green wallet with an embroidered flower on the front. Inside the photo case was a lone picture of my oldest son, Matthew, with the date, May 8, 1971. At the time of my mother’s death, he was only 20 months old. He was way too young to ever remember his grandmother.

There is $7.00 in bills and 1.37 in coins, plus two tiny figures of religious statues, one of the Infant of Prague and the other the Sacred Heart of Jesus. There used to be a small silver rosary case with a rosary in the purse. But I took this out years ago and put it into one of my dresser drawers.

When one of my daughters came to visit, I showed her the purse and she looked through it. She thought it was cool. You know something…cool was a good word to use, because my mother was a very cool person, from head to toe. As for the money – I think I will hang on to it. I just don’t want to spend it. Not now, not ever.

The Names by Billy Collins

Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night.
A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened,
Then Baxter and Calabro,
Davis and Eberling, names falling into place
As droplets fell through the dark.
Names printed on the ceiling of the night.
Names slipping around a watery bend.
Twenty-six willows on the banks of a stream.
In the morning, I walked out barefoot
Among thousands of flowers
Heavy with dew like the eyes of tears,
And each had a name --
Fiori inscribed on a yellow petal
Then Gonzalez and Han, Ishikawa and Jenkins.
Names written in the air
And stitched into the cloth of the day.
A name under a photograph taped to a mailbox.
Monogram on a torn shirt,
I see you spelled out on storefront windows
And on the bright unfurled awnings of this city.
I say the syllables as I turn a corner --
Kelly and Lee,
Medina, Nardella, and O'Connor.
When I peer into the woods,
I see a thick tangle where letters are hidden
As in a puzzle concocted for children.
Parker and Quigley in the twigs of an ash,
Rizzo, Schubert, Torres, and Upton,
Secrets in the boughs of an ancient maple.
Names written in the pale sky.
Names rising in the updraft amid buildings.
Names silent in stone
Or cried out behind a door.
Names blown over the earth and out to sea.
In the evening -- weakening light, the last swallows.
A boy on a lake lifts his oars.
A woman by a window puts a match to a candle,
And the names are outlined on the rose clouds --
Vanacore and Wallace,
(let X stand, if it can, for the ones unfound)
Then Young and Ziminsky, the final jolt of Z.
Names etched on the head of a pin.
One name spanning a bridge, another undergoing a tunnel.
A blue name needled into the skin.
Names of citizens, workers, mothers and fathers,
The bright-eyed daughter, the quick son.
Alphabet of names in a green field.
Names in the small tracks of birds.
Names lifted from a hat
Or balanced on the tip of the tongue.
Names wheeled into the dim warehouse of memory.
So many names, there is barely room on the walls of the heart.

Fleece Blanket

A few weeks ago, I took one of my granddaughters out to buy her the rest of her birthday present. We went to Joann’s Fabrics and spent some time selecting fabric for her tied fleece blanket. She finally selected a solid purple fleece for one side of the blanket. The other fleece had a wild pattern of blues, pinks, purples, and other colors, along with skulls, a guitar, rocket and other figures.

We had the fabric measured and cut, and then purchased it. Our next stop was to share an early dinner together at Panera’s, which consisted of their delicious bread soup bowl of broccoli and cheddar, a small French baguette, and a cold glass of lemonade.

After that we drove to my house, where I cut the fabric. When I was finished, I handed the blanket to my granddaughter to tie both the sides together. While she worked on the blanket, we watched the Iron Chef cooking show, commenting on each dish, and trying to figure out which Chef should win. Within an hour, my granddaughter had tied her fleece blanket and completed it. “Now when I am invited to a sleepover, I can bring along my blanket,” she said, as she wrapped the blanket around her body, flashing a big smile. “Thanks, Grandma,” she added.

It was the end of a perfect day with my granddaughter from the trip to the store, sharing dinner together to working on a fleeced tied blanket. Life doesn’t get any better then this for me!

O'Reilly's Pub

I am not much of a drinker – ask my friend or relatives. But while I was visiting my friend in Cleveland, I wanted to do something different. I kept saying – “Let’s do something different.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Let’s get a drink – but at a bar.”

“You, you want a drink?” My friend was surprised.

“Yes, I want a Mojito and I want to go to a bar,” I added.

“Okay,” my friend said, staring at me like I was already a little tipsy.

She drove into the parking lot of a small strip mall in Cleveland Heights and parked in front of O’Reilly’s Pub. It was close to five o’clock and the place wasn’t opened yet. So we popped into a small shop and walked around until it hit five o’clock. We walked into the pub and we were the first patrons of the day. The bar was dark but clean and had some Irish photos and some Cleveland memorabilia on the walls. The bathroom was spotless and there was a glass vase filled with real tiny carnations, which was a nice touch. The bartender was friendly and greeted us and asked us what we wanted. My friend ordered a glass of Chardonnay and I ordered a Mojito.

“Can’t do that one. What do you want?”

“Why? I want a Mojito.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have any mint.”

I was disappointed and ordered a Corona Light.

“With a lime?” he asked.

“Definitely.”

After he put the Corona in front of me he asked, “Why did you want a Mojito?”

“I don’t know. I just had a craving for one.”

My friend went into the Rest Room and I ordered a basket of onion rings and battered zucchini strips. The appetizers came out quickly. The zucchini was accompanied with a tangy horseradish sauce. Both were good and they weren’t greasy.

A second chardonnay was ordered and then my friend asked the bartender about some flavored vodkas. She asked him to make me a martini. I debated and ordered a chocolate one. The bartender pulled out a cold martini glass and made me a martini.
I quickly tasted it and thought..dessert! Yeah…it was that good.

This was probably the fourth time I had sat at a bar and mainly drank. It was different and fun. For the first time, in a long, long time, I sat with a friend at a bar and laughed and talked with her and the bartender.

Why? It was just something that was different for me. It was fun. A Chocolate Martini---my new drink. Goodbye Jager (Jagermeister) and hello Chocolate Martini!

Fifteenth Grandchild

My 15th grandchild is here. Another little girl who makes it 12 granddaughters and 3 grandsons. My oldest granddaughter is 14. My other grandchildren are in clusters, ranging from ages of 11, 10, 6, 5, 4, 3 to a newborn.

To say the least, parties, birthdays and holidays are noisy ones, filled with food, kids and noise. Christmas Eve here is unbelievable. We fill up the Living Room with presents for each grown up and tons of presents for the children.

The food is unbelievable, with every thing from nuts, appetizers, a number of entrees and candy, and cookies – cookies – cookies. The dining room and kitchen tables groan with the plates, utensils, and food as does the counter. Kids roam around eating, running and playing in the dining room, playroom, the upstairs bedrooms and the basement.

The noise level is off the charts but everyone is happy to be here for a few hours. I love watching it all and hearing the loud joyous sounds of happiness, knowing it is only for a little while and then everyone will go home. Until that time, I enjoy the evening. The price of happiness isn’t expensive and the photos and memories prove it.

The fifteenth grandchild will be one more, which will add more to our lives. One more to add themselves and their own noise to the crowd, and one more to love.

Women of Courage

In all of my readings, there are two women authors who stand out. Not just because of the books that they have written but more for their personal lives and their stories, their tragedies, triumphs, and survival. The women are Ayaan Hirsi Ali and Immaculee Ilibagiza.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a Somalia writer and politician, is the founder of women’s rights organization, the AHA Foundation. Hirsi is a prominent critic of Islam and their treatment of women. Her screenplay, Submission, with the Dutch filmmaker, Theo van Gogh, led to his death and for her, death threats and relocation from the Netherlands.

Hiris has written two outstanding books that detail her life and plight - Infidel and Nomad. I highly recommend both books, especially for women readers to realize how free we are in the United States of America. They both are good books to learn about the restrictions and classless society that Muslim women find themselves living under.

Infidel is Hirsi’s memoir. I found it to be one of the most fascinating books that I have ever read. The subject matter at times was difficult to comprehend. As I read the book, I found myself going through a lot of different emotions. The books shows how Hirsi survived civil war, female mutilation, brutal beatings, living under the rise of the Muslim Brotherhood and living in four unstabled countries. Hirsi is a survivor and voice for women who have had their voices stifled and their lives ended.
In 1994, Immaculee Ilibagiza, a Rowandan, was a 24-year-old college student when she was caught in the Rowandan genocide which lasted for 3 months. More than one million ethnic Tutsis were murdered. In her book, Left To Tell, she tells how she survived with seven other women for 91 days in a tiny bathroom.

Ilibagiza’s mother, father and two brothers were killed during this time. Only she and another brother survived. Yet, Ilibagiza has been able to face the man who killed some members of her family while he was in jail. She forgave him. This most amazing woman had been able to forgive the man who killed her family and has been able to move on with her life. That is a lesson for all mankind.

Both women, as are the books they have written, are incredible writers and story tellers. I would not have wanted to have gone through what they had. But I would like to be strong, and courageous and a model for other women like Ayaan Hirisi Ali and Immaculee Ilibagiza.

Moving On...My Own

Writing has always been my salvo. It has been my salvation and my therapy. But in the last two weeks, it has eluded me. For the past four years my youngest son has been living with me, along with his two children, who spend half the week here. Now I have watched my son move to a new home with his new wife and his children. I felt happiness seeing my son find a wonderful woman and marrying her. His happiness was my joy. But in all of this, after four years of having my son and two young grandchildren living in my house, it was hard to see them leave.

I watched my grandchildren grow up in the last four years. My grandson changed from a three-year-old to a funny little guy with a sense of humor, who is now going into 2nd grade. My granddaughter has grown up and is now 11 years old. I watched her grow from a little girl to a lovely swan…who is taller then me.

All three brought light and noise into my empty life and my quiet house, long after my own nine children have grown and moved away to start their own lives and their own families. Children bring life to houses and homes, and to empty rooms. They bring a renewed meaning to life that has become dull and lonely with time. My yard has a wooden swing-set in it, an abandoned scooter on the basketball court with a small plastic playhouse, a fort partially built and a hammock waiting for them to swing in it. My kitchen window ledge has two small plants that my grandson started from the seeds of fruit and they are growing and surviving.

My hallways and rooms echo with the emptiness of my two grandchildren. Every room has a memory where some of their toys are, or a stray shoe and a t-shirt lying about. For me, the first day after they left was empty and hard and at times the oxygen seemed to have been sucked out of the room and my lungs, until I could barely breathe and control myself.

I know I will survive and be okay (I hope) but I also know I miss my son and grandchildren. I miss the noise and games and having them around the kitchen table during dinner, to share their conversations and a meal with me. I’ll miss their laughter and my granddaughter’s, “Goodnight, Grandma” and kiss. I’ll miss listening to my grandson taking a long shower in my bathroom, drying himself off and asking me to get his pajamas that he forgot.

Where did those four years go, I wonder? But I know that life changes and maybe like those plants on my window ledge…I, too, will keep growing and will survive this part of my life.

A Door Closed

There is an old expression that goes something like – “God never closes a door, unless He opens another.” I hope that it is true.

With that saying, I have been searching for a writing group for the past six years. I had been in a small writing group when I had attended Chatham College,while I was working toward my Master’s Degree in Nonfiction Writing. Including myself, there were three other women in the group. We would meet, eat dinner, and pass our writing work around to be read and critiqued. Then we would meet a few weeks later and do the same. After graduation, we went our separate ways. I missed these women. I especially missed our writing group and have been searching in vain for another group.

About two years ago, I ran into a woman who had been in one of my Chatham classes. She talked about her writing group and how there was an opening, took my name and phone number, and said she would be in touch. A year or two passed, I never heard from her.

A few weeks ago, I ran into the woman at the bookstore. We talked, and again she mentioned the writing group. For the second time, she took my name and said two women would be dropping out and would I like to join. Out our courtesy, she would talk to the other women, and get back to me. A week or two went by, I received an email – I was in. My quest and hunger for a writing group was over. We would meet in August on a weekly basis.

Finally, after the fourth of July, I received another email: “Sorry but two of the original members are rejoining. Hope you can find a writing group. If anyone leaves the group, you are the first on the list to be called. Have a nice summer.”

I looked at the email and shook my head in frustration. For years I have been looking for a writing group to join. I was confused and wondered if other groups were so rigid or profiled their members? I decided that even if I was number one on their potential list, I didn’t want to join their group. After two disappointments, I didn’t want to be set up for a third one. I doubt this “elitists” group is what I am looking for. I’m disappointed to say the least and realize if I had a writing group, I wouldn’t turn away any eager and productive writer. The worst part is that I am not an amateur writer. In the past, I have been published a number of times in newspapers and magazines. I have also been paid for my work.

Another door was shut but I will find a writing group somewhere, who will welcome all serious writers to their group. Another lesson learned.

Yes – I’m still searching for another group. So, if anyone reading this blog and lives in the North Hills area is interested in forming a writing group – leave a comment.