Category Archives: Mesta Park

To Grandma’s House

23 Tuesday Mar 2010

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My youngest granddaughter needed a place to hang her hat today.

Karson fell ill Sunday evening;  it’s nothing infectious, but Karson didn’t feel up to attending school.   Or so I understood, from my oldest daughter’s phone call yesterday.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I heard Kate say Karson would likely sleep or lay around all day, same as yesterday.

To Karson’s mother, I say, “Liar, liar pants on fire.” (Forgive me — but since I just spent the last twenty-four hours with a rambunctious kindergartner, certain playground sayings are, for now, uppermost in my mind and at the tip of my fingers.)

Though not exactly in peak form, Karson and I did all the things we normally do when we spend time together.  We watched a little television.  Karson painted with watercolors while I painted with words.  We shared a couple of meals amidst fine table conversation with the television shut off.   And best of all, we walked down to our neighborhood park.

It was a great day to go, with temperatures hovering in the mid-seventies and blue skies overhead.  Karson and I arrived  —  with a handsome gray tomcat in tow that we picked up along the way — to a dozen children enjoying the sunshine and playing on playground equipment.  Children were being pushed in swings by parents and caught at the end of slides, the way I once pushed and caught Karson, when she was toddling around.

Karson no longer needs me to catch or push her.  In fact, she’s growing up fast.  Over lunch today, I learned that six-year-old Karson has had a boyfriend for well over a year.  I forgot his name, but I imagine he’ll be replaced sooner or later.

But today, with no boyfriend in site (not counting our Tom), Karson played independently or formed playground partnerships with other children — a variation of you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours — which obligated Karson to push one girl on the inter-tube swing in exchange for that girl pushing Karson on the swing.

That little girl wore a pair of  Dorothy’s ruby red slippers —  just like the ones I bought Karson a year ago.  Evidently, as deep once called to deep in biblical times, today on the playground, it was like finding like.

I confess to losing my Nana mojo, as I forgot to bring any liquid refreshment to the park for thirsty hard-playing girls.  So after hitting all the rides, we left for home, dropping Tom off along the way.  Unlike some, this guy believed in leaving the party with the girls he came with.   His mother evidently raised him right.

I suppose I should feel flattered by Karson’s attempts to stay another day.  But instead of feeling flattered, I feel flattened by that 39 pound steam-roller of a granddaughter.  I praise God she was not running full steam ahead.

Sweeties

21 Sunday Feb 2010

Posted by in In the Kitchen, Life at Home, Mesta Park

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I could have been June Cleaver yesterday when the boys arrived with Amy to find me in the kitchen baking their favorite childhood cookies.

In our house, these pink and white swirled cookies never stick around for long.  Whether warm from the oven or not, people find them hard to leave alone.  I’m not sure whether the boys and Amy had taken off their coats or not before they enjoyed that first warm cookie.

An hour later, Don’s mother and stepfather came in just as I was putting the finishing touches on supper.  It wasn’t long, before out of the corner of my eye, I saw another Sweetie go by with a few words on how hard these cookies were to resist.  Then Kara and Joe arrived  — and I won’t tell how many Joe confessed to having before the night was over.

With fifteen gathered, it didn’t take long for the Sweeties to disappear.  Yet, to say that we gathered is a bit of a stretch, as the party was more like three gatherings in one.  As I traveled the circuit, I walked in and out of pockets of conversation.  Don and his parents were visiting in the kitchen; my children and their mates were gathered around the television watching a ball game; and my three youngest grands were playing ‘zombies’ in the basement.

At one point, I noted Kyle talking to one who  might as well  have been a zombie, for their lack of attention to his words.  This is the downside of big gatherings:  there’s just too much going on to take it all in; separate worlds collide, but then soon break apart to converse in more intimate settings.  Meanwhile, I floated from one room to another, trying to experience a little of all the parties.

When I finally sat down, my granddaughters came to see if they could extend their party by spending the night.  I was tired after cooking all day.  And while having no definite plans, my after-party most likely would have involved a rendezvous with  my favorite chair.  But I couldn’t resist after one long look at their sweet hopeful faces.  The girls were having so much fun playing together; and if they didn’t want it to end, I didn’t want to end it.

Someday, not too far off in the distant future, these sisters who admit to being best friends, will not want to spend their Saturday night with their grandmother.  So it was not too hard to put that favorite comfy chair on hold  to let their young world collide with mine.  They ended up having the best time, filling the house with happy noises, as they trampled up and down the stairs from basement to second story.  The girls played house, opened a restaurant, become artists with a set of watercolors and  built a fine set of tracks with my sons old wooden train set.

This morning, before they left, the girls told me how much fun they had playing at my house.  I learned that after I die, they are hoping that their mother will come here to live so that they can too.  But my youngest granddaughter will be repainting my wall colors.  And though she didn’t say, I’m guessing she has in mind her favorite pink — just like these Sweeties.

Sweeties

Makes 5 dozen

2 sticks butter, softened
2 cups sugar
2 tsps almond flavoring
3 eggs
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp cream of tartar
1 Tbsp baking powder
4 cups all-purpose flour
3 drops of red food coloring

Mix butter and sugar until fluffy.  Gradually mix in eggs and almond flavoring, then the dry ingredients until well combined.  Stir in drop of red food coloring, swirling the dough, until streaked with pink.  Chill in fridge for two hours.

Preheat oven to 350.

Shape dough into small balls, a little larger than a walnut.  Slightly flatten with hand on cookies sheet, covered with parchment paper or silicone baking sheet.  Bake 10 minutes at 350.

While still warm, glaze cookies.

Cookie Glaze

Mix until smooth:

1 cup powder sugar
1/2 tsp almond flavoring
4 Tbsp evaporated milk  (I use water instead)

Christmas Greetings

25 Friday Dec 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Mesta Park

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This year I’ve traded paper and pencil for digital pages and keystrokes.  Everyday life is now carefully preserved in the blog that Kyle encouraged me to begin last Christmas. There I rewind and hit pause to really see and listen to everyday life — it keeps my days from slipping into a sea of lost memories.  I find peace by anchoring sleep-robbing thoughts to a line of words — to write is to mutter sleepily to my worries, “Now stop your whining.”  Deeper thoughts and feelings lie beneath the easily spoken words of, “We’re doing fine.” —  which are resurrected through writing, from the depths of unconsciousness.

To pull up a post from last January is to again see two gorgeous standard poodles frolicking in the snow.  I smile as Maddie and Max, coated in icy rhinestones, make their own snow ice cream — all from scratch.  A story in February makes me laugh at my own Lucy Ricardo moment.  Once again, I stand trance-like in front of the oven watching Kyle’s 21st celebratory birthday meal go up in smoke, while nearby, Don remains his unflappable, supporting self.  Much smarter than Desi Arnaz, Don knew no amount of “splainin’” would avert the dinner party crisis staring us in the face.

The food that doesn’t burn up in the oven continues to set the stage for everyday life.  The blog is becoming a repository for all our favorite recipes.  Recorded are recipes for comfort foods such as Oatmeal Cherry Cookies, Potato Soup, Sure Shot Rolls, Meatloaf and Firehouse Chicken Enchiladas. All recipes are prefaced by a story of the recipe’s origin; the first names of friends and family always receive screen credit.

The joys of everyday life are there, like the stories from last March, born from our trip to Las Vegas for Kate and Glen’s wedding.  Downhill days, including the five weeks in late April and May when Don worked in China, live here also.  While Don kept close watch over contract negotiations for Dow, I kept my own watch over Dad’s sharp decline in health.  After four ER visits and two hospital stays, Dad now lives in a nursing home.  Every Tuesday afternoon, my brother Jon and I share our lives with our greatly diminished father.

And on and on everyday life goes.  The boys will soon graduate.  Kara and Joe settle into married life, shaking wanderlust from their systems.  My list of “grands’ has doubled with Kate’s remarriage.  Yet importantly, we count each and every day a miracle.  To wake up to the sounds of Don brewing his morning cup of tea makes me thank God for the life we share together.  And with our supporting comedic cast of three dogs, including a new Scottie I call our holy terror, it sometimes feels as if Don and I animate life in a cartoon.

Everyday stories are sacred.  It’s ironic that we remember the days where certificates are handed out – like for marriage, the birth of a child, a college graduation or some other milestone – yet forget that the best of real life is sandwiched in between.  Don and I are better people for knowing and sharing everyday life with you.  Even now, we carry you within us.

It is good to celebrate life while we can.  And there is no better way to celebrate than with a good old fashioned face-to-face visit.  Facebook may do in a pinch, but when I can’t have the “real deal”, I like the good new fashioned visits which come through my blog — my front porch to the world.  Here I welcome old friends and new.  I tell my story and my guests share theirs.  And sometimes… life slows down enough… so that we can really take in… a “long loving glance at the Real.” “Meet Me in Mesta Park.”