Mom

My mom has always been, and always will be, the voice in my head that keeps me on the straight and narrow, especially through times when I couldn’t see two feet in front of me, much less what’s around the bend. She has been the strongest influence on my life, though most times I’d chafe at admitting it.

Throughout her 87 years, she relied on herself to overcome life’s hurdles. Her strength of character and determination saw her through many difficult trials—from the devastating loss of a child to the gauntlet of Alzheimer’s. Yet, she remained strong. It wasn’t in her nature to give up, no matter how difficult the challenge or risky the outcome. She loved an adventure.

Not to say she is the only person who ever told me I’m wrong, but she is the only person who would always tell me when I’m wrong or making a mistake. She was honest, hardworking, and had more character and personal integrity than anyone I’ve ever known. Her love, though quiet and somewhat reserved, was always there for me. It never faltered.

Over the years, Mom and I sometimes didn’t “get along.” Maybe because we were so much alike—I can be as stubborn and determined as she could—that it caused friction. We didn’t talk a lot, finding it difficult to chit-chat. Small talk wasn’t part of our pattern. Scrabble was our thing. We could get into deep conversations over a Scrabble board. We both enjoyed prowling through junk shops and the trips to them always got us talking as well. I learned more about Mom while playing Scrabble and driving to places where we could poke around dust covered bits and pieces than I would’ve dreamed possible. I cherish every game we played and every junk hunt we made.

Mom left us slowly, day by day. She lived with my sister for many years and for that I am truly grateful. I don’t know how she managed, day in and day out, watching Mom fade away, but I know I couldn’t have coped. It was hard enough to see just when I visited. Thank you my dear sister, for all that you did to take care of Mom, for keeping her safe, for making her life better.

Nothing to say. Nada. Zilch.

Posted by goodoldgirl

You may or may not have noticed that I’ve not been blogging lately. Either way, I guess the best explanation for my absence from the bloggosphere is to just fess up and admit that I’ve run out of things to say.

To get ideas, I spent the last hour or so reading posts from some of my favorite blogs. They’re fresh, funny, interesting, and full of bits of wit and wisdom and insight.

Me?

I got nothing.

No insight into the way of the world.

No ideas about how to live long and prosper.

Not even a wise crack about the presidential debates.

What to do?

Hmmm?

I know … fake it!

I’ve been on a quest.

I put my house (really a townhouse/condo) on the market about three and a half years ago. I managed to get three offers and even two contracts but, alas, no sales. So, I decided a couple of months ago, finally, to finish unpacking and forget about selling for a few years.

Since that momentous decision, I’ve found all kinds of things I forgot I had. For example, an Oster Food Center that my mom gave me for Christmas about 25 years ago. She borrowed it from me about two months later and returned it about three years after that. Not being a domestic diva, I stuffed the big old box of food fanatic tools in the closet and forgot all about it until last week. Which is when I discovered that some of the pieces had gone astray, got melted, whatever. Anyway, it still works so my quest has been to find replacement parts.

Enter eBay. I can get a new turntable for the mixer part for about ten bucks. (Apparently, that part got too close to a stove at some point.) Not too much to spend to get this combination mixer/blender/chopper back to perfection. After pulling all the bits and pieces out of the box, though, I realized that the chopper bowl is missing.

Can’t help but wonder what happened to that. Is it stuck in some cabinet corner at my mom’s? I doubt it. She’s moved about a gazillion times in the last twenty years so I might as well look for that part on eBay as well.

Not so fast!

Both my sisters got the same gift from Mom that same Christmas. Last night’s chat with baby sis revealed that she has the chopper bowl and never uses it. So, it’s mine for the pick up. She also has the instruction booklet. Yeah! My daughter will be pleased.

You see, that’s what this quest is all about. Becky is really into domesticity. She makes pickles and jams. (Don’t worry. She’ll get over it eventually.) So, the almost vintage food center, once I have all the bits and pieces again, is going to her house. She can chop and mix and blend to her heart’s content.

And last, but not least, the food center can live long and prosper.

Yes, I really am this goofy. 🙂

My first baby …

Posted by goodoldgirl

… watermelon!

See it? Over there, on the right?

It’s about 4 inches long. So cool! Like all proud moms, I’ll keep you updated on its progress. There are two more of them, but they’re not as big yet. One is only about as long as my little finger.

Squash update!

I’ve picked about a dozen so far and there are at least that many more on the vine. I just love squash.

Gardening is such a joy. If you haven’t given it a try then you’re just missing out on a rewarding experience.

This is my garden. It is very small.

Oh heck, who am I kidding, it’s tiny! But, it’s all mine and I like it.

Actually, I have another flower bed on the opposite side of the patio, next to my townhouse, that had Impatiens in it. But, the gutters are stopped up and I’m having a bit of trouble getting the condo board to send someone over to clean them out.

I keep getting the run-around about hail damage insurance claims and not enough units need their gutters cleaned out to make it worth it to hire someone to clean mine. In the meantime, my little flower bed of Impatiens that, in May, looked like this, →

now looks like this. ↓

So sad. (Yes, I know my landscape lighting needs an update. In time, folks, In time.) Anyhoo, back to my gardening epistle.

I grew up on a farm where gardening was a requirement. I hated it! There really aren’t words for how much I hated working in a garden back then.

In all fairness, let’s put that in context. I was 10 through 17 years old, stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a quarter-acre garden and only my mom, my brother, and my sister and I to manage it. Do you have any idea what a quarter-acre garden looks like? It’s huge and way too much work for one grown up and three kids.

What were they (my parents) thinking? Okay, so my father would plow it in the spring, but then, it was up to us to plant and weed, and hoe, and water, and hoe some more. Exhausting work and for what? Okra? Lima beans? Spinach? Yuck. It was all food that I mostly couldn’t stand to eat back then. (Yep, I was an idiot but I still don’t like spinach, if it’s cooked. There’s a whole other story about me and spinach but let’s save that for another time.)