Regaining appreciation and feeling groovy

I sometimes hold onto ideas, desires, or dreams too long.

I get in a rut of thinking about something in a single-minded way.

You know, for years.

It was one of these standpoints that I changed my attitude about recently.

When we moved into our house, 45 years ago, the kitchen had just been remodeled.  The built-in oven/cook top, the highly-grained, varnished cabinets, the dropped ceiling and lighting, the brick-look floor tiles and the laminate counter tops were in style, modern, up-to-date.

Oh, so 1970's.

As these things go, the appliances have been replaced, ditto the flooring, sink, and faucet.

Not long ago, the dropped ceiling was raised back up, and redone with tongue and groove boards.  New lights were added.

But the 1970 "Daisy" counter tops still greet me every morning.

"Good morning, flower child".

How many times have I wiped those counters off?  Thousands and thousands, to be sure.

So many times that I've worn the pattern off in high use areas.

Those kitchen counters and I have a lot of history together.

In addition to preparing tons of food, and cleaning up from the making and eating of it, I have:

Bathed my babies on them,

Taught cooking on them,

Arranged flowers,

Rolled cookies,

Kneaded dough on them.

I've used them as a buffet table to serve food,

Taught responsibility using them... "(Fill in the blank with a child's name), it's 

your night to wash dishes."  Moaning and tears follow.

I've canned tomatoes, apricots, frozen boysenberries, green beans, and zucchini on them.

Various science experiments have been conducted on them.

Hot glue has been dotted it.

Yet, in spite of all the memories and many people urging me to NEVER replace the vintage counters, I have been "done" with the pattern and material for years.

The other day I received an advertisement email from Country Living magazine showing a new laminate countertop material from Wilsonart, the very company that made my countertop material.

Always dreaming of replacing the old, I went to the Wilsonart website to window shop.  While there, and out of curiosity, I looked to see if my 45 year old laminate pattern was archived. 

No, it's not.

It is still for sale!

Has this pattern come full circle or did they have so much of it stockpiled they decided to keep selling it until it's all gone?  Whatever it is, seeing it there pushed my thinking out of the trench it had been in.

I came around to appreciate this outdated part of my kitchen once again.

I still love that stunning slab of granite I saw in a Texas kitchen, with its vein of blue running river-like through it.  I love my daughter's butcher block counters.

There are many good looking surfaces to be admired. But mine is unique, and although dated, I think I'd miss it, if it was replaced.

So for now, the best counter tops for me are

"Autumn Lights Daisy" Wilsonart Y0039.

Groovy, huh?

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

Got nausea?

Ever since I was a kid, and that was quite some time ago, I have needed a barf bag in the car during trips.

The first time I got air sick was on a trans-Atlantic flight.  I needed the air-sick bag during that wretched trip.

Feeling nauseated, while packed into an  airplane, practically sitting on someone else's lap, is not a good way to spend time with strangers.

I had used Dramamine for years, but although it helped a wee bit, I still felt sick as soon as the plane's tires lifted off the run way.

Twelve years ago, I was preparing for a trip to Seattle.  My sister was working for a doctor at the time.  I thought, "Oh, I am going to have her ask him for a prescription for a heavy-duty motion sickness pill."  When I asked her about this she said, "Just get yourself some 'Sea Bands'."

  

I was a skeptic.

How could a couple stretchy wrist bands help?

Still, because my sister has given me helpful guidance many times before, I went to Target and purchased a pair of the acupressure wrist bands.

I remember being in the airport before that first sea band flight, debating with myself as to whether to use both the Dramamine and the bands at the same time.  I really didn't think the bands would work and I HATE feeling nauseated.  

But I thought, if I used the Dramamine and the bands, I wouldn't know if the bands worked, so I didn't take the Dramamine.

Seated in the plane before pushing back from the terminal, I put on the bands as per the instructions.  

The plane taxied, revved... (I wish I would have thought of this word during our Scrabble game last night, as I had two V's on my rack at one point.)... revved its engines and took off.  I waited.  No queasiness.  No feeling green around the gills.  No need for ginger ale, mints, or a bag.

For my next few flights, I used the sea bands with increasing confidence in their effectiveness.  I turned from cynic to convert.  Sea Bands work perfectly.  No more nausea while flying.

Last October I flew to Austin to visit my sister.  I put my sea bands on as usual and settled into a book.  About an hour and a half into the flight, I started turning green.  I was confused, as I had used the bands with complete success repeatedly through the years, both for nausea when flying and for nausea with a bad headache.  I didn't understand why they had suddenly stopped working for me.

When we finally landed, I pushed my sweater sleeves up in order to remove the bands. One of the bands had slipped and the plastic bead, which creates the pressure, was no longer on the Nei Kuan Point between the tendons on my wrist.  Uh huh!  I was so relieved to see the problem was easily corrected.

Before an airplane trip last month, I brought new Sea Bands.  My first pair had lost a lot of their elasticity and that is why they had slipped on my trip to Austin.

I didn't realize how much they had stretched until I put on my new bands.  The new ones are nice and tight.

I'm good to go once again.

If you, or someone you know, adult or child, gets motion sickness, I highly recommend these amazing bands.  They are drug free and work for travel, morning sickness, and for other types of sickness.

Fine print:  The Sea-Band Ltd does not know me.  I have not received any compensation for this recommendation.  The only connection I have with this company is that it is in England and my mother was English.  Sea Bands are made in England.  A lot of good things come out of England.

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

My life with fairies

On a recent trail walk, light streamed through the oaks, sycamores, and California peppers at just the right slant to put me in mind of fairies.  My thoughts of the resplendent creatures drifted along on birdsong as I walked...well, at least until a blur of spandex clipped rudely through my personal space...

Do you have fairies at the bottom of your garden?

If fairyland is a place of beauty, tranquility, and magical charm, I most definitely have fairies at the bottom of mine.

My connection with fairy lore came by way of an English war bride.

Born in England in 1923, my mother probably grew up looking for woodland fairy rings and hearing stories of the Cottingley fairies.  

Image Wikipedia

Image Wikipedia

In 1917, without the benefit of photoshop, 2 young cousins pulled the wool over the eyes of some adults, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle among them, with 5 photographs they took of alleged fairies. They photographed the fairies near the beck (river) close to their home.  The Cottingley fairies were talked about, written about, and the photographs were scrutinized for years.

It wasn't until more than 60 years after they artistically created the fairies, that Elsie and Frances admitted that the photographs were fakes.

Narratives about fairies and fairy rings were passed to me from my mum, along with the lore of "little people", who were responsible for taking missing items.

Mom's tales of fairies were bolstered by a large format book, which I received from my cousins in England for my second Christmas.   Beautifully illustrated, by the Swedish fairy artist, Ana Mae Seagreen, the 14" x 18" book remains a prized possession of mine.  (I bet you weren't aware that "fairy artist" is a category of painters.  I wasn't until today.)

Here I am in 1956 in fairy attire for Halloween.  My wings don't show up too well, but you get the idea.  The harness, for said wings, was made with a bit of silver Christmas tree tinsel garland, which also trimmed the edge of the wings.  I think my crown was fashioned after the fairy Queen in the above illustration.   My sister doesn't look too pleased that I am attempting to turn her into a carriage.
 Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo
I must have been a combo fairy Godmother-fairy Queen.

Fast forward about 58 years from this Halloween, when I masqueraded as a fairy, and here's my vrbo rental house for fairies that might visit my garden.

The house is tiny, perhaps too small for a fairy.  But I guess their size is 

defined only by my imagination.  

Anyone can create their own fairy garden, and be transported to a  place of happy thoughts.  Fairies dance and play everyday, when we welcome them into our flights of fancy.

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

Easing gas pains

As I was recently held captive in line at Costco to pump $4.30 a gallon gasoline into my car, I began thinking of some of the more memorable times when I have bought gas in the past 50 years.

My first experience of buying gas was for my high school best friend's '56 Chevy.  In 1964, "gas wars" were not uncommon.  One gas station would lower their price, and then another would go lower, and another still lower all around the town.

It was during one of these "gas wars" that gas got down to 19¢ a gallon.
That in itself is a story, but how we paid for it is equally improbable.

Both, Bobbi and I, were from middle class families.  We were still in high school, and relied on $1.25 an hour, 4 - 8 hours a week, wages from The Broadway.  We didn't have much money, to say the least.

To supplement our "gas fund", we would go through magazines and cut out the manufacturer's coupons.  We would take the clipped coupons to the grocery store and skipping the middle part, of actually buying the product, would "cash" them in.  Yes, they would actually give us the cash value of the coupons in money.
We did this for months, maybe even a year or so, before someone put a stop to it.
Those toothpaste coupons did brighten our smiles, and bought us enough gas to cruise Whittier Blvd. on many an evening.

In 1970 in our new Ford van, The Duke of Earl and I went on a 3 week, 7,000 mile road trip.  Our first child wasn't walking yet.
We pumped fuel into the gas tank in Arizona, Utah, Colorado, Montana, Idaho, Washington, and Oregon.  By the time we were back in California, we had very little cash left.  We had no credit cards.  We had our check book and money in the bank, but no one would cash an out of town check.  This was in the time before ATM's or debt cards.  If you ran out of money, well, you were out of money until you could get to your bank, during business hours at that.

To get home,
we drove from San Francisco going 45 mph to increase our gas mileage.  We arrived home with the gas gauge on empty and a nickel in our pockets.
The next time we were going out of town my dad gave us a gas credit card to use, if needed, so he could sleep at night while we were gone.


By 2000 we had credit cards and debt cards, but weren't too much smarter.

We often camped in the remote Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest in Eastern Nevada.  The campsites along White River are primitive and 10 miles off the highway by way of a dirt road. The area is so isolated that we would see only an occasional car or person during our 2 week stay. 
We would drive into the nearest town, Ely, once or twice to buy ice, groceries, and gasoline while we were there.
The ghost town of Hamilton, Nevada is 40 miles from the campsite where we pitch our tent.  And on this particular trip to town, we decided to drive the loop that goes from Hwy 6 up to Hamilton and down to Hwy 50 into Ely and back to camp.  

The extensive ruins of Hamilton, the roadside and fields of wildflowers, the birds, deer, clouds and mountains normally made the jarring ruts and potholes along the dirt backroads a fun ride.

But this time a thunderbolt hit at 
 the point of no return, when I was told we were getting low on gas, as in "check gas gauge" low.  We were 18 miles from Hamilton where there was the greatest possibility of seeing another human being.  We were some 58 miles from Ely.
I comforted my anxiety knowing we had water and food with us.  I had my books.  
After bouncing along the rocky, steadily climbing road in nervous silence for 40 minutes, we came to a sign that read "Hamilton 5 miles".
  
Finally, Hamilton came into view, and with it, Will...a horse riding, chap wearing, real cowboy.  Duke inquired as to where the nearest gas station would be.
 Will told us where his ranch was located and where his gas pump was.  It was one of the kindest things a stranger has ever done for us.
Will, if you are reading this, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Wouldn't you know, the gas gauge is on empty again.
I'm off to fill 'er up.

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

  

Branson Birthday Surprise

I was a birthday gift for my sister last year!

My niece and nephew-in-law flew me from Southern California to Branson, Missouri, wrapped me up in a box, along with 3 of their 4 children, for a birthday surprise none of us will ever forget.

A Branson vacation, which included my niece's family, her mother-in-law and my sister and her husband, had been in the works for them for a year or more.  My sister would celebrate her 60th birthday during the week they were there.

My niece and nephew-in-law, who are good at cooking up extraordinary memories, asked if I would join them, as their birthday gift to their mother/mother-in-law.  They would pay for my airfare and my lodging.

I accepted the invitation immediately!

The birthday surprise was kept a secret for 6 months.

Missouri was one wonder after another for me.

The magnificent blooming dogwoods.
Green, Spring green, everywhere.

The beauty of Dogwood Canyon.

The lakes.

The visible tornado shelter entrances in people's front yards.

The unexpected snow in May.
The Ozark Mountains.
A night singing thrush.

Seeing a ground hog (in the wild, not in a movie). 

The time I spent with family was beyond measure.

And being able to pull off the surprise for my sister was as sweet as Tupelo honey.

They all live in Texas and drove to Branson.  With perfect timing, I arrived at the Branson Airport as they drove into town.

My sister and her husband were to arrive the day after the rest of us.

We had planned to have me wrapped up in a large box, which was broken down and brought with them for the occasion.  Beyond that, the details of the plan were unsettled.

When the over-sized box was taped back together, their 3 oldest children took to playing in it. While the kids were having a romp in the cardboard box, a plan, as to how to present the "gift", was hatched.

There was concern that their #3 child would spill the beans to her Grandmother upon my sister's arrival and before the "gift" could be presented and opened.

 But what if all 4 of us were in the box?

Then even if #3 talked, while inside the wrapped box, it would just look like the kiddos were in the box for some kind of surprise entertainment created by them for the occasion.

All four of us did fit in the box.  It was cozy, but fun. 
We had a 10 minute warning before the birthday girl arrived in the room.
And this is how it went:

Post script on the surprise:
#3 didn't make a peep while we were all huddled in the box together.
My sister's husband, who didn't know about me being in Branson, was equally surprised.  (He didn't know I would be staying in their condo with them!)
And at the end of the video, you can hear their oldest child saying,
"...enjoy your present all this week".  It was a wonderful 8 days, a year ago this week.  We had a ball.  I loved every minute of my sister's birthday.

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

Vintage wedding cake topper and my new pan

Yesterday, Easter Sunday,

 the Duke of Earl and I marked 46 years since we entered into that theme park of marital bliss. 

What a roller coaster ride marriage is!

To celebrate, I baked a cake.

I wanted to use our wedding cake topper to put a little anniversary spin on  Easter egg hunt day.

Back in the 1960's weddings were not as individualized as they are nowadays.  Everything was pretty traditional, including the cake toppers.

Our's was a common place bride and groom under a love nest of millinery Lily of the Valley flowers and a white glittered bell.

Although quite ordinary, our cake topper has become unique in that it has been the crowning glory on 7 wedding cakes to date.

When a couple uses it, their name and wedding date is added to the bottom.

It has been used in 1968, 1973, 1977, 1982, 1987, 1999, and 2006.

Baking layer cakes has never been my forte.  They taste good, but rarely hit my expectation.  The first cake I ever baked was a setback for me for years of future cake baking.
  
I was fresh into my teens and I wanted to bake a surprise birthday cake for my mother.
My dad was taking her out to dinner and I conspired with him that I would bake the cake, while they were out to eat.
I was in a BIG rush to get the beautiful surprise I had visualized ready for mom's return.

Unfortunately,
I had no idea of how to grease a pan. I did not know the importance of letting the layers set for 10 minutes before removing them from the pans.  I did not know the cake would break apart, when I tried to frost it while it was still hot.

As you can imagine, the cake was a pile of pieces with frosting stuck here and there.  Mom walked in to me in tears.  My birthday surprise was ruined.  The surprise was nothing like I had conjured it up to be.  Nothing like adding a little drama to mom's birthday!  Oh, the scene was heart breaking.

As my layer cakes have never measured up, height-wise, I compensate by making three layers instead of 2.  My three layers equal the stature of most people's 2 layers.
I also found a good recipe that uses egg whites, stiffly beaten, that help hold the cake up for the final elevation. 

I have 2 layer cake pans that I bought for my hope chest before we got married.  It was a long engagement.  I filled my closet with items for my future life, buying something new every pay day.

Now here's the interesting thing.
These cake pans purchased in 1967, or so, are marked on the bottoms:

       EKCO   Baker's
      USA  Secret
    8"  M95


In the past I have baked 2 layers and then put in the third layer in the oven when I had an empty pan.  I have asked neighbors if they have an 8" cake pan I could borrow, but they have only had 9" cake pans.
For this baking session, I decided to buy a third 8" pan.

Now we know that portion sizes keep getting larger.  And the only round layer cake pan size available was a 9".  I kept looking at those 9" pans in the store thinking they looked to be the correct size. 
I purchased a 9" pan thinking I could return it, if necessary.

I measured the new 9" pan against the old 8" pans.  They are exactly the same size!  EXACTLY.  Nine inch is the new 8"?  Using a ruler there is no part of the new 9" pan that measures 9".  I don't get it.

I'm happy to say that this 46th Anniversary cake did meet my intention.
8" pans or 9", the cake looks like the one I wanted to bake for my mom's birthday so many years ago...minus the cake topper, of course.

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

Topsy turvey --- updates

My world was rattled last week.

According to

http://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/map/

we had 15 earthquakes of 2.5 or more magnitude in less than 24 hours.  I felt almost all of them.

Being a native Californian, the jolts and the rock and roll are not new to this girl.  I am, however, starting to wonder what is going on?

Then there is this, and this, and this.

The moonflower seeds that I started earlier this month...remember?  Well, of the 10 seeds I started, only 2 broke soil.  But the odd thing is that although the first set of leaves showed green, they just stopped growing.  They never opened.  They turned brown and died.

I am not a quitter! I started more seeds.  This time I did not "nick".  Daughter April suggested that nicking might remove "something important" needed for the success of the plant.  The theory sounds plausible.  (Still, the reality is that we have nicked moonflower seeds for years with fruition.)

I have started a new set of moonflower seeds the way a young child in school starts lima bean seeds.

They are in a cup with blotter paper and so far, so good.  They have grown healthy looking tap roots, and are getting lateral roots, and have opening leaves.  A couple days ago, I planted one in soil to see what will happen.  Fingers crossed.

I told you about the earwig traps.  They are working better than expected.

But there's the weird thing.

I have continued to empty the traps in the chicken yard.  Both hens had been gobbling up the scurrying bugs until a week ago.  Suddenly, Amelia, has become a vegetarian.  She is not in the least bit interested in the earwigs.

While Nellie continues to peck up the extra protein, Amelia is now content with strawberry tops and whole grain bread.  Did she read an article in the newspaper about the cruelty of earwig hunting or the benefits of a vegetarian diet? 

Amelia, in the back, reading a life altering story in the newspaper.

And then there's my mum's roses.

My mom died 8 yeas ago, and her roses have been pretty much neglected ever since.

Her once lush garden has been in steady decline.  The plants did receive water for many years, but my father no longer wants to pay for water for the garden.

The lawn is brown, the gazanias are barely hanging on around the perimeter of the parkway, and once abundant ferns and cascading baby tears have withered, crisped, flaked and blown away.  

Yet this spring, my mom's roses are more beautiful than since she tended them with her own hand.  They are large, perfect, and velvety. 

I was at my dad's today and I pilfered some of my mom's roses.

How wonderful to it is to have these roses in my house.  It is as though part of my mom is with me. What a calming presence when other things are 
thrown off balance.

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

Solar Monday. No iron Tuesday.

Back before "the pill" and the liberation of women, housekeeping was often done to a set rhythm.

Monday - laundry

Tuesday - ironing

Wednesday - sewing/mending

Thursday - marketing/churning

Friday - cleaning

Saturday - baking

Sunday - rest

  

This schedule was so common place that dishtowels were embroidered with the chores and corresponding day of the week, children learned the days of the week from nursery rhymes from the agenda, and the routine was passed from mother to daughter.  Then things got all shook up....

At one time laundry was the heaviest task of the week and was done when womenfolk were well rested from their Sunday "off".  And for centuries after the clothes were washed (be it by rock, wash board and tub, using a "Home Comfort Hand Washing Machine", or an electric washing machine), the wet laundry was hung in the open air to dry.

Home Comfort Washing Machine
at the Sauer Bechmann Living History Farm
Johnson City, Texas

Hand turned drum washer

Clothes dryers evolved from the late 18th century, with the first electric dryer being sold in 1938. However, the high cost of these new electric clothes dryers prohibited most people from owning one. In 1955 only 10% of households had a clothes dryer.  

After I was married, the money I earned (having gone back to work at a temporary position), was used to buy our first clothes dryer.  I was washing and line drying the cloth diapers of our first child at the time and it was the appliance I most wanted. Then after 43 years, the pendulum swung back in time for me.  There is more to think about than the financial cost these days.  There is the carbon footprint issue and the life style choices. 

 A year and a half ago I made the decision to get rid of our clothes dryer.  It wasn't broken, but my desire to use it had eroded into complete collapse. (Laying it on thick here! But really, I was finished with it.)

For many, many years I have line dried our sheets simply because I love the fresh, clean scent.  But I gradually began line drying other wet laundry.  I found that in the summer, I could line dry as quickly as I could dryer-dry clothes. Before I knew it, I had been exclusively line drying clothes for four seasons.  And I felt good about doing it.

I felt I was being true to my ecological leanings.

I liked the way the clothes smelled and looked. (Cleaner!)

I found that smoothing the wet clothes, when I put them on the line, resulted in an ironed-like look when they were dry.

I used less bleach, as the sun is a natural whitener.

I loved being outdoors.

I liked listening to bird song, instead of dryer din.

And I started looking intently at the space that dryer was occupying in our small house.

The decision to go dryer-less became easier and easier.

The only concern was "What if it rains for a week?"

Living in Southern California, that was unlikely! Plus I am only doing laundry for 2 adults now, so I thought I could get creative or go to the laundromat, if absolutely necessary. 

So away went the Hotpoint, and I have not regretted it once. Nor have I had to go to the laundromat.

Did you know that 19 U.S. states have laws protecting your right to dry clothes by hanging them outside on clotheslines?  If you live in Arizona, California, Colorado, Florida, Hawaii, Illinois, Indiana, Louisiana, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Nevada, New Mexico, North Carolina, Oregon, Texas, Vermont, Virginia or Wisconsin a homeowner's association cannot prohibit the use of a clothesline.  

Exercise your rights!  Get some fresh air!  Save some greenhouse gases!  And feel great about doing it!

Line dry your sheets and fall asleep in good-smell-bliss.

Who knows? Someday you too may decide life is better without a clothes dryer. 

Coming up later in the week: My Champion Bag Co. clothes pin holder.  

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

i've never gotten a tattoo, but i think i must have sucker written across my forehead (Me too!)

posted by jennifer and April

so i did a quick trip to albertson's friday morning.  i had to get one item... ricotta cheese.  
it is not one of my normal shopping stops, but since it is close, it is good for those random forgotten items.  


when i first went in the door, i noticed an advertisement for a game they started.  monopoly. you know those grocery store gimmicks (which by the way, i just looked up in my dictionary circa 1972... and the first definition of gimmick is:  a secret means of controlling a prize wheel, ect.  anything that tricks or mystifies; deceptive or secret device)   telling... very telling.  
now, i had two reactions to this... almost simultaneously.   one being oooh a monopoly game. fun!   and the second being, ugh!  not another scam game.  

(When I walked into my Albertsons, there was this poor guy dressed up like the Monopoly man passing out the game boards.) 

i remember the great albertson game fiasco of 2011... (or 2012... or whenever) when i was so into it.  i would spend so much time obsessing about what stickers i needed to win a hawaiian vacation.  i didn't win anything.  i had 16 duplicate stickers for multiple items, and was one sticker away from winning 10 million dollars... but not even a $5.00 shopping spree was to be had.  I too, was instantly brought back to the last time they did this Collect- these- tiny- coupons- lick- and- stick- ‘em- on- a- game- board- game- waste- hours- hoping- to-win- an- elusive- prize game of 2012… and so when I saw the poor 19 year old kid dressed as a Monopoly man I,  like my sister,  had two very opposite feelings at the exact same time. YeS!!! FUN!!! I’m may win a prize!!! And at the same time… No!!! UrGH!!! Puhlease…I’m no sucker!!!

nevertheless, within 10 feet of walking in the door, i had 3 packages of red vines in my hand. 
you get a bonus ticket for each package.  i excused this for myself by thinking that they would be great for a movie night over the weekend.

I kept right on task- Next to the can of olives I was going to buy was another can...that came with a bonus ticket! I was not swayed. In my head kept running the puhlease!!! I’m no sucker! I picked up the can I would normally buy and congratulated myself for not getting caught up in the sham, racket, flimflam.    

then, when i got to the checkout line, i was thinking, if the checker asks if i am playing the monopoly game, should i tell her no?  it is like the classic angel on one shoulder, devil on the other.   but in this case, one one shoulder is a calm and sensible gentleman shaking his head. 
with the supreme knowledge that nothing will come out of this "game" other than a littering of spare game pieces at the bottom of my purse, and possibly adhesive on the tickets that might make me sick when i lick them.   on the other shoulder is a fun 17 year old.  jumping up and down.   her side ponytail flipping around.   squealing in delight at the prospect of $10,000,000.  or maybe just a hawaiian vacation.


I made it to the check out all proud of myself.  The checker said to the old woman in front of me, “ You earned 5 game tickets” And my pulse quickened! See, I AM a sucker… I just try to keep that in check. But being a sucker can be so much FUN! So, when the old woman said “No, I don’t need those”. I wanted to scream “Give ‘em here!” or at least say politely, “I’ll take them.” But I didn’t. Instead I thought…wow-what a responsible, sane old woman.  I thought that for a moment but I did collect my (1) ticket and on my way out I thought… I like playing games. It’s fun. Darn it. I should have asked that old lady who doesn't play shell games for her tickets. 

so when the checker handed me my 4 tickets i calmly accepted them.  however, i didn't take the game board....not from my checkers line at least.   i was still in the middle of the battle between mr. sensible, and miss fun.  but as i walked towards the exit, i stopped at the last check line before the door.  to grab a game board.



i did however use a wet paper towel to moisten the game pieces. Not me… That toxic glue is delish! Do you remember when we’d go to the post office with mom if she had a bunch of mail like a pile of Christmas cards? and how fun it was to lick the stamps?!

cheers! -Jennifer   XO, April

Loyalty rewards

....funny how a trip down memory lane can be triggered by an unlikely source.

I had a spreading knife in my hand yesterday that I've had and have used for many, many years. Stainless steel, Made in Japan.

And I thought, "Where did I get this useful tool from?"

I am not sure of the answer, but I think I might have got it through Betty Crocker coupon points.

These coupon points were on General Mills products much the same as Box Tops for Education are today.

The more expensive the product, the more points the coupon would be worth.  

I was a Betty Crocker point saver and redeemer for many years.  This was back in the 1970's before home computers, online shopping, Amazon, ebay, and Etsy opened the world of products for consumers to buy with a quick click.  The points I saved could get me discounts on bakeware, flatware, cookware, kitchen tools, dishes, or cookbooks.  But what I liked most was finding unusual, useful items through the Betty Crocker catalog that wouldn't be on the shelves at Gemco, JCPenney's or Service Merchandise.  I stopped saving those little pieces of cardboard points back in the 1980's, although The Betty Crocker Catalog didn't close until December 2006.

Before Betty Crocker points I saved Blue Chip stamps and before that S & H Green Stamps.
Both of these rewards were given as a bonus to shoppers based on the dollar amount of the purchase, i.e., one stamp per 10 cents (wow, my keyboard doesn't even have a cent sign!) or a larger stamp given for dollar amounts.  1 large equaled 10 smalls. You would receive the stamps at the check out counter of supermarkets, department stores, and gas stations that offered the stamp incentive to shop at their store.  The stamps were perforated and gummed.  You would lick, or otherwise moisten them, and stick them into empty books, given out free.   Filled books were exchanged for merchandise at redemption stores.

These reward programs were most popular during the mid-1960's.  This was perfect timing for me, as I used my filled books to "buy" wedding gifts for my many friends, who were getting married at the time.  There was Corning Ware, t.v. trays, glassware, blankets, pot and pans and such to be had, for just a little of my time and spittle. I received a bridal shower gift, myself, of enough stamp books to "purchase" two pieces of luggage for our honeymoon.

The recessions of the 1970's decreased sales of these stamps.  Blue Chip Stamps wisely diversified in 1972 buying the controlling interest in See's Candy Shops and later acquiring 100% interest in See's.  People are still buying chocolate, but Blue Chips Stamps are a thing of the past.  I wonder how many books of stamps Mary got for her candy shops?

S & H Green Stamps was one the the first retail loyalty programs.  Their rewards catalog was the largest publication in the U.S. during the 1960's. Now green points replace green stamps for online purchases.
S & H Green Stamp books can be traded in for greenpoints to this day.  I mention this in case you are at an estate sale and there is a huge stack of filled S & H Green Stamp books...it MIGHT be worth the hassle of converting them, but I doubt it.

Loyalty programs now aim at requiring less customer time and  lower operational costs.  I have a nice collection of "reward" cards.  I punched a hole in the corner of each of them, so I could put them all on a binder ring for organizational purposes. They are more trouble than they are worth. Other than my Armstrong Garden Center bonus, I never see any worthwhile rewards.  I'm close to lightening the weight of my purse by pitching them all...except my Armstrong card, of course.

Nowadays the reward I want to see is a product worth what I pay for it, that doesn't have to be returned for some reason, and that is Made in the USA.  Oh, the free sample at See's is a good reward.  Thank you Blue Chip Stamps for that sweet deal.  I like it much better than licking stamps.

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

Really, what are they thinking?

Sometimes when you are going through weighty times, you are thrown a nugget of lightness that helps to keep the stymies of life at bay.  I got such a plum the other day.

My current serious and difficult challenge is getting my 93 year old, fiercely independent father off the road.  And I don't mean off the road as a cane carrying pedestrian.  I mean, off the road from behind the wheel of his Honda, which is more of a bumper car lately.

Just when I think I'm going to scream at the latest road block in taking the keys away from this man, who use to take the keys away from me, a funny story unfolds right in front of me to lighten my mood.

I was in the Whittier Trader Joe's last week, having stopped there on my way to picking up my dad to take him to an ophthalmologist appointment.  I was next in line to pay for my groceries, standing behind a little old lady.  (From here on out to be referred to as LOL.  Pun intended.)

This LOL had told the cashier she wanted each of her 6 bananas rang up separately.  The cashier dutifully scanned each banana separately, along with all her other items.

LOL got agitated at the clerk at one point, for a reason unclear to the patient Trader Joe's employee and to me, as I watched this drama unfold.

When the groceries were all scanned and bagged, LOL finally makes it clear that she had wanted each and every item PURCHASED separately.

Clerk verified with LOL that she really wanted to pay for each item separately.  Yes, she did.

Clerk cancelled the first transaction and started over again. (I was encouraged to go to a different cashier at this point, but hung around to see what happened.)

Each banana, (housed in its own separate plastic bag), each carton of yogurt, each and every item required a separate transaction---

a swipe of her card, the entering of her pin, the cash back ? prompt, the o.k. the amount, the giving of the individual receipt.

  

.19 banana = receipt

.99 yogurt = receipt

.19 banana = receipt

1.79 sour cream = receipt

2.99 orange juice = receipt

.19 banana = receipt

1.49 tuna = receipt

I would guess she purchased some 25 items.  

The cashier, Dee Dee, remained friendly, albeit confused.  The customer tapped away at the key pad and amassed a stack of receipts.

 As I was driving out of the parking lot, LOL was loading up the trunk of her car with the groceries.  I couldn't help wonder if she purchases every gallon of gasoline separately?  Does she require a separate transaction for each  postage stamp she purchases at the post office?
I don't know what would motivate such a request, but it gave me something else to think about for awhile, and I was grateful for that.
Hmm...and
I wonder if she should be driving?

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

UPS has a New kid on the block

UPS packages are flying in my neighborhood,

but not by drones.

This airborne package, is being transferred from my usual UPS driver's truck, to a drop station.  From that storage pod, final delivery will be made, by bike.  How cool is that?

This is Kenyon.

He is a UPS bike delivery guy.

Using a mountain bike with a custom-made trailer, he pedals through the neighborhood bringing those online purchases, gifts, and such to their final destination....happy customers.

Bicycle delivery an operational effort on UPS's part, with environmental benefits.

UPS says, "Bikes simply make sense at this time of the year."  There is a heavy volume of packages going into residential neighborhoods and using bicycle delivery saves time and fuel.  

UPS figures that during peak season, when 3 bikes are in use it saves 17 gallons of fuel a day, plus $38,000 in vehicle maintenance costs.

Although bike delivery is new to Orange County, California, it has been in use for some years in other places.  Vancouver, Washington and Portland, Salem, Corvallis, Antelope, Eugene, and Medford, Oregon started bike delivery in 2008.  It has been used in New Hampshire, Maine, and Tennessee. 

Like Amazon, FedEx, and Domino's, UPS is considering the use of unmanned drones.  UPS invests heavily in technology, including alternative fuel vehicles.  I am glad they are open to all kinds of strategies in moving packages.  And I hope they continue to recognize that humans are best suited to deliver those packages.  Aren't UPS drivers the friendliest, most efficient delivery people? 

I'll watch for expanded bike delivery.  Sadly, at this time, my neighborhood will go back to truck delivery after the Christmas rush. 

In the meantime, although I miss that distinct UPS truck sound stopping in front of my house, I applaud "Brown's" very visible bike delivery.  I appreciate Kenyon's good-natured, positive attitude, as he is an asset in teaching a greener mindset.  After all, the earth is both green and brown.

t.t.f.n. ~ Carol

Pedaling forward for 22 miles

My daughters and I changed gears for a 30 hour girl's getaway this past weekend.

I was able to embrace things I love:

uninterrupted conversation and laughter with my daughters,

persnickety food choices (healthy, slow, organic)

live music,

down-to-earth people and lifestyles,

&

a bike ride.

I hadn't been on a bike for maybe 30 years until earlier this year when I was in Branson, Missouri, 

celebrating my sister's 60th birthday.  We spent a day at the Dogwood Canyon Nature Park,

where we had access to rental bikes and a beautiful Ozarks bike trail.

It was so much fun to be on a bike again.

I've wanted to recreate that riding experience since being back at home.

Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride.
John F. Kennedy

When planning this mother-daughter trip, the #1 activity I was drawn to was to rent bicycles, 

and ride from Ojai to the beach.  The Ojai Valley Trail, a converted rail line where trains once 

hauled oranges, links Ojai to Ventura.  It sounded ideal.

My biking venture started before we even got to the trail, however.

We rented bikes (The Mob Shop) and were "test" riding them in the parking lot of the bike shop.

And although the old saying, "Once you learn how to ride a bike, you never forget." is probably

true, it should have an asterisk* adding something about the braking system.

I started off test driving "my" bike, but soon found myself heading down a drive way, heading 

toward the busy highway--Ojai Ave.  My feet applied the brakes.  There was no resistance.  I tried again,

and still gliding forward, I tried a third time.  (About this time I must have grazed a tree branch, as my older daughter told my younger daughter, "Mom, just ran into a tree."  I don't remember a tree encounter. I just heard about it.)

My mind finally put this all together and screamed, "This bike doesn't have any brakes...jump off!"

Which is what I did....jumped off the bike seat and got my feet onto the ground.

A bit shaken, I walked the bike back to the entrance of the store.

During this short 20 foot walk, the whole matter popped into focus....
this bike had hand brakes!
(I know. I should have noticed the levers and cables, but if I did, it just didn't sink in.)

Learn to ride a bicycle. You will not regret it if you live.
Mark Twain


I had never, ever, in my 66 years, ridden a bicycle with hand brakes.  (The Branson bikes had coaster brakes.)
Could this old dog learn this new trick and learn it fast?
Having broken my wrist years ago, I am cautious when it comes to any activity that might result in my
bones being pitched into the ground.
BUT,
it was very important to me to go bike riding and so I rode around the parking lot, gently squeezing those hand brakes.  I was definitely out of my comfort zone.  I was uncomfortable both confidence-wise and physically. (My small hands just barely reached the spread between the handle bar and the brake lever.)
After 10 minutes practice, we were off, heading down city streets to reach the trail.  I kept reminding myself,
"hands to stop, hands to stop".

It is downhill from Ojai with a steady climb return trip.
Downhill the wind whipped my hair and invigorated my spirit.
Uphill my legs muscles turned to jelly.
My heart pounded at each steep rise.
Push, push, push those pedals.  Just breathe, I reminded myself.

We had the aspiration to ride to the ocean, but we wisely turned around 11 miles down the trail at Foster Park.  The trail was good and I managed the brakes without incident--well, maybe just one tiny bump that resulted in a splinter in my hand.  We rode for 3 1/2 hours.  My legs were aching, but I didn't care.
I had gone on a fun ride.

Life is like a bicycle.
In order to keep your balance,
you must keep moving.
 Albert Einstein