RECIPES BEST FORGOTTEN

Celery seed. It just occurred to me I don’t have any celery seed.
Maybe that’s a good thing.
My mother-in-law made stews even in summer—beefy concoctions with chunks of potatoes, parsnips and turnips. She peeled carrots and sliced them into the pot along with onion and celery. It was a hot, time-consuming job. them
At lunch (the big meal of the day) she served big plates of the stew with sliced bread, butter and homemade jam. For dessert, there was always a bowl of canned plums and a sugar cookie or two.
I tried to make stew like Mom Harvey did. I used beef cubes and frozen stew veggies—they were already cut up. And I used celery seed instead of celery. My stew was okay, but I don’t imagine any of my kids will brag about it.
The sacrifice was missing.
And the pride in doing something well.
The kids we older parents foster are from a gas-and-go generation. A single-serve microwavable world measured in gigabytes and milliseconds.
Their parents are, too.
That’s where we come in. We remember waiting for the TV to warm up before the picture came on. We remember when, if you wanted mashed potatoes, you had to mash them yourself—after you peeled and boiled them. When you bragged to the neighbors that you mowed your lawn in perfect diagonal lines. We remember when summer was a time for kids to play and get bored and secretly wish for school to start.
I decided to teach my foster children the value of taking pride in hard work. We made homemade cinnamon rolls.
It was fun at first. We sifted flour and heated milk and yeast and butter and sugar. We stirred it together and waited for it to form dough.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have put in that extra half-cup of milk,” one said.
“Aw, that didn’t make any difference. I saw you do it and I dumped a little more flour in to make up for it.” The other child held up his dough encased hands. “But I’ll bet this would go faster if we put the dough in the blender to mix.”
“You’re not mixing,” I told them. “You’re kneading.”
“Needing what?”
“I put in extra salt. So that isn’t the problem.” The sweet faced nine year old grinned.
“No,” said the other child. “And we don’t need any more yeast. I dumped in all three bags.”
“You put in three bags of yeast?” I asked.
“Yeah. It said fast-rising, but I waited a whole minute and nothing happened. So I put it all in.”
I took the bowl and covered it with a clean dry dish towel. “Let’s just let it rest.”
“Already?” said the oldest. “I’m not tired yet.”
“Imagine that,” I said.
After five minutes, the kids were elbow-deep in dough again.
“Didn’t I tell you to let the dough rest,” I asked them.
“It was bored,” said the little red head.
“Dough doesn’t get bored.”
“You said it got tired,” he replied.
“I never said the dough was tired.”
“Well, you said it had to rest.”
“Go out and play.” I told them, covering the bowl again.
“Play what?”
“In the street,” I mumbled. Go play in the street.”
But after a quick nap, I felt better and I called them back in. We flattened the dough out, covered it with sugar and cinnamon and rolled it up again. We sliced it and put it in pans, and we baked it.
It made 144 cinnamon rolls—lead-heavy and chewy as an old tire. We gave cinnamon rolls to the pastor, to the neighbors and to the boys’ Sunday school teachers, none of which spoke to us for a month afterward.
I suppose one should choose his projects (and his battles) with care. I guess we often remember the Good Old Days as being brighter than they were.
At any rate, here is a perfectly acceptable alternative for homemade rolls. Make them in disposable pans and share them with everyone.

Four tins of biscuits ( they often come four to a package)
Margarine
Sugar
Cinnamon
Butterscotch pudding mix
Walnuts, pecans, peanuts—whatever suits you

Melt the margarine in a bowl. Meanwhile, open the biscuit tins and separate the biscuits. Fill a large flat bowl with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar. Make the biscuits into balls and roll them in the margarine, then in the cinnamon-sugar. Put them in a cake pan
( bundt pans work best) starting at the edges and working in. Leave a circle in the center empty. When you have three rows, sprinkle on some of the pudding mix and a few nuts and repeat with another layer. When you have used all the biscuits, pour some of the left-over margarine on the top and sprinkle with remaining sugar mixture. Bake at 350 degrees until the roll tops are brown and the middles are set. ( about thirty minutes)
Place a plate over the pan and invert it. The rolls will pull apart in single servings. THIS IS VIRTUALLY NO FAIL. KIDS WILL LOVE THEM.

HAPPY FATHERS' DAY

Sunday was Fathers' Day. The pastor asked all the fathers to line up across the front of the sanctuary. Then he asked everyone whose father was in front to come stand with him. Charlie (my husband, you know) was surrounded by children--kids and grandkids and fosters. He glowed.
On Mothers' Day, we did the same thing. But they gave out cool gifts--book marks and seedlings in Styrofoam cups and pens. I don't klnow many mothers with the time to read, and the seedlings always depress me by dying on Monday and the pens never do work. But dads get cookies. Chocolate cookies.
After church, we all went out for dinner. There were fifteen of us at the table. We weren't all there, but we had enough for a quorum.
Then, we went to the lake cabin for a few hours. Charlie and I sat on the deck and patted a fussy baby while her teen aged mommy got to be a kid for a while. Our two boys ( adopted a month ago) and the 16 year old girl splashed and screamed and ran through the waves.
Charlie and I were content( yes, thats the exact word: content) to watch and sink back into the chair cushions in the sand-scented air.
On the way home, we stopped for burgers. It was dark when we pulled into the driveway at our house. The boys asked to go downstairs and watch some TV, but the 16 year old wanted to call her father to wish him a happy Fathers' Day. We heard her as we sat in the dark on our deck.
"Is Dad there?" she asked.
"Is he drunk again?"
"Yes?"
It was quiet except for the strange whirring noise made by some little owls nesting in our Catalpa tree. Finally, the 16 year old joined us on the deck.
"We're sorry," we told her.
"It's okay," she said. "He always gets drunk on Fathers Day."
Charlie is a great dad. I think the kids see Jesus in him. He is sometimes quick-tempered and over-reacts, but the kids know he loves them. And he is always there for them.
He doesn't see that, he feels inadequate--run down--worn out. He feels old--like he is shortchanging the boys we just adopted. Like he is too impatient to foster the young mother with the unhappy baby. But kids see that dads can blow up and still be loving. They can grouch and still joke.
Not all kids have great dads. Some don't even have mediocre dads. Some, like our foster kids, have a dad like Charlie only for a while. That's too bad. The world could use more dads--more foster dads--like Charlie.

A BLAST FROM THE PAST

A WORD FROM THE BEYONDER QUEEN

THIS COURTHOUSE IN OUR LITTLE TOWN HAS AGED MUCH MORE GRACEFULLY THAN I. IT GOT ME THINKING.....

OKAY, SO SOMETIMES IT'S UNCOMFORTABLE BEING AN OLDER PARENT. I HAVE TO ADMIT GETTING OLD IS THE PITS. I CAN'T WAVE AT PEOPLE. IT'S DANGEROUS. THE FLAP OF SKIN UNDER MY ARMS IS APT TO FLY UP AND POP ME IN THE FACE. AND IF IT MISSES MY FACE, THERE ARE OTHER PLACES IT CAN HIT THAT ARE SENSITIVE TOO. AND, IF IT DOESN'T HIT ANYWHERE, THE CONSTANT MOTION STILL WEARS ME OUT. MY WORST NIGHTMARE IS BEING NAMED GRAND MARSHALL OF OUR LITTLE TOWN'S FAIR PARADE--HAVING TO SIT ON THE BACK OF A CONVERTIBLE AND WAVE TO THE CROWD. I'D BE BLACK AND BLUE FOR A MONTH.

I'M AFRAID MY YOUNGEST KIDS WILL GET EMBARRASSED WHEN THEIR FRIENDS ASK WHO I AM.
I JUST COLORED MY HAIR TODAY--TO GET OUT THE GRAY. GRAY HAIR MAKES YOU LOOK OLD, I THINK. STILL, NO MERE DYE JOB WILL ERASE THIRTY YEARS FROM MY FACE. MY GRANDDAUGHTER TOLD ME SHE WISHED I WEREN'T OLD.
"BUT YOU'RE NOT AS OLD AS AUNT GRACE," SHE SAID.

YOU SHOULD KNOW---AUNT GRACE IS DEAD.

BUT JUST WHEN I GET TO FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF, SOMETHING SNAPS ME BACK TO REALITY. TONIGHT, IT WAS THE CAR SHOW AT THE PARK. DANDELION DAZE, THEY CALL IT. AND THERE WAS A DJ PLAYING SIXTIES SONGS.
"CALIFORNIA GIRLS" AND "HANG ON SLOOPY." "LITTLE DEUCE COUPE" AND "HELP ME RHONDA."
SONGS THAT MADE MY HIPS SWING AND MY FEET MOVE. SONGS TO GROOVE TO.

I WAS A TEEN ONCE--WITH ACNE AND BRACES. I WORRIED ABOUT GETTING A DATE TO THE HOMECOMING DANCE AND WHETHER I LOOKED LIKE A DWEEB IN MY NEW MINISKIRT. I SPENT HOURS ASSESSING MY THUNDER THIGHS. I WONDERED ABOUT MARIJUANA AND LSD AND PREMARITAL SEX. I HATED MY PARENTS BECAUSE I WANTED TO GROW UP BUT I WAS AFRAID I COULDN'T MAKE IT WITHOUT THEM. AND I KNEW THAT EVENTUALLY THEY WOULD DIE AND LEAVE ME ALONE.

BUT I'M NOT ALONE. I HAVE A MATE OF 37 YEARS WHO LOVES THE BEACH BOYS JUST AS MUCH AS I DO. I DON'T HAVE ACNE ANY MORE. NOW I USE WRINKLE CREAM. ( BY THE WAY, IF BOOMERS ARE MAKING AS MUCH OF AN IMPACT ON SOCIETY AS THEY SAY WE ARE, WHY DOESN'T SOMEONE INVENT CREAM THAT WILL PUT WRINKLES IN WHILE YOU SLEEP?) I DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE RUBBER BANDS ON MY BRACES POPPING OUT ANY MORE. NOW IT'S MY TEETH THAT POP OUT. I KNOW NOW THAT SPIKED HAIR AND PIERCED NOSES ARE JUST FADS AND DON'T MIRROR THE SOUL ANY MORE THAT MY ORANGE FISHNET STOCKINGS MADE ME A LOVE GODDESS.
I HAVE STUDIED THE EFFECT THAT MARIJUANA HAS ON THE BODY AND MUCH PREFER DARK CHOCOLATE. I NEVER DID LSD. AND PREMARITAL SEX? THAT'S WHERE MANY OF OUR FOSTER KIDS CAME FROM.

I WEATHERED THOSE AND ALL THE YEARS IN BETWEEN THEN AND NOW. I SURVIVED, AND I AM IN PRETTY GOOD SHAPE, IF YOU DON'T COUNT THE BULGES WHERE MY PANTY LINE SQUEEZES MY THIGHS. I KNOW STUFF. STUFF THAT IS VALUABLE TO KIDS AND TO YOUNG PARENTS WHO WATCH THE WAY I HANDLE SMALL EMERGENCIES AND BIG DRAMAS. AND EVERYBODY DIES. SOMEDAY.
BUT FOR NOW, I HAVE A LOT TO LIVE FOR. I AM A LEGITIMATE ANTIQUE. AND AN ODDITY. I HAVE KIDS YOUNGER THAN MY CHILDREN DO.
SO, I THINK--WHILE MY HAIR IS DRYING--I WILL LISTEN TO SOME MORE TUNES AND PLAY A LITTLE DONKEY KONG. REMEMBER? CLICK ON THE WORDS, AND JOIN ME.

DONKEY KONG

REPAIRING MY REMEMBERER

I AM RECOVERING FROM A WEDDING. WE HAD THE WING-DING SATURDAY, AND I'M TIRED. I DON'T REMEMBER BEING THIS TIRED AFTER THE LAST DAUGHTER'S WEDDING AND I KNOW WHY THIS ONE IS AFFECTING ME DIFFERENTLY. IT ISN'T THAT I AM OLDER, THOUGH I AM. IT ISN'T EVEN THAT THIS WAS THE LAST DAUGHTER'S WEDDING. I HAVE TWO SONS AND MORE GRANDDAUGHTERS THAN I CAN RECALL RIGHT NOW. THEY ALL WILL PROBABLY HAVE WEDDINGS.
NO, THE PROBLEM IS THAT I HAD TOO MUCH HELP WITH THIS ONE. TOO MANY UNANSWERED QUESTIONS. TOO MUCH UNCERTAINTY. THAT TIRES ME OUT.
THE SAME IS TRUE OF MY FOSTER PARENTING. OF COURSE, ANYONE WHO DEALS WITH KIDS KNOWS THAT YOU CAN NEVER ANTICIPATE EVERYTHING, AND BEING SPONTANEOUS IS IMPORTANT TO STAY YOUNG. BUT CONTROL IS IMPORTANT TO STAY SANE.
THE GROOM'S SIDE OF THE FAMILY WANTED TO HELP WITH THE RECEPTION AND I HAD NO CONTROL OVER WHEN AND HOW THE FOOD WOULD GET TO THE PARK WHERE THE RECEPTION WAS HELD. THE WEATHER WAS "IFFY" AND I DIDN'T FEEL I COULD MAKE THE DECISION TO MOVE THE PARTY TO THE CHURCH.
I NEED CONTROL!!!!!!
I'VE LEARNED, WITH MY FOSTER KIDS, TO THINK THROUGH THE MAJOR ISSUES OF SITUATIONS BEFORE I FACE THEM. I ANTICIPATE THE UNEXPECTED MIGHT HAPPEN AND PREPARE FOR THE EVENTUALITY. I MAKE LISTS SO I WON'T FORGET THINGS AND I PUT THE LISTS IN PLAIN SIGHT. ( I ONCE PUT SOME RENEWAL PRESCRIPTIONS AWAY IN A CABINET SO I WOULDN'T LOSE THEM AND DIDN'T FIND THEM UNTIL THE LAST PILL WAS GIVEN. ) I KEEP IBUPROFIN IN MY PURSE ALONG WITH TUMS, ETC.
I GUESS WHAT I'M SAYING IS THAT I COMPENSATE FOR DIMINISHED STAMINA AND MEMORY ( AND ARTHRITIS) BY PLANNING AHEAD. I SAW THIS ARTICLE ( AUTHOR UNNAMED) THAT DESCIRBES-IN A NUTSHELL--MY PREDICAMENT AS AN OLDER PARENT. I'LL BET YOU CAN IDENTIFY WITH IT!
I decided to wash my car. As I start toward the garage, I notice that there is mail on the hall table. I decide to go through the mail before I wash the car. I lay my car keys down on the table, put the junk mail in the trash can under the table, and notice that the trash can is full.So I decide to put the bills back on the table and take out the trash first. But then I think, since I'm going to be near the mailbox when I take out the trash anyway, I may as well pay the bills first.
I take out my checkbook that is on the table, and see that there is only one check left. My extra checks are in my desk in the den, so I go to my desk where I find the bottle of soda that I had been drinking.I'm going to look for my checks, but first I need to push the soda aside so that I don't accidentally knock it over.
I see that the soda is getting warm, and I decide I should put it in the refrigerator to keep it cold. As I head toward the kitchen with the soda, a vase of flowers on the counter catches my eye--they need to be watered. I set the soda down on the counter, and I discover my reading glasses that I've been searching for all morning.
I decide I better put them back on my desk, but first I'm going to water the flowers. I set the glasses back down onthe counter, fill a container with water and suddenly I spot the TV remote. Someone left it on the kitchen table.I realize that tonight when we go to watch TV, we will be looking for the remote, but nobody will remember that it's on the kitchen table, so I decide to put it back in the den where it belongs, but first I'll water the flowers. I splash some water on the flowers, but most of it spills on the floor. So, I set the remote back down on the table, get some towels and wipe up the spill.Then I head down the hall trying to remember what I was planning to do. At the end of the day, the car isn't washed, the bills aren't paid, there is a warm bottle of soda sitting on the counter, the flowers aren't watered, there is still only one check in my checkbook, I can't find the remote, I can't find my glasses, and I don't remember what I did with the car keys.Then when I try to figure out why nothing got done today,I'm really baffled because I know I was busy all day long, and I'm really tired. I realize this is a serious problem, and I'll try to get some help for it, but first I'll check my e-mail.

SOUND LIKE YOU?? MAYBE NOT, BUT--REST ASURED--IT IS ME TO A TEE. ANYWAY, I GOT THIS TIDBIT FROM A GREAT SITE FOR OLDER PARENTS--http://www.getorganizednow.com

LOTS OF TIPS ON ORGANIZATION FOR KEEPING UP A HOUSE, REMOVING STAINS, ETC.
I AM GOING TO END FOR TODAY--I NEED TO FIND A LIST I MADE OF THINGS I WAS GOING TO ACCOMPLISH YESTERDAY.

Too Pooped To Parent?

It happened again.
The eight-year-old wanted to go on the roller coaster one more time. I didn't.
I knew, if I did, my insides would slip past my partial bridge and slide right onto my lap.
I knew that my knees would buckle as I crawled out of that snug little coaster car and I would crumple to the rails underneath.
So there he stood--huge brown eyes just beginning to swim in tears.
What else could I do? I crawled onto the ride. 90 seconds later, when I got off, my knees didn't buckle. They'd been bolstered by my large intestine, which had somehow twisted itself around my left leg.
"Did you and Grandma have fun?" the ride operator asked.
Fun. Yes, at 9:00 that morning, I had been having fun. Silver Dollar City, in Branson Missouri, is a great place. Full of steep hills. And heat. And humidity. Five rides after the coaster, I was beginning to fade.
See, kids' bodies come equipped with stamina as standard equipment.
Thirty-year-olds get it as an option--provided they're willing to spend the extra time in the gym it takes.
For fifty-somethings, stamina is a pleasant surprise--capricious in its comings and goings.
I go to the fitness center. And--for my age-- I do all right. I don't even need a fan on me--the flapping of the skin under my arms generates quite a nice breeze.
But being the fifty-seven year old parent of a young child is a challenge.
Getting enough sleep helps. When we get older, that can be hard. Nature beckons at 2:00 am and we trudge to the bathroom, then get a drink on the way back. How crazy is that? But we can train our bodies to sleep. First, we need to remember that the bedroom is a place to sleep, not watch TV or play ( with one exception.) We need to condition our minds to that: Bedroom = sleep. Second, avoid drinking anything two hours or less before retiring. Remember: A toddy at ten brings a tinkle at two. Third, keep your bedroom cool--no more than 68 degrees. Fourth, keep your bedroom dark. And if you absolutely cannot sleep, get up. Watch a boring TV show. Play solitaire--alone. There are more tips on my website http://www.lifeplusone.net
Using mentors is a great way to let your child be active without killing yourself in the process. We get our kids ( foster and adopted) involved in all kinds of activities--school clubs, summer rec, cheer leading, pee-wee wrestling, scouts, almost anything they're interested in. And each activity has adult leaders. Translate: MENTORS. We try to give a little something extra to the group--financial support, providing snacks, offering to mail out schedules--and the leaders take a greater interest in our kids. It's a win-win thing.
Keeping up with your meds, diet and exercise. Do NOT sacrifice taking the time to check your blood sugar or swallow your medications. Don't be tempted to think your body will thrive on the same diet your nine-year-old eats. Hot dogs are not fiber. AND a day without fiber is like a day without --well, you get the idea.
There are more ideas on the web site.
But, I was telling you about my vacation--sort of.
We just got back from Missouri. Branson is the greatest vacation spot in the world for families. It has just about every activity under the sun, for adults and kids, and it costs a lot less than Disneyworld.
There are miniature golf courses and go-carts, amusement parks and hiking. Para-sailing and boating is available at scads of marinas. Then, there are comedy and music shows--most tailored to hold the interest of all age groups.
There is a new attraction: The Titanic Museum. You buy your ticket to the huge ship-shaped building and get a boarding pass with the name of a Titanic passenger. At the end of the tour, you find out whether your passenger lived or died. Cool. huh?
There is shopping and ice cream stands and antique-looking cars to rent to drive the winding streets. There is a fish hatchery to tour ( for free) and the mansion of a famous nineteenth century artist ( Rose O'Neil, the woman who originated the Cupie Doll) to explore.
Branson is probably my favorite place in the world.
So, back to my roller coaster ride.
I climbed off and tried to get to the exit without looking like a doddering old woman having a stroke. I wanted desperately to look cool. It helped that my eight-year-old adopted son is big. He pulled me up the wooden walkway.
As I made my way through the crowd exiting the ride, I saw a lot of young people with forced, blue-lipped grins on green faces. Motion sickness. They were sauntering, best as they could on wobbly legs, vowing to ride again. Bravado, that's what it was. Silly. That's one thing I have found out as an older parent--I don't have to prove anything to anyone. But I want to--desperately. I don't want to shortchange my kids. Sure, I know there are lots of things I can give them that a younger parent couldn't. Yes, I understand that --at the very least--I have given my adopted kids a forever home. But I don't want them to be ashamed of having an older parent.
"Did you and Grandma have a good time?" the ride attendant asked.
"She's not my grandma," my eight-year-old said. "She's my mom."
I felt the hot tears welling as I gave him a squeeze. Then, I grabbed one of those green-faced, grinning kids getting off the coaster after a solo ride and asked,
"Will you go on the ride one more time with my child? I would go with him, but I want to take pictures from the observation deck. "