Square-Peg People

Black-Eyed Pancakes

 

 

Slightly-British Daughter had a birthday recently. She seems to do that every year.

In our little family the birthday person gets to choose whatever they want for their birthday dinner. Lucky S-BD got to pick two dinners this year because we planned to celebrate on her actual birthday and then again, with more folks, at a later date.

For her bigger dinner she wanted lasagna, but for her actual-day dinner she (incomprehensibly) chose pancakes. Yes, pancakes.

My nerves were fuckin' frayed a little off that day due to a faulty smoke/fire alarm (since replaced) that kept screeching, despite the fact that there was no smoke or fire to be seen.

There was a LOT of sniffing for smoke and checking for flames going on - and there was also other, ongoing stuff (some people call this other stuff "Life") messing with my nerves - so I was, as I mentioned above, a bit less than in-the-flow.

So, with my nerves a little off I began to make pancakes. Not your everyday pancakes, either.

These were exceptional - I've made them a number of times before, but only on really special occasions because they take forever (warmed cream cheese, egg whites and yolks separated, whites whipped to a just-so-ness, exact measuring and precise times for adding this and that - so different from my usual never-the-same-thing-twice type of cooking).

And I failed. Dismally. I made black-eyed pancakes. The whole batch.

I kept trying - and thinking things like: "Once the heat evens out in the pan they'll turn out just right.", "This next batch will sing!", and other upwardly hopeful thoughts.

But they were all - down to the last pancake - blackened. Sigh.

I wanted to make that b.d. celebration special. I wanted to fling those pancakes effortlessly - perfectly - flowishly. But, obviously, that didn't happen.

I'd like to tell you that I consciously chose to turn away from crankiness and frustrated anger at my failure. But that didn't happen either.

What happened was: I came to the party.

Slightly-British Daughter - who was wearing a bright pink sash with Birthday Girl written on it in silver glitter - got laughing. She claimed it wasn't a big deal that her birthday pancakes were black (she even courageously tasted one and declared it damn good).

Manchild got laughing. And then (even with all the work involved in making that messy mass of black-eyed pancakes) I got laughing.

I think laughter (maybe especially laughter!) creates an openness. A little bit of wiggle room for our perspective to change position.

I wound up laughing and all of a sudden I was at a party - a birthday celebration - frayed nerves disappeared and my pancake-fail didn't matter much.

Cool, huh?

Would you like me to cater your next event (grin)?

Square-Peg Celebrations: Return of the Valentine Man

 

This is a riff on a post from long ago.

My family is odd. Wait! Let me rephrase that (although what I said is quite true): My family celebrates (and makes up) holidays in odd ways.

There's Wumpledinger's Day...nah, I won't go into that now - except to say that it's celebrated at the end of May. Let's just skip to the February 14th celebration, Valentine's Day.

Let me tell you about my family's history with The Valentine's Man...

When my brother and I were young we were visited each February 14th by The Valentine's Man. At some point during the evening there would be a knock at the front door, my brother and I would dash to the door and we would find 2 boxes of candy - one for each of us - right outside. Just candy! There was no one around, no one in sight. Who knocked?

We were told that the candy (and the knock) came from The Valentine's Man, but we weren't exactly sold on the story. "What'd The Valentine's Man bring you?" wasn't a question you heard bandied about at recess.

Our suspicions mounted as we got older, and so for years my brother and I would keep our eyes glued to both our parents starting somewhere around evening on February 13th. But neither of them was ever near the door when that knock came.

When I was considering whether to introduce my own kids to this goofball Valentine's Day tradition I asked my mother who The Valentine's Man had been when I was a kid - who did the knocking and running.

She couldn't remember. At least 10 years of establishing and maintaining this yearly subterfuge and she could not remember who played the role of door knocker/candy giver. Seriously!?!

I've asked her a number of different times now - through the years - hoping that the memory would resurface sometime, but no go.

I still wonder who it was and how whoever-it-was got away so fast.

I've ruled my paternal grandmother out. She lived across the street, but she was round. I can't see her knocking and then disappearing that quickly.

Besides, even though she could be funny (she taught me cool camp songs with words like "fart" in them - and some song I wish I knew the rest of the words to, because all I remember is: "...the baby pooped in the noodle soup and I ne'er went there no more.") I can't imagine her thinking the whole knock-and-run thing worth the effort. So who?

We may never know!

Even without knowledge of how my parents worked The Valentine's Man trickery I decided to continue the tradition. We had The Valentine's Man make visits when my (now adult) daughters were little. And when my (now early 20's) son was little, and again when my granddaughter lived here for a few years.

The story I remember telling my daughters and granddaughter was that The Valentine's Man is a guy in tights. Cupid, the pink tights, the arrow. Bringing candy for sweet children. It's cold in February, of course he's in a hurry!

The story changed a wee bit when my son was young. He claims that I told him The Valentine's Man was in a big hurry because he was naked. I blame Perimenopause for this.

My kids got suspicious (like my brother and I had). They weren't exactly sold on the story - and began watching their father and I closely starting early evening February 13th each year.

Luckily their uncle was the one who often did the knock and run. He's lean and fast.

The year my granddaughter was 4 my son quietly planted the goodies in the front entryway an hour or so before the official knock.

When it seemed about time for The Valentine's Man to visit I diverted my granddaughter's attention by pointing to something in another room, and - while her eyes were averted -  I reached around behind me and rapped hard on the door.

Her head spun around - her eyes got wide. We raced for the door, and sure enough - there were a couple packages and no one in sight.

After examining her goodies, she kept grilling me: "You didn't knock?" (she's a bright one) "For real?". I kept lying.

I have no idea why I continued this tradition. Valentine's Day seems a simple enough holiday - what possessed my parents, and then me, to drag The Valentine's Man (and lying) into it?

I only hope that years from now - if anyone asks - I'll remember how we did it. And I guess I wouldn't mind seeing the tradition continue, but I'm glad that there's no lying involved in Wumpledinger's Day (well, except for the tiny falsehood that got the holiday started...).

No Comparison

 

 

Slightly-British Daughter, Manchild and I were driving home from one of the local, annual holiday events we like to attend.

We decided to spin past a couple houses whose owners have been known to go hog-wild with holiday decorating (so much so that police are needed to direct traffic on some nights - in suburbia!) before it would be impossible to get near them.

 

Being early in the season, there weren't many other cars driving past the houses when we got there (luckily!). We drove by agape - (as in gaping - staring - open-mouthed, not agape in the theological sense - just sayin').

The picture above (from Manchild's iPod Touch as we rolled past) doesn't capture the hog-wildness of the light show that was this house. You can't even see half the lighted characters, or the roof. Actually, I don't think any photo could express the !holyshit! feeling you get seeing this particular house live, but it gives you some idea (I hope).

The entire lawn was filled with lighted ornaments, every surface of the house was covered with lights - every inch of the roof. No space left undecorated!!

You might figure that anyone's first thoughts, while gazing at the !holyshit! house of lights, would either run to Santa, visions of sugar plums and toys or to fear for the environment and questions about conspicuous consumption. Not necessarily so!

When, later that evening, SBD and I talked about our experience of the house we surprised each other. We each said our first thought had been: "If you lived nearby how could you possibly decorate? What could you do?" Everything and anything would seem like an afterthought.

And that's where the next picture comes in.

As we drove along (agape, as I've noted) we encountered the next house. It took a few seconds for our eyes and minds to be able take in anything else - I think we were well past the second house before we realized what we'd seen.

Maybe the homeowner next door to the hog-wild light show battled with the comparison monster, maybe she wondered how to decorate, or whether (being next door to the !holyshit! house of lights) anyone would even notice her efforts at all. Or not...

we'll never know. What we do know is: Wisdom took the day.

With (we can assume) a touch of grace (and LOVE), and definitely with a sense of humor - she merely pointed.

This brought up a lot of things for me to ponder (like noticing more how I allow comparison to get in my way & a zillion connected thoughts),

but mostly it made me aware that often the appropriate response to something that makes me stare agape - with delight and wonder - is to point.

And it made me want to point to a couple incredible wonders - my internet neighbors (whose delightful offerings don't, even remotely, cause you to worry about the environment):

Kylie Bellard, at Effervescence, shares the most heart-opening personal stories in The Itty-Bitty Adventure Club. Each time I read one of these stories I feel braver (and I find myself wishing Kylie lived in my actual neighborhood so I could go give her a big hug). Isn't Adventure Mouse ADORABLE??

And Andrea Lewicki, at Findable You, who gave my heart a huge hug when I opened my snail mail one day and found an origami crane, a note proclaiming: YOU ARE WORTHY OF YOUR OWN UNDIVIDED ATTENTION, and the invitation to: "Spend 5 minutes in undivided attention."

Andrea is sending these cranes around the world - asking that the receivers spend that 5 minutes of undivided attention and then send them on to another person. You may still be able to get one, no cost, through a request form at the link above.

Check out my neighbors - your heart will thank you!

 

Photos from Harry Caterson

A Few Things I've Learned Over the Holidays

 

1) Champagne, when combined with a spoonful of homemade cranberry sauce (the lumpy kind) makes something akin to a lava lamp. True! Very fun to watch!!

The way I came to learn this little holiday lesson was - Slightly-British Daughter and I were having one of our holiday movie & champagne nights.

I went hunting through the fridge and cupboards for cranberry juice to mix with my champagne because - well, because that's the way I like my champagne - mixed with cranberry juice.

This custom started years ago when, during a visit to Longwood Gardens, I had a memorable cranberry-peppermint-champagne drink with my meal, got just a leettle tipsy and found myself waxing eloquent on how light affects my art work.

While it's true that I'm not an artist - and therefore have no work for the light to affect, it's also true that I had, at most, 2 drinks that evening. I think part of the continuing allure of the champagne-cranberry drink (besides the yummy taste) is my desire to see if my artist-self will visit again. She was a hoot!

Anyway, the night that SBD and I were to watch our holiday movie and drink champagne I hunted and hunted, but there was no cranberry juice to be found.

Desperate Ever inventive, I decided to toss a spoonful of cranberry sauce into my champagne to see if that might taste at least a little like adding cranberry juice - it did!

Plus, watching the little cranberry glumps slide up to the top and down again (backlit by the Christmas tree lights) provided a bit of entertainment!!

2) I love resting and doing nothing afterwards.

A. I'm quite good at this!

B. On the internets the saying: "How beautiful to do nothing and rest afterwards." is purported to be a Spanish proverb (I thought it was an Oscar Wilde quote).

C. Dropping routine (even for the short holiday season time) makes it easy to forget self-care tools. Oy!

3) I love Hemingway! Somehow I forgot this (might be due to not touching any of his books for YEARS!).

I've been reading a lot during my periods of doing nothing and resting afterwards - and one of the things I picked off my library shelves to reread was The Sun Also Rises - it's reminding me how much (and why) I am (still) in love with Papa Hemingway's way with words!

4) I am not a gym rat. Note the picture below, taken just prior to leaving for the gym. Manchild is confident, silly and exuberant - I am skeptical, disgruntled and overdressed (explanation below). I think I had a pretty good idea of what was to come.

Maybe I was feeling lazy (all that resting and doing nothing afterwards will do that to a person) - but really, who knows what led me to such insanity: I considered going to the gym with Manchild.

Wait, there's more! I actually considered joining the gym. I'm grateful that, in some small way, wisdom prevailed and I considered using Manchild's guest pass for a week to see whether I was up to the gym before actually signing anything.

I hated PE as a kid, used to hide from gym classes when I could, feign sickness when I couldn't hide, mysteriously lose my gym suit, etc. (you get the idea).

Well, I went. I elliptical-ed (kinda liked that) and used a couple different rowing machines. Learned that...

A. It's not wise to over-dress for the gym. I'm not talking wearing black tie apparel, even I knew better than that!

What I mean is, it's not bright to wear too many clothes. The gym is warm. I wore silk long underwear (top and bottom), a long-sleeved t-shirt, scarf, hooded sweatshirt, sweat pants and thick socks as well as my coat.

I did take the coat off, but didn't want to make a spectacle of myself peeling off layers (it's amazing how easily I can get knotted in my clothes - arms stuck overhead - or even losing my balance and near toppling, so I thought it best not to risk unlayering...)

Damn, it's hot in the gym.

I hated the gym. Turns out some things never change.

I probably learned even more, but right now I'm feeling a wee bit sleepy - it's probably time for another rest.

Holiday Reads

Books make great presents, great company, great insulation (if you can get enough of them to stack against your walls) - especially during the holidays. Wait! IS there any one special time for books? Books are great ALL the time, right?

Well, holiday books are probably great-est during the holidays - so, since it's that time again here are links to 3 Square-Peg posts that have mini-reviews of favorite holiday books.

There's the holiday humor books post, Holiday Book List (so brilliantly titled, right?).

And the aptly named post Favorite Holiday Books for Kids, and

then there's Oh Hell, it's the Holy Holly Holiday Reading List - books wrapped around the spiritual (because why wouldn't I write a Scrooge-sounding post title, with the word "hell" in it, when I'm sharing my favorite spiritual holiday books - huh?).

I hope that, in one of the posts, you'll find a book title that you can't wait to read (or one you loved but forgot) - and I'm also hoping that you'll add to the lists by naming your favorites in the comment sections.

Happy Reading!

 

Gratitude for Limes; Joy for the Tone-Deaf

Today I'm sharing a Flashback Friday post -- the post, originally titled The Smell of Limes, (circa 2008) rambled on about embraced limes, gratitude and time spent with Manchild and Slightly-British Daughter (and also the horrors of trying to teach a tone deaf person to play guitar).

It's apropos because Manchild came home a couple days ago. Came home! Not for a visit!! Square-Peg Headquarters is now his base camp.

I wanted to share it with you because I can hear the joy & gratitude when I re-read this - and I was thinking that maybe you (like me) appreciate reminders of joy & gratitude. I'm not at all sure that joy & gratitude are my default settings, much as I'd like to hope they are. Wishing you a day wrapped in gratitude & joy!!

Here it is:

 

The Smell of Limes

Ahhhhhhhh, the smell of limes! Yum!!

Ok, so there's the smell of limes and then there's gratitude about the smell of limes. Not much to fill a blog post, huh? Guess I'll have to do stream of consciousness writing. WOW! That ought to be hard for me...hahaahaaaaaaaa.

So, there's the awesome smell of limes. I just squeezed a sliced one into my drinking water a minute ago - and I used lime-scented Kiss My Face® shampoo as a body scrub in the shower earlier. Which reminds me of the time Slightly-British Daughter bought peppermint-scented soap and was admonished to be careful she didn't "get peppermint in places where peppermint doesn't belong" (a catch phrase around here now).

I had forgotten about limes - until my son, Manchild, took me out to lunch the other day and I saw a lime slice in my frozen strawberry Margarita. I rarely drink - and wouldn't have had one, except I'd just listened to the song "Portland Oregon" by Loretta Lynn. Jack White produced the album that that particular song comes from, and he sings on that song, which is why - even though I'm not usually a country song gal -  I have a copy of it.

In the song Loretta sings: "Sloe Gin Fizz works mighty fast when you drink it by the pitcher and not by the glass." Which made me laugh, and reminded me of Sloe Gin Fizzes. Sloe Gin Fizz was the first drink I ever had (back in college days, when the drinking age was still 18 in NY). So, there I was - primed for a drink because of a song (I must be really suggestible).

I love Jack White. I call him "my Jack", or if I'm in a generous mood "our Jack". When Slightly-Brit and I get in the car to go anywhere (she's navigator and Chief of Musical Direction) I always ask: "Where's Jack?" the minute we're buckled, because I don't want to go anywhere without him.

And speaking of music. The bass lessons continue - a tribute to Manchild's patience. He even patiently (and kindly - and totally in "observer" mode - no criticism implied) mentioned, in reference to an earlier comment from Slightly-Brit: "Yeah, you might be tone deaf."

But I continue to try - and he is patient - trying to find ways to help me get the concepts. He  picks up his guitar and says silly things like: "Ok, just follow along. You play the low note in what I'm playing." And then I roll around on the floor (because we're sitting cross legged on the floor) laughing really hard, because - WTF??? I don't have a clue. So he finds a new way to show me, I laugh, he finds another - and on it goes.

Well, there you go - all over the place, stream of consciousness rambling - and underneath it: lots of gratitude for everything - for limes, and fantastic (grown) kids and memories and music and...

 

Original artwork copyright Lauren Caterson, 2003. Screwed up scan of card made from original artwork -  including all manner of funny stuff on the scan - like that weird mark in the middle?? - courtesy of Karen. And YES, we know those are lemons, not limes..so sue me!

What's Curiosity Done For YOU?

If you'll come over and visit Susan T Blake's blog you'll see a guest post written by yours truly - I'm part of Susan's Captains Curious Series (you may now call me Cap'n Karen).

The guest post is titled Curiosity is the Ultimate Room Freshener - and therein* I gab about an interaction with Manchild that had the potential for misunderstanding and ick -

where I was "worrying about how to achieve some kind of parenting balance between listening and advising (and also – mostly – worrying about how much 'advising' I’d be likely to do while in a Holy #&%*! state of mind)."

and

noticing my own fears and agenda.

Aw, go on - check it out - Curiosity is the Ultimate Room Freshener!

And let me know what curiosity's done for you lately!

*I like the word "therein" - using it makes me smile (and it's so different from the Yoda-talk I occasionally lapse into - or I think it is, anyway...).

What's With the Rubber Sheet?

What's with the rubber sheet?

Hardly a question you hear every day, hmmm?

Slightly-Brit and I were taking a break from some heavy-duty decluttering. We stood back (sipped tea) and studied the piles we'd made: things we were going to toss, things we were going to take to the Association for the Blind thrift shop and things that were staying with us.

That's when SBD noticed the rubber sheet in the "staying" pile and asked: "What's with the rubber sheet?"

I knew she had it in for the rubber sheet, so I reminded her that this was the very same rubber sheet that I'd suggested we use under the artificial Second-Christmas tree (so the stand wouldn't scratch the lovely finish on the end table).

To bolster my rubber sheet defense I ended with: Everyone needs a rubber sheet!

Of course, Slightly-Brit reminded me that the rubber sheet in question had been absolutely worthless to us for protecting the end table, since it wasn't even wide enough to go across the (small) table. The rubber sheet is a flannel backed thing made for protecting a cradle mattress (cradle, mind you - not even crib. As in tiny.)

Still...I didn't want to get rid of it. It seemed like something that could come in real handy - even though I couldn't think of how. And even though it hadn't come out of its closet-home (except for that brief, worthless visit to the end table a few weeks ago) for, I don't know - maybe 20 years.

Jump forward a few days. I'm in line at the store, listening to my favorite chatty checkout-register gal. She's tossing my items into bags and somehow gets onto the subject of matches.

I never know what subject will come up. This particular conversation started with a discourse on the downfall of our local shopping area. The only givens are: my favorite register gal will talk a lot about the past - and there are usually a ton of siblings involved (whose names and attributes, it is assumed, are familiar to me).

The conversation ended for me (all I could think of was getting home to tell Slightly-Brit) when my favorite register gal told me how her family had been saved, aeons ago, from having their house burn down and the sibs quite possibly saved from death itself.

Little Norma (or Sally, or Debbie, or somebody I honestly don't know - though customers waiting behind me would undoubtedly guess I am quite familiar with) had gotten hold of some matches.

She was trying "to tell Mom, but Mom wasn't listening. I think she was pregnant with one of the other kids then. All of a sudden Uncle..." Frank or Jimmy or Otto or somebody got the idea that maybe something was up, looked at the pack of matches the sibling was waving - and toward where she was pointing frantically - and ohmyword, the kid had set fire to her bed.

According to my favorite register gal everyone lined up and did bucket brigade and put the fire out. What caught my attention (the bit I couldn't wait to tell Slightly-Brit) was that the reason the house didn't burn down before anybody realized it was on fire was:

- wait for it -

"the thing that saved us was the rubber sheet on her bed."

Aha! Just as I thought - everyone does need a rubber sheet!

Justin Bieber/Martin Buber Confusion

or
My Funny Valentine

I was feeling kind of mopey because I couldn't think of anything Valentinesy to share with you today (it's February 14th). I'm a bit backwards when it comes to organization/time management - and celebrations (making a fuss on a certain day) require a bit of organization/time management. I figured it was too late to make a fuss today.

But, then I realized that the following post is Valentinesy - sort of - in a funny/odd way (ok, not really - but it's sort of about love). We can call it my funny valentine...

We celebrated Second-Christmas here last week. Little Princess (my granddaughter) wasn't here the first time around (the traditional celebration day) so we did the whole thing over again for her benefit when she visited in February (and, truth be told, it was for our benefit as well - holidays seem so much fuller with a kid around!!).

Little Princess knew that we'd spoken to Santa, who'd arranged for a Second-Christmas visit. She got to decorate the front windows, decorate and set out cookies for Santa. She even got to do the "snip-snip" thing - that's what she calls cutting the baling mesh off the tree. It's a tradition - she's done it every year of her life -- after we've gone to find a tree, brought it home and stuck it in its tree stand.

This year Little Princess wasn't here when we picked out a tree - but Slightly-Brit has a nice sized artificial tree that she brought out for the occasion. We tucked it's branches up and wrapped it in a swath of the baling mesh that SBD saved from this year's real tree (which was an enormous sucker - so we only used part of the mesh. Have you ever played with baling mesh? I swear it's alive!). So Little Princess snip-snipped - the picture (above) is LP snip-snipping (and Slightly-Brit assisting).

Little Princess had a hard time getting to sleep that night, what with the Santa anticipation. Slightly-Brit claims to have been woken on the half-hour from 3 a.m. onwards. Yikes!

Sadly, Santa was not totally prepared. She thought she was. She'd had the elves find some adorable doll furniture, clothes (LP loves clothes), books, a bunch of kitchen/bakery stuff for the dolls, etc...

But late Second-Christmas eve Little Princess mentioned that she hoped Santa would bring her a Justin Bieber Barbie doll. Argh! Santa did not have a Justin Bieber Barbie doll (and it's not Santa's fault - Santa is not omniscient, damnit!)! Santa didn't even know about Justin Bieber Barbie dolls!

Second-Christmas morning was sweet - Little Princess enjoyed her gifts and made no mention of her Bieberlessness. But, somehow - I had an idea that the Justin Bieber Barbie doll mattered -- like the Slip 'n Slide my brother and I dreamed of every year, but never got. Or the kitchen set my girls wanted (and drooled over at their cousin's house), but never got.

So - sometime Second-Christmas day (yes, the stores are open then), when no one was expecting it, the elves procured a Justin Bieber Barbie doll for Little Princess -- and she was way thrilled!

And the rest of the day and onward - continuing even as I type this today (I've had to delete and retype several times now) - I cannot remember the name Justin Bieber! I keep calling him Martin Bieber - or, alternately Martin Buber.

As in: "Are you bringing the Martin doll to G.G.'s?" (before our visit to great-grandmother's) "Do you want to take the Martin Buber doll home with you?" (before packing to head home) or - (while I was typing today) "Santa didn't even know about Martin Buber Barbie dolls!!" Grrrr.

I've screwed the names up so many times now that I'm beginning to like blending them! I hope someone creates a Martin Buber Barbie doll (go ahead, I'm giving the idea away) - it could repeat heart-warming phrases about I-Thou relationships and warnings against It-It ones.

It would have a bald pate and a huge ole beard - which I'd like more than Justin Bieber's hair. Mainly because, after we got the doll - everyone's hair looks like Justin Bieber's, even mine - and it's starting to annoy me!

There you go - there's my rambling, yakky, funny valentine. Happy Heart Day - know you are loved!

I Love Needlework!

I DO love needlework, but didn't my last post have an "I Love..." title too? Ohmy! My writer-brain's been tied in knots for the past few weeks.

This little guy (Christmas tree ornament - needle-worked raccoon pictured above) is one of my favorite home-made (Karen-made, actually) ornaments (and yes, I do realize that Christmas was weeks ago!). 

I can't reference his designer, because I used a pattern from a craft magazine I bought (and tossed) over 30 years ago! I'm not even sure what the technique/stitches used to make him are called -- crewel? yarn embroidery?

But I'm going to have to catch up on whatever it's called, because I am every so desirous of making a hedgehog in similar fashion. Hedgehogs make me smile - I'd like to have one hanging around my computer (no need to wait for a tree to hang him on).

Since I haven't seen any patterns for hedgehogs stitched with yarn (if you have, please point me to it/them!!) I'm going to draw one myself. This could be most amusing, since I can't draw for beans.

How about YOU? What've you been creating lately - or planning on creating?

And while we're on the subject of creating - what haven't you finished yet??

Even though Christmas is over - and Slightly-Brit's birthday as well - I still haven't finished the gorgeous coat/jacket I wrote about making for her in the post making stuff, ignoring rules and kicking ass.

It's almost done, but I'm at the sewing together/blocking part - and that scares me. Sigh.