When I was a kid, I assumed most families from my small hometown in northwest Iowa did things similarly, like furnishing their kitchens with harvest gold, avocado or coppertone appliances, spending discretionary money on like items and where we worshipped. I knew there were differences between households but thought we all ate alike. I should have known better. John’s family didn’t eat at all like we did. He took cold fried egg sandwiches to school. Blech. If there was not enough meat in the house before pay day for supper, his mom made something called ‘milk-pop’ for their family of seven. It was heated milk with torn pieces of bread in it and topped with cinnamon and sugar. I never heard of this. I was so naive.

Now well into the 4th quarter of my life (or overtime, I refuse to call it sudden death) I realize the Gerritson’s might have eaten significantly different than a lot of folks and nothing like the reminiscent food posts I see on Facebook. Fluff (I believe this is marshmallow cream from a jar) on bread? With peanut butter? What? Gross. How come it took a half century of adulthood for these oddities to dawn on me? Where was I? Raised by wolves? No, anything I’ve read about wolves eating habits does not include brown sugar sandwiches, which were common in our house.

1. One of the frequent posts on Facebook is a picture of a cast iron frypan (no, mom didn’t use one of those either). Sizzling in the middle of the pan is a slice of bologna lunch meat with slash marks around the edge to maintain flatness. Now there’s no one that appreciates an old commercial jingle more than I do. “My bologna has a first name, it’s O-s-c-a-r. My bologna has second name, it’s M-a-y-e-r. Ohhhhhh, I love to eat it everyday, and if you ask me why, I’ll sayyyyyy-‘cause Oscar Mayer has a way with b-o-l-o-g-n-a!” I sang it to my kids and babies when I worked in daycare. But never realized we didn’t have sliced bologna in our house. We ate ring baloney for supper with mashed potatoes and sauerkraut, and it was as red as Santa’s suit. We never had the lunch meat variety in the house.

As newlyweds Hubs brought Oscar Mayer Bologna into my world by introducing me to a fancy meal called The Denver. One egg, beaten, one slice of cheap, finely diced bologna with a smidge of diced onion, fried on both sides. He eats them as a sandwich on toast (with ketchup-gag) but I prefer them open faced on bread.

2. The first (and only) time I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich was about 10 years ago. We were watching our teenage grandson Landon play basketball when our 4-year old grandson Graham walked into the gym and sat beside me. He had a lunchbox with him and asked if I wanted to share his sandwich? Wouldn’t you know it was something I had never eaten before? A peanut butter & jelly sandwich, which was pretty good. When I was young we got the peanut butter out of the cupboard for 2 reasons. Mom was making peanut butter cookies or Special K bars. We never added peanut butter to fudge or No Bake Cookies. That would have ruined both of them.

3. Three things we never had on our supper table when we sat down for a meal. Salt, pepper or ketchup. We didn’t add salt to sweet corn, baked potatoes or heaven forbid watermelon! Yikes. And ketchup was never glopped on a good cut of meat like roast, steak or pork chops. Double yikes.

4. Ketchup came out of the fridge for 3 reasons. Mom had fried hamburgers, or made homemade French fries (my favorite) or she was making “Taverns” which is browned hamburger and onion with a titch of mustard, brown sugar and enough Heinz ketchup to semi hold it together. It’s a northwest Iowa thing served on buns. (The rest of the country calls them sloppy joes)

5. We never kept Kool Aid or Tang in the house. We bought Hershey’s syrup to make chocolate milk or top my ice cream, plus walnuts (mom called them ‘nutmeats’ not walnuts or pecans and that still makes me smile). We had Nestles Quick chocolate in the house, (I used that dry powder stuff on ice cream too).

6. We never bought margarine. We used butter for everything.

7. I drank pop most every day. (Yes, mom was lenient on some issues) Either RC Cola, Tab, 7-Up or Pepsi.

8. Mom never (ever) made macaroni and cheese.

9. We rarely ate eggs as a meal whether it was breakfast or supper.

10. I never heard of ‘Spam’ until I got them in emails and on Facebook. It’s actually something you eat (part ham I think) and has been around for decades. We didn’t eat Spam and I’m not sure if my friends ate it either.

Mom made homemade soups and casseroles for supper, so often my lunch would be a bowl of leftover soup, goulash, spaghetti, tuna salad or a slice of American cheese on Hillbilly bread (yup buttered). Once in a while soft boiled eggs, cut up with the oozing yolk on bread, not toast. We did keep several varieties of Campbell’s soup on hand like chicken noodle, bean with bacon or vegetable beef (with its one minuscule piece of beef).

Guess I’m not too old to learn what others ate when they were young and ponder my past. Or I think about food way too often which is probably the case…

Couples who have been married a long time (like me and the Hubs) rarely learn anything new about each other at this stage of the game. For the most part, we’ve seen it all, been through it all (at least, we hope, the tough stuff), learning along the way and had each other’s back. Some things were assumed, some by trial and error and others had to be repeated numerous times before we learned our lesson the hard way.

From the get-go we had a true appreciation for all things old, except appliances. We learned ‘new’ came with a warranty, which was better but not always affordable. We both liked oak antiques which were often out of our price range, but Hubs was handy. I didn’t hesitate buying a piece of furniture that had seen better days. If the price was right, I brought it home and John could visualize what was needed to restore it to prime condition. He did the repair work, I helped with refinishing.

For our first decade of wedded bliss we lived in several rentals. Most were basically the same, just with a different address. The owners were reluctant to invest much money because you never knew how much damage renters were going to incur. I think we were good renters but we had pets and small kids which invariably caused damage to most everything they touched. For the most part, flooring was painfully thin carpet or cheap linoleum. Showers were rare, a claw footed tub was the highlight of the bathroom during the 70’s.

Rooms were small, walls were painted white, yellow or green. If there was woodwork it was painted or covered in contact paper to look like wood grain. Kitchens were modest with cheap, used appliances. Painted cupboards were standard. Heck I grew up with painted cupboards until I was in high school and dad remodeled the kitchen. While I don’t ever remember saying, “we’re never having painted cupboards in our home,” it was a forgone conclusion that painted cupboards or antiques would never find a place in our home. You don’t cover up beautiful wood. Ever. You just don’t.

We held to this ‘gold standard’ of never painting ‘good wood’ for 50 years. When we listed our 20 year old lake home a few years ago, Mary our realtor, strongly suggested we paint our oak trim and wainscoting. We both looked at her as though she had grown a third eye. “No, absolutely not,” was our reply.

When Joshua, our middle kid walked into the house we bought eight years ago, the first thing he said was, “what color are you painting the cupboards?” “Ha! Never,” I replied. True, they needed a good scrubbing but they were modern and oak. You don’t paint oak. We needed new flooring and appliances but never gave a thought to changing the look of the cupboards.

Now the countertops, sink and faucet were a different story. Soft, faded yellow Formica probably installed when the cupboards were replaced 25-30 years ago. There were scratches and stains, no backsplash, and the sink was like me, showing several age spots. Still I doused it with Clorox/water once a week to keep the stains from returning to a minimum (the sink, not me).

Suddenly last fall, the guy I’ve lived with over 50 years spouts, “I wanna paint the cupboards, take out the dishwasher you’ve never used, get a new sink, faucet, garbage disposal, backsplash and countertops. I think you’d like navy blue for the bottom cupboards and linen on the top.” “What have you done with my husband? Where is he? I’m calling the cops.” (The only thing stopping me was this guy knew my favorite color has always been navy).

“Where in the world is this coming from? You know the rules. We DON’T paint wood. Are you ok? Do you know what day it is? What’s my name?”

“Very funny Neese, I’m serious. You spend a lot of time in here. I don’t but I’m sick of looking at this drab kitchen, especially the countertops. They’re pitiful. It won’t cost that much because I’m going to do the painting. You’re gonna love it.”

Ok, but he’s never liked painting anything, or been very good at it. He tends to put too much paint on the brush which causes runs. “No, I’ve been watching videos on YouTube.” (Oh boy) He assured me it’s a different way to paint cupboards with different paint and brushes.

Still skeptical he’d been replaced by an AI, I acquiesced. Just as he was ready to order the paint I changed my mind. Not about painting, just the colors. Decided to go with light and dark shades of gray instead.

Hubs started by removing the unused dishwasher-no easy task, then bought an unfinished matching cupboard with three drawers to replace it. (I’ve only had 2 drawers in my kitchen and one is 8 inches wide, only good for pot holders). Each one of the cupboards doors got labeled with a number to its original opening. Prepping the wood was next. My participation in this endeavor was minimal. I helped pick out the countertops, backsplash, sink and faucet. As he was painting and had finished for the day he asked me to go over the new paint and point out spots he missed. Now this is a task where I excel and was only too happy to point out (his) minor infractions. (He says I’m an expert on this, I tell him it’s because he gives me so much practice-hahaha).

We hired a contractor to install the countertops, sink, disposal and backsplash. Ta-dah! (To be continued. Next time on-“Let’s improve the lighting with Neese”)…

Television was not a big part of my life as a kid, and I was forbidden to watch on Sundays. I missed the Beatles debut on Ed Sullivan, and never watched Bonanza until I got married (we had church on Sunday night and attendance was mandatory). I remember watching Father Knows Best, Leave it to Beaver, Lassie, Gunsmoke, Paladin and Combat.

I still don’t watch a great deal of TV. It’s never on during the day, but usually by 8 pm we’re watching a couple of our favorite programs unless B1G sports (Iowa Hawkeyes) or our grandson’s college basketball game (Cleveland State) is on.

So I’m kinda perplexed why I became fixated with the TV guide magazine years ago. I can’t remember not reading the TV Guide. Although grocery money was hard to come by, I always added the Guide to my grocery cart. A few years later I bought subscriptions whenever a good deal was advertised. (I’ve added to my subscription so often the magazine will arrive years after I’m no longer around to read it). Back in the 70’s it was the size of a fat Golden Book. Several years ago they changed their format to publishing every other week, then scaled back to every 3 weeks during the summer when it was mostly reruns. Now they deliver every 3 weeks permanently. I hate that change. And life around me stops until I read it cover to cover. I read about every soap opera but haven’t watched one since the mid-70’s. I pour over program details/stars that I absolutely have no interest in-ever. Weird. For decades I was the queen of TV/movie trivia. When the kids were in college they often called when stumped over an obscure line/scene from a show or movie. It was rare if I couldn’t come up with a quick answer which was usually right.

Most of my inconsequential nonsense has been forgotten (like what I made for supper last night). But I’ve not given up reading the TV Guide from the cover to the last page every time it arrives (although I don’t retain these obscure details like I did 20 years ago), I’m still compelled to read every juicy detail. With all the streaming services when I spot a program that interests me I’ve got to write it down or I’ll forget the name of it but I’ve always been a multiple list maker so I just make more.

The mail fetcher at our house has changed hands. When handwritten letters/cards were commonplace I loved running out to the mailbox but those personal correspondence days don’t get much traction these days. I used to be good and faithful at writing cards and notes to friends but arthritis in my hands/knuckles has ended that practice. I still miss writing unimportant notes though. I have no desire to pick up our bills so Hubs has taken on that daily routine. He plops the TV Guide near ‘my nest’ and I immediately go through and remove all advertisements that have been inserted throughout. I give them a quick once over in case another offer (too good to be true) for extending my TV guide reading enjoyment past 2030-hahaha.

And then it’s time to get serious with the inside cover, top shows for the week, renewals, premieres, finales and cancellations which can be a downer if I hadn’t heard one of my programs wasn’t renewed for next season. They write a few daily tidbits included in each of the 3 weeks and now highlight when the program is N (new). If it doesn’t have a capital N in red, you’re looking at a rerun (but there’s usually several mistakes). This season has been especially thin/short because of the writer’s/actor’s strike with regular programs adding up to only a dozen or so before their season finale. (When I was young regular programs totaled about 30 episodes, now 20 is considered a long season, and many stop at 8-10. It’s like a miniseries with long stretches of time between seasons. Enough about lamenting about something I shouldn’t care about at all.

So here’s what happened. I’m about 2/3 done reading this guide dated April 1 to the 21st when I spot, “What’s Worth Watching” for 4-15 through 4-21 and my eyes do a double take. WHAT? A small paragraph with a picture the size of a postage stamp.

WNBA BASKETBALL

7:30/6/30 ESPN WNBA Draft

The Indiana Fever have the first pick in the WNBA Draft in Brooklyn. No surprise: They’re going to select Iowa’s Caitlin Clark (above) the NCAA’s all-time leading scorer.

Holy moly! I know that young lady! (No I really don’t but feel like I do. Been watching her (and the rest of Lisa Bluder’s Hawkeye team hoop it up with Caitlin breaking scoring/assists/3-pointer records and setting attendance records wherever they play). Oddly enough this Caitlin tidbit was right above a picture of Steph Curry, who she’s often compared to in basketball.

Although my Hawkeyes didn’t win the national title, the ladies championship game drew about 5 million more viewers than the men’s final. Ha! Keep pursuing your dreams Caitlin. I’ve never watched a WNBA game but plan on watching this year. My sincere hope is that Caitlin keeps playing her exceptional game and viewership is through the roof…

We’ll miss you too…

Dateline: Iowa.

The flyover state (not hardly) famous for corn, soybeans, lean hogs and the best in the world beef. Pure Midwest. I was born and raised in a small Iowa town, (mostly Dutch) in the northwest corner. As was the Hubs and never thought we’d live elsewhere.

My little corner of the world was a bit isolated. Surrounded by farms and corn fields (always convenient, hidden and secluded for ‘parking’ when dating in high school), but miles away from any city. Sioux Falls was 45 minutes, Sioux City-an hour.

Never gave it much thought but it wasn’t easy to root for a professional sports team. The closest were in Minnesota, St. Louis or Chicago. So all Iowans did the next best thing and supported collegiate sports. The most popular to choose from were the Iowa State Cyclones and University of Iowa Hawkeyes. These 2 schools were (are) supported by the masses.

When we moved from the Missouri River to the Mississippi River the Hawkeyes in Iowa City were our top pick which was about 50 miles away. Hubs attended most home football games while I preferred basketball.

Here’s a revelation. After my last birthday, I have lived in Michigan for more than half my life. Sigh. We assumed we’d move back after a couple years, but the years zipped by. With our adult children and grandchildren within an hour of us, this is where we belong. My 37 years living in Michigan hasn’t changed how I feel though. My heart belongs to Iowa. Always & forever.

There’s much I’ve embraced in Michigan. The Great Lakes are the absolute best. If I’ve not been within sight of one of the H O M E S (Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie & Superior) lakes for a spell, I get a terrible hankering to see waves of freshwater lapping. Michigan’s weather is better. Summers aren’t as hot or humid as Iowa, winters not as cold or windy. Michigan’s got numerous professional sports teams to choose from. Tigers, Red Wings, Pistons and the mighty Lions! (Including Iowa alumni Sam Laporta and Jack Campbell) All about an hour away.

While our kids (who were 16, 11 and 7 when we left Iowa) were easily swayed towards various Michigan college sports, Hubs and I were not. We tried, we really did, but a couple disastrous games only strengthened our appreciation for the Iowa Hawkeyes. Absence indeed made our hearts grow fonder. One of the reasons we chose to move to Michigan was staying in B10 country (soon to be Big 18-yikes).

With the addition of the B10 network years ago we haven’t missed many Iowa games. With the addition of streaming services it’s a bit trickier for retired folks on fixed incomes, but we just prioritize what’s important (and affordable) for us.

Then along comes Caitlin Clark. We didn’t hop on her bandwagon as a freshman or even a sophomore, but as her popularity and court prowess grew, we started following. We love that she grew up in Iowa and chose to play for the Hawks. I’ve been watching basketball for decades and have a grandson who’s playing his senior year at Cleveland State. He’s a starting guard (like Caitlin) and nobody appreciates a no-look pass or an awesome assist more than this grandma. Their court IQ is phenomenal. Cleveland State games are on ESPN+ so for Landon’s (Drew to the rest of the world) basketball season (4 months) we subscribe. Many of the lady Hawkeyes games were on Peacock instead of B10 this season which drove people nuts. We simply ordered Peacock at $5.99 a month to watch the games, then we cancel. Less than the cost of one pizza. Not a big deal.

Caitlin is a cute, dimpled, lanky, fiercely competitive brunette from West Des Moines who routinely put up shots near mid-court with amazing accuracy, often appearing off balance but that’s just one of her signature shots. She’s been zipping through her senior year, knocking off long held basketball records, including assists, and her famous-one-logo-3-point-shot-at-a-time.

Caitlin has not accomplished this feat by herself. She’s part of an immensely talented team including Kate, Hannah, Gabbie, Molly and the rest of the ladies. Plus coach Bluder, her staff and trainers. It’s much more than just Caitlin. It takes a village. And I hope they go far in the tournament.

Personally I wanted Caitlin to come back next season for her last year of eligibility (Covid waiver) but she announced last week she’s going to the WNBA this spring. I get it. She has numerous sponsors (Nike, Gatorade, State Farm) in the NIL (name, image, likeness) which she’ll probably keep plus add others and there’s a strong chance (a given more likely) she’s headed to the Indiana Fever (Caitlin’s had half the country at a fever pitch all season, nothing new there) where her boyfriend, Connor McCaffrey just happens to live and work.

Caitlin’s been much more than a scoring and assist machine. She is the face of women in sports. When the Iowa Hawkeyes played in Nebraska, the game sold out, same with Michigan, Wisconsin or Maryland. Fans, (and not all of them diehard Hawk supporters) line up for hours ahead of time, forking out big bucks more often spent on the most popular concert venues. Every time the Hawkeyes are on a network channel, viewership is off the charts. Caitlin is the woman young girls aspire to emulate. After the game is over and she’s spoken to reporters, she walks over to the hordes of kids and adults waiting patiently and starts writing her name on jerseys, faces, shoes, signs from her young fans who admire what they just witnessed that she’s accomplished. She may be an exhausted, sweaty mess but she does this every home or away game. She wants young girls to love the game of basketball.

So here’s to you Caitlin. I’ve got my #22 t-shirt ready for the B10 tourney and beyond. We’ll be rooting for you loud and proud. Thanks for giving us so much entertainment and enjoyment this season. I wish you tremendous success in the WNBA. Break some ceilings and new records. Go Hawks!!!

I met her decades ago, right after we moved to Michigan. She was living with my neighbor, 2 houses away for most of her life. She looked kinda frumpy. Mildred (my new neighbor, definitely not frumpy) said she had received Millie from a relative out east when were both very young. By the time I got acquainted with them, Mildred was in her early 70’s so I assumed Millie was a few years her senior.

Millie was hanging out on the patio, catching a few indirect rays, lounging on an uncomfortable wrought iron table. Maybe that’s why she looked ill at ease. She kinda slumped to one side like she was trying hard to keep her balance (story of my life sista).

For the next 20 years (7 of those almost daily when we were neighbors) I watched as Millie languished in and out of different seasons of her life. She didn’t require much from Mildred, thus Mildred did not give her much attention. When the weather dipped below freezing, Millie was brought inside by Mildred’s faithful helper Pam where she sat on a coffee table, facing south, overlooking her summer spot on the patio while we both endured another miserable, endless Michigan winter. (I feel ‘ya on this one too).

When we hit the 20 year mark, Mildred was reaching the end of her long, fruitful life (but Millie was still in her prime). After Mildred passed away her family asked if I’d take Millie! (They seemed unconcerned with my dismal history of killing house plants), although Millie was conflicted by their decision.

I’m here to tell you Millie absolutely thrived for 8 years in North Muskegon. She was as shocked as me. One of the keys to Millie’s successful life was our front porch where she spent her summers. The porch faced north and had a roof so she was never subjected to extreme heat or sun. She loved it out there although by my calculations she was outnumbered by spiders 3 million to one. She didn’t seem to mind. She loved lake living.

That all changed in 2015 when we moved in with Shannon for 6 weeks while we worked on a new (old) house we had just bought (near our kids). I plopped Millie and several African violets on Shannon’s outside front entrance which was cement and semi-covered. The weather was still warm, and I promptly forgot about Millie. She might have tried to reach out to me but I was too busy and distracted. When it was moving day Millie was tucked in the back of the Jeep and hurriedly unpacked on the floor behind some big boxes in a bedroom where she stayed for weeks. I did remember to water her and the violets every week but never really looked at them.

After new flooring was installed, I was ready to find the plants a permanent home I noticed a couple of my violets were dead. Then I took a good look at Millie. She didn’t look right. On closer inspection she was sitting in a big puddle of water although I gave her only a sip every week. She must have gotten soaked a few times while outdoors and I never noticed.

A childhood classmate, Marlys Gayer and I had recently hooked up through Facebook (one of the few perks I love), so I sought her advice about my century old plant. “Neese, she’s literally drowning and everything below the surface is rotten! You must clip off several green ends, dump the soil, wash the planter, buy new succulent soil, some fertilizer and plop those ends in various spots about an inch deep. Water sparingly. She’ll be fine.”

Marlys gave me this advice 8 years ago. Since then Millie has done very well. When her growth spurts were noticeable, I started new baby plants, (see I don’t even know what that’s called). I’d just wop off a a couple inches of several green ends (fronds?) and stick them in soil and voila, a new baby Christmas cactus was born. I brought a few back to Iowa so Marlys (and other friends and family) would have offspring of the dear plant Marlys saved (in spite of my ineptness).

Millie is not an actual Christmas cactus. She blooms around Easter and Thanksgiving. Oftentimes she has blooms galore on one side, and stark naked of any buds on the other. She definitely marches to the beat of her own drummer, which reminds me of my Iowa friend Marlys who’s had some tough years recently. Recurring breast cancer, serious kidney issues, yet she remained optimistic, upbeat and full of faith.

Unfortunately, we lost Marlys this spring. I remember a post that the news of her last test results were not good and she was going back to the specialist to review her treatment options. A few days later she was gone.

About 3 weeks ago I spotted my first bud on Millie and wondered if this blooming season was going to be small and petite, lopsided or gang busters. Since that first tiny appearance, she has produced buds everywhere, showing off in her own unique style what this Thanksgiving was gonna look like. She had buds on top of buds, often in triplets, hanging on the ends with the promise of vibrant red color to come. This was Millie’s opportunity to show her eternal gratitude to my friend Marlys for saving her for me. Miss you Mar…

When we moved to Michigan in February of 1987, we bought our rambling ranch from a widow named Stella (who lived next door). She was in her upper-80’s and still sharp as a tack. She had bought the house for her step-daughter who had recently died of cancer.

Since we moved during the winter we didn’t know what kind of yard we had. Our lot was an acre and had an overwhelming amount of trees. Thirty-eight to be exact. Michiganders love their trees. We’re from Iowa where there aren’t many trees, just crops, hogs and cattle (to feed the world). As soon as the snow started melting Stella stopped John after work and told him emphatically to get our lawn in better shape. Hahaha, it was her property the month before. Luckily Hubs has always been anal about his grass and the war on weeds so that was his goal too and he started immediately.

Stella and I regularly had tea together and I often brought her whatever we were having for supper. She said it wasn’t much fun to cook for one when you’re getting close to 90. But Stella was weary from multiple home ownership, so she ended up selling her house about 18 months after we moved in. She moved to a fabulous independent living facility a few miles away and reached her upper 90’s before God called her home. But in those 18 months I learned a lot from (and about) Stella.

Stella had a ‘way’ with plants. Our homes were very similar but her picture window was much bigger than ours. This window almost went to the floor. She had several different height shelves close to the window which was filled with house plants. Boston ferns, ivy, peace plants and oodles of African violets, every color you could imagine. They were just gorgeous. One of the first things Stella mentioned when she came over to visit is my lack of house plants.

I’ve never been good with plants or gardening. I don’t enjoy digging in the dirt and think less of weeding than having a root canal. I kill house plants and have never found annuals very appealing (although I like landscaping, trimming unusual shrubs and trees). If you’re gonna live in my yard, you’d better come up on your own every year and not bring too many weeds with you.

Being a retired teacher, Stella made it her goal to teach me to love, nurture and grow indoor plants. Ugh. I was one of ‘those problem students’ who made her life difficult but she was up to the challenge. She gifted me with a couple African violets. “Put them in the north window, water once a week but don’t use cold water. Fertilize every couple months, and try not to physically touch them very often, they don’t like it.”

Since 1988 I’ve been sharing my house with plants-because of Stella. Not gonna lie and say it’s been smooth sailing and I’ve never killed another house plant but it’s been a rare occurrence. She gave me the gift of turning one of my thumbs green, and I’m still grateful to her.

I’ll always be perplexed about plants and their healthy growth around me (I don’t know what I’m doing but they seem to like it here-and me in spite of it). Somehow I’ve managed to keep a century old (I’ve only been her caretaker for 20 years) Christmas cactus thriving (seriously she’s been on death’s door step twice-because of over watering). I left it outside for the summer when we moved and stayed with Shannon for a couple months and didn’t pay attention. She was so waterlogged I had to trim 20 green ends and start over. Since that near fatality I’ve started a dozen plants (and gifted them to friends and family) from Milly, just in case.

During these plant filled, happy years I’ve never experienced the odd phenomenon that’s happening. Right now there’s more than a dozen plants sharing our space and of those 15, I’m ‘mom’ to 8 African violets. All eight are blooming. At the same time! I’ve never had that happen before. They’re in different rooms but spread the word somehow (probably through the Internet, the moochers) that it was time to be united and show off. I moved them to the table for a family reunion (several are offspring that Hubs separated and replanted for me). Every time I see all these tiny flowers I’m reminded how kind my neighbor was to encourage me towards growing some houseplants. Thanks again Stella. Bloom on…

If my life were summed up in 3 words, this is it (no, not those 3 words, the following three). Lather. Rinse. Repeat. This says a lot about me. Not very interesting, but pretty much describes this deaf loner.

I consider myself a fair cook (we’ve got to eat supper every night, right?) and a bit better than middle of the road baker. I wasn’t born with a knack for either one when Hubs and I eloped in 1969. But by 1975 our family of 4 (kid #3 would wait another 4 years before completing our sum total) could count on a decent supper. But much more fun than cooking I had learned how to bake a variety of breads, cinnamon rolls, frosted cakes, scratch pies (crusts too) and cookies of all makes and models (thanks Betty).

After I acquired some cooking and baking skills I realized I enjoyed making things involving steps, sometimes several. When I baked one pie it was darn good, but if I made 8 apple pies that day, each subsequent pie turned out better than the last. Why is that? My pie crusts got thinner, (the only part of my pie making that didn’t gain) sliced the apples more uniformly, crimped crust edges, more precise. All the steps in pie baking became routine. I could feel when the right amount of water/flour had been added for perfect crusts or bread dough.

I’m positive repetition is the reason I love canning. Doing the same thing over and over (which sounds incredibly boring). Jams, jellies, bread & butter pickles, beets, applesauce, salsa, meat, are all part of the many steps needed to complete canned goods. Buying, preparing fruit and vegetables, making syrups or brine, hearing the lids ‘pop,’ wiping down jars, labeling, washing and putting away the equipment. All part of the process.

Besides the steps involved, most of the recipes I call ‘favorites’ don’t include multiple, easy-peasy layers. You know the kind of bar recipe I’m talking about-some kind of crumb/cookie mixed with a bit of melted butter patted in the bottom followed by instant pudding/milk mixture, cool whip layer, sliced bananas/fruit, including drizzled syrup, more cool whip with maraschino cherries dotting the top. Just not me, although I have a couple similar recipes I’ve used for years.

Here are 2 I’ve been making for decades. Seven layer bars: melt a stick of butter in a 9 X 13 pan, sprinkle on top 1 cup of graham cracker crumbs followed by 1 cup each of chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, nutmeats and coconut. On top of this drizzle one can of sweetened condensed milk and bake for 30 minutes. Literally takes 5 minutes to throw together. Not cheap but if you’re in a hurry this makes a satisfying, tasty bar. But scratch banana or pumpkin bars take about the same amount of time (not counting the buttercream frosting when they’re cooled), taste heavenly and are a fraction of the cost of the 7 layer bars.

My other quickie recipe is “Dirt,” not cheap either. I usually make in a plastic flower pot. Oreo cookie crumbs on the bottom, a mixture of cream cheese, butter, instant pudding, powdered sugar, milk and Cool Whip, alternating layers, ending with “dirt” on top, adding gummy worms and silk flowers. I much prefer scratch recipes though when deciding what I want to serve like German chocolate cake, rhubarb bars or banana cream pie with homemade filling made on the stove.

I’m sure there are throngs of folks who haven’t experienced hardship in their finances/lifestyle during the last 3 years. We are not among that group. There has been a significant decline in how far our money is stretched lately. I’m observant and track prices of the items like groceries/gas/utilities we use.

While I wasn’t actively seeking employment to help out I applied for a job last fall. After the interview I was hopeful and enthusiastic. Part time, baking for a restaurant. It’s taken some getting used to because it’s not way I’ve made baked goods my entire adult life and I’m a very old dog learning new tricks. Very old. And slow. The first couple months were highly stressful and I made mistakes. But the stress has been good for my diet (I lost several pounds).

There are definite perks to this job. I can set my own hours, early or later in the day-doesn’t matter (but you guys know I don’t sleep well and wake up at the butt crack of dawn). I work in a well equipped, good sized kitchen with lots of windows and a great view. The oven’s exhaust is unbelievably noisy but my new hearing aid has a feature to mute most of the noise yet I’m able to hear the oven’s timer. My work week is usually 3 days, 5-7 hours long. Each of these days consists of 6 dozen muffins and 6 to 8 pies. There are 7 varieties of muffins and 18 different pies. Of the 18, 3-5 are more popular than the rest so I make them a couple times a week. The rest are on a rotation and scheduled usually once a week.

The best part of my job? Working by myself. Absolutely. Never having to ask, “beg your pardon? What did you say? Sorry, couldn’t hear you? Excuse me, what?” Long as my arthritic hands, chronic back issues and left knee replacement holds off, I’m gonna keep working. Although my work day varies, it’s just more repetition. Something I’m very comfortable with. After several months it’s just like the rest of my life. Lather. Rinse. Repeat…