What’s for dinner?

I must be feeling mighty comfortable with you since I’m going to share one of my most common thoughts when I wake up each morning. No, it’s not about being kind.  It has nothing to do with making the world a happier place. It’s more like a panic actually, one that gives me daily angst...what will we have for dinner? Yeah, it seriously is one of my top personal daily challenges! You’re asking yourself “Why?” Me too!

I wish I knew that answer, since I figure I have been unable to hit the snooze button approximately 36,500 times because of this very thing! The questions begin immediately. What day of the week is it?  What do I have in the refrigerator? I replay the dinner video in my head from the night before. Then there’s the validation process. The no comment is never a good thing. The best reaction is the first bite smile-which I refer to as a “Julia Child” moment! In case you were wondering, the latter is the rare occurrence.

Back in our dating days my husband and I decided that if we could make a go of it, I would forgo my teaching career and stay at home with our children. Therefore, I always felt that ALONG WITH EVERYTHING ELSE it was my “job” to make dinner each night. I mean, how difficult could it be to make dinner for a family of four each night? Lord knows those television cooking shows make it seem easy enough to whip up a delicious meal from a bunch of nothing.

The logical side of me knows that many, many people are behind the scenes of those shows. Still, they make me feel inferior. Their happy demeanor at the end of the 30-minute segment holding a full course meal most times is enough to make me sick.  Occasionally, I “drink the punch” and make their recipe. Cauliflower pizza crust was one of those moments! I believe my picture below says it all! I have way more confidence in recipes from my friends, since I know they would never lead me astray.  I am also planting a vegetable garden this summer right outside my kitchen door because if all else fails we can always eat salad, right?

Just in case you do not recognize this... it was my second attempt at cauliflower pizza crust.

Moral: All we can do is our best, and if that isn’t good enough try, try again!

your struggling chef friend,

A little thing that works for me: Sometimes I roast a chicken for dinner.  It’s so easy, flavorful and semi-healthy. I cut a bulb of garlic in half and stuff it inside the dry chicken. Then I drizzle the chicken with olive oil and shake Montreal Seasoning on top. Bake at 325 until that little white timer thing pops up. After I slice and platter the chicken up I place the remaining chicken carcass in a plastic bag and freeze it so I can make homemade chicken soup another night.  One meal, two dinners: do I hear someone say SNOOZE BUTTON?

Introducing my “A” Team …

That A stands for Allison. The A Team refers to the people responsible for keeping me so awesome! Yes, that part about awesome was sarcasm.  In keeping it real though, I am not referring to a staff of cosmetologists, personal assistants or public relation people. I am speaking of that team that helps me get through my day, year, life. The people who help it run as smooth as it possibly can.  

My team includes the obvious and much appreciated cast of characters; husband, mother, sister, children, extended family and friends. But they are just the nucleus of my team. Along with them are the doctors, dentists, tax accountants, financial wizards, my home and health insurance agents, the gals at our credit unions and my Blog Editor! I cannot comprehend or do ANY of those jobs, hence my immense appreciation for their patience and professionalism.

So far we are all the same I suspect, right? But apparently here is where I may be different. My dear friend was visiting me many years ago and was surprised to find I knew that name of the woman behind the deli counter. After that, she was not at all surprised then when I invited my mail carrier to a brunch at my home. 

My philosophy is really quite simple… if you help me in any way at all, then I am grateful and will respond with kindness and almost feel obligated to address you by your name. So, yes I know my recycling guys name is Willie. Every two weeks he empties our bins and then lugs them back to my house. A neighbor asked me how come the recycling guy brings our empty bins up our driveway for us. I responded, “Willie doesn’t do that for you?” Kindness matters.

When our children were young we moved to Michigan. If you have ever moved, you know how important figuring out when garbage day is, right? So every Tuesday my children and I would lug garbage, empty boxes and ugly window treatments to the end of our driveway. It was summer and super hot - so one day my kids ran out and gave our garbage man a cup of lemonade. The next week they offered him a granola bar. By the end of that first month they were making him pictures on the driveway with chalk, and he would write messages back to them!!! It was not long before all our errands were scheduled around Tuesday so that we could see our friend. I wrote a letter to his company explaining how he represented the company with class, professionalism and kindness. He was promoted soon thereafter and we were disappointed that we would not see him anymore. Guess who came dressed in business casual to our home for lunch every so often? You betcha! Kindness matters.

My friend Mr. Charles is on the right. We took this selfie when I went back to Tuscaloosa for a visit!  If you see him, please tell him how much I still miss him!!!

I also know my post person’s name and visit him when I am back in town! I was kind when I brought my jewelry in to be fixed; came out with a job and lifetime friends! I’d be a fool not to befriend the girls who fix my Cruella De Vil hairdo every single month! I’ve attended Barre Class enough to be able to call a few of them my friends too. Knowing the people who are on your team makes the daily grind feel more like visiting with friends!

One of my husbands favorite quotes that he shares with every single offensive line he coaches, college or pro, is, “No man is an island, he must draw his strength from others.”  He got that right, except that this island is a gal!  

Moral: Kindness takes little effort and often costs nothing, but can make the biggest difference to everyone involved. Spread kindness!

with kindness,

A little thing I do: Whenever I speak to someone helpful on the phone I always ask to speak to their supervisor. It may take five minutes of my time, but the joy I receive from sharing my positive experience is utterly worth every second!

What kind little thing do you do?

One person's trash...

To the rest of the world Wednesday may be Hump Day, but to me, it is Recycling Day!  I love this day. I have been an avid reduce, reuse, repurpose and recycler for more than half my lifetime.  This means I was recycling long before it was either cool or convenient. Some might say I’m a girl ahead of my time.

I am incredibly proud of this part of me. I shared this affinity and belief when I taught kindergarten. We tackled topics like recycling, water conservation, air pollution and the increasing numbers of landfills.  These young people knew to turn off water while brushing their teeth.  They knew it was unconscionable to throw cigarette butts out of car windows.  These five-year-olds toted rinsed out empty cans to school everyday to be recycled. In short, they “got it.”

To this day still, I strive to collect more recycling than trash. I’ve heard people say that they don’t like to recycle because neighbors will get a glimpse into their lives.  Trust me, we don’t pass judgement on all the wine bottles you’ve got, nor for all those flattened boxes of mac and cheese. And my feelings are not hurt one little bit that you clearly had a party and did not invite me!!!

Since my recycling seems to always overflow, I needed to ponder this challenge during our recent kitchen renovation. I thought out loud how cool it would be if I could just make a hole in the kitchen wall and drop our recycling into the bin that is just on the other side in the garage. With the genius help of my contractor, who also just happens to be my brother in law, Voila! This might be the coolest feature in our home because it is functional, unique and encourages EVERYONE to recycle!  

There is a aluminum chute in the hole that guides all recycling into the bin.

Not only do I recycle, but I repurpose.  I can repurpose the heck out of just about anything. I truthfully cannot drive by an old window pane, door or broken down chair without pulling over and rescuing it from impending doom.  Some people like stray cats.  I like stray inanimate objects. In my head I am saving it from filling a garbage dump, but really I am brimming with the excitement of what this newfound treasure might become. That is exactly the moment when the fine line blurs between saving the Earth and hoarding. I often wonder if I might be just one rescued window away from appearing on a reality television show!

This paper towel holder used to be an ice picker upper back in its day!

Moral: It is so rewarding to know that you are doing your part.

with hope,

A little thing I do: I combined my obsession for rescued window panes with my love of chalkboards! At gatherings I ask friends to sign the board! Others are for me to change depending on the season, reason or just because! Just buy whiteboard at your local hardware store to fit within your frame.  If you smile and be kind you’ll even find that they might cut it to size for you! Paint the brown side of the whiteboard with three coats of chalkboard paint - it’s that simple!

Rescued this treasure covered in dirt with broken glass panes-look at her now!

I’m all ‘bout that bass, ‘bout that bass, but I have no treble

I cannot carry a tune.  I struggle to hear the beat.  I cannot read music, therefore I cannot play an instrument. Oh and dancing does not come naturally either.

That said, like with many people a single musical note and I CAN TIME TRAVEL in an instant. With one note I am lying on my shag green carpet listening to Elton John’s Your Song 45 rpm I purchased with my very own chore money. Hearing The Partridge Family’s I Think I Love You reminds me I am still waiting for David Cassidy to ask me to marry him! Catching a note of Leaving on a Jet Plane by John Denver and I am reminded of how sad I was when my dad went on a trip overseas, something that was actually a glimpse of what was to come.

With little to no musicality, my life still relies heavily upon music.  I did a whole lot of driving when the kids were young.  To pass the time they earned a quarter for every artist they recognized. How proud I was when they knew the difference between Elton John and Billy Joel at the ripe old age of 4.  Now of course, the tables have turned. It’s not so easy for me to decipher between Kid Kudi and Kid Rock, but I give it a go!  Music inspires me as well.  I wonder if Alicia Keys knows that when she sings Superwoman it makes me feel as if I can do just about anything. Music fills voids for me too. I can turn on a favorite song and even if I am alone all of a sudden I am surrounded.

Since I am a football person, it would be difficult not mention the importance of music in stadiums across our country. The emotion exuded from fans can take your breath away. Watching fans sing the National Anthem in heartfelt unison moments before “battle” is always a goose-bump moment for me.  Sweet Home Alabama and I’m back in crimson and houndstooth, shaking my pompom cheering on my Tide.  Thunderstruck plays and I am in Spartan Stadium watching Sparty (the Michigan State mascot) in a horse-drawn chariot charge onto the field. Hearing Callin’ Baton Rouge just before a night game in LSU Stadium is an experience of a lifetime, even if you’re in enemy territory..  

Music keeps so many moments in my lifetime part of who I am. Return to Pooh Corner and I am rocking my son to sleep.  American Pie are my daughter and I driving to Disney under a starry sky.  Unchained Melody puts me on a first date with my husband. Forever Young and I am watching a part of our football family buried far too young. Frank Sinatra and we’re all in the kitchen cooking. James Taylor songs go hand-in-hand with my sister. Boys of Fall and I shudder how important a song about a game I had no idea about can now reduce me to tears. God Bless the U.S.A. by Lee Greenwood and I still choke up in disbelief at the mind blowing, numbing and forever altering events of 9-11.

So as you can see, music has always had a direct line to my heart.  Even as I sit here writing I am listening to music that will hopefully one day remind me of this day! It’s just part of my ever-growing musical memories cd. Lucky me!

Everyone has songs that resonate with them.  I’d really love for you to share your song and memories with me, if for no other reason than to maybe stir up another memory inside me!

Moral: Memories, good and bad, that have been stored away can sometimes be brought alive in an instant, meaning they weren’t really stored away at all, but simply waiting for the right time to come out of hiding!

love...love...love, (nod to the Beatles)

Nobody’s Perfect - not even me

Just in case you were thinking I am perfect, I am pretty far from it.  I don’t have all the answers. I have 2,905 unopened emails.  I forget my coupons when I go to the store.  At times I have gone a few days without a shower.  I am always forgetting my passwords. I have a potty mouth sometimes.  My whites are dingy.  I only wash windows when I move.  My home has a slight film of dust.  

But wait, there’s more. I sneak m&m’s at night when no one is looking. Oh and just this morning I spilled a bit of my coffee right on top of my computer keyboard.  Yeah, so my computer is sitting in a rice “bath” while I write this blog on my daughter’s computer. I would rather clean a toilet with my bare hands then go to the gym some days. I can’t even begin to get myself to drink 8 glasses of water a day.  I misplace important papers more often than not.  Get this, I have even lost the hard drive of my old computer… just can’t find it anywhere!  Honestly, what is wrong with me?

Actually, nothing at all.  Because while I’m nowhere near perfect, I recognize perfection when I see it.  I once ate a plum that rocked my world.  I stood in the redwood forest and cried.  I have skied alone on a freshly snow-covered cross-country trail. I saw a double rainbow appear right before my eyes. I walked under a huge cherry blossom tree on a breezy day and it snowed pink upon me.  I ate an entire sourdough boule in San Francisco. I walked the stone cobbled streets of Italy.

I’ve come close to perfection a few times myself.  I created a paint color in 2001 by mistake that I love so much that I have used it in every single home since.  My cheesecake is pretty gosh darn perfect. Our dog would be perfect if not for his “dog” breath. As you know I think my home is perfect, except for our plumbing woes!

Here I am helping my sister paint her New York City Apartment in my almost perfect paint color!

So here is what truly baffles me.  I don’t expect perfection from my friends or family. Not even from my children and husband.  Yet, for some reason I expect it from myself?  When anyone else falls short I am right there to build them up.  Encouraging them to pick up the pieces and move forward.  Everyone makes mistakes.  A mistake is only a mistake if you don’t learn from it.  Nobody is perfect.  Don’t be so hard on yourself! Yet  when I make a mistake, I am my own worse critic.  In fact, I am downright mean to myself. I ridicule myself.  I shake my head in disappointment.  I replay the errors of my ways in an endless loop. If I treated others how I treat myself I would be all alone in this world.  So I have decided that today I am going to try and be kinder to me, since I am perfectly Allison, imperfections and all.

Moral: Treat yourself as you would treat those you love. It’s only fair to do so.

Your imperfect friend,

Ghosts and Plumbers

A few of you have asked me about my plumber reference last week.  I mentioned that it wasn’t a pretty story and therefore I would not be sharing it. Well, I have since had a change of heart. You see, my blogs are my inner thoughts. That means, just like me, each written blog will be a bit of happy, sad, funny, ironic, baffling, ugly, innocent, frustrating, sarcastic and all honest!  So then why shouldn’t I blog about my plumbing problems?

This really got me thinking.  As you are well aware, blogging is a new thing for me.  I have been writing all my life but with a particular audience in mind.  I knew their age, grade and reading level.  Many of you however are a mystery to me.  Unless you comment, like, share, personal message, email, re-tweet, call, see me on the street, at the gym or grocery store… I have no idea who you really are.  Not sure of what is appropriate to write about or not and have to trust you will make that “call.” My daughter tells me these are ghost readers. 

Now about the only thing I know about ghosts are a handsome Patrick Swayze, Casper the Friendly Ghost and the time I thought we had a ghost in the basement of our home in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.  That turned out to be nothing more than the hot water heater turning on after my son took his shower at night!

With that out of the way, back to my plumbing story. The very home I adore has a septic system. For you city folk, this means there is a very large box under our property that collects all that drains from our home pipes.  Laundry, sinks, bathtubs and yes, the toilets! When it works, you don’t even know it’s there. When it doesn’t, well . . . 

It started with the basement toilet and shower floor not draining properly.  We unscrewed the drain cover and pulled out all the hair. Ugh. Next the toilet would not flush properly. So we took off the toilet and snaked it. Oh and by the way, this was such a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon. What happened next we were not prepared for. All that was draining out of our home was actually filling up the basement shower floor. As I said there is nothing pretty about this story. The septic tank company arrived the following morning, which was conveniently one of the coldest and snowiest days of the winter. They spent all morning trying to locate our septic tank since of course we had not a clue where it was under all that snow! Four hours later as they were leaving they instructed me to call a plumbing service since we still had no indoor plumbing! Next, arrived the cockiest and kindest plumber. He strode into our home like Clint Eastwood, and said he would have it fixed by the time he left and HE DID just that. 

While he was writing out the bill, we discussed proper cleaning formulas, the science of the septic system, the importance of using single-ply toilet paper and what NOT to put down all drains. We also spoke about life. Yes life. Once someone cleans out your clogged pipes and such you sort of don’t have any more secrets! We talked about the chickens he raises and how we both share a love for coffee.

When he made an emergency call just two weeks later for the very same problem I made a fresh pot of coffee. He arrived with fresh eggs from his chickens in one hand and his tools in the other. After he unclogged our drain he thought I should see the culprits. 

No worries, I am not sharing those details with you, but suffice to say that was the moment I decided a sign in every single bathroom would be better than having that awkward conversation with each guest. You catch my drift? For those guests that plan on smuggling in that plush two-ply toilet paper that we miss so much, we search and confiscate here at the Stoutland Inn.

Moral: You will find friends in the most unusual places if you keep your eyes and heart open!

Your friend,

*A little thing I need: If you, including my friendly ghost readers, have any suggestions that might help this city gal living in the country, please share them with me.  My home, our septic system and I can use all the tips we can get!

Snow, Soup and Soul

It just cannot be ignored anymore, the freezing weather that has blanketed across the entire United States of America and how it’s affecting people’s lives. Some parts of our country would say being suffocated. Others might say knocking the breath right out of them. No matter how you classify it, it is downright and horrifically cold. 

Cornell is anxious to get inside our home.

I’m not sure about you, but this weather has changed my routine. My dog and I now spend precious minutes each putting on our winter coats before going for our walk. It is too cold these days to even take my cup of coffee along. Gone are the leisurely walks where I take pictures of every little thing I see. It is so cold that our walks have now turned into sprints. He goes to the bathroom right outside our front door and pulls me right back into the house.  If he is feeling brave we venture down the driveway, but inevitably it ends with me carrying him and his frozen paws back home! When an animal that has its own fur coat has had enough that’s saying something!.

This cold weather has also turned me into an early morning plumber. Twice this past week panic set in when I turned on the water and nothing came out.  For that first second I panicked thinking I forgot to pay the water bill, but then I realized the pipes were frozen. Envision me, if you are brave, running around frantically in my pajamas, hair sticking up every which way grabbing for the hairdryer, searching for a WORKING flashlight and extension cords.  Next I am climbing into the attic, moving around a bunch of insulation and warming the pipes to melt the ice inside. It is dark, freezing and a very lonely place to be and I find at those times that I am making deals. “Please pipes defrost, I’ll never take you for granted again.” Somehow my “negotiating” paid off and thankfully I averted the potential flooding situations. I did cover myself in a dusting of tiny glass shards, however. There’s always a trade off of sorts, right?

I’m not going to lie. I actually like cold weather. While we were living in southern Florida, it was the cold weather I missed the most. There is just something about cold air on my face. I did not say below-zero air, just simply cold. Once I flew from Florida to New York City to help my sister move apartments and the forecast was for a blizzard. I recall stepping outside to hail a cab and was hit by a blast of chilly air and I thought to myself, “I am going to cry.”  It felt like home to me; reminded me of my growing up years in the Northeast. I jumped inside the cab and that’s when the tears began to flow. You might be wondering why? Well I like wearing my boots and sweaters, sweatpants and sweatshirts, or even my fuzzy pajamas on cold days like that. I like sitting in front of a fireplace. I LOVE looking at the pretty snow through my window. I love the quiet it drapes over the world. I love the endless snowflakes and how they drop from the sky. I love making snowmen. But most of all, I love the warming up process.  I love drinking hot cocoa and slurping up a bowl of warm soup.

Standing in the middle of New York City during the Blizzard of 2011! Who is happier than me?

My soup addiction may be traced back to the book Chicken Soup with Rice by Maurice Sendak. Or that growing up chicken soup is what moms made when you were not feeling quite right. Regardless of the reason, there is something very comforting to me about sitting with a bowl of warm soup in my hands as it warms my face. I get that same “filling” feeling when I serve a bowl of my homemade soup to someone. Soup is love. Soup warms your heart, body and soul.

So this seems the perfect time for me to share one of my go-to soup recipes.  You will come to see that I hardly ever make anything that is difficult. Actually, the more shortcuts I can use the better! These recipes I will be sharing are basically healthy, delicious, will hardly dirty up your kitchen, are easy to make and hence, should make you all around happy.  I choose to share my Black Bean Soup recipe with y’all because a sweet friend in Alabama requested that I do … so I shall do just that!

This is where I create all my soups

Black Bean Soup

3 cans of black beans

1 medium Spanish onion chopped *

1 can chopped green chilis (I use mild, but if you like it hot, use accordingly!)

1 small jar of your favorite salsa

Sour cream (use whatever level of richness you prefer)

Chopped scallion or chive (your call)

Swirl olive oil onto bottom of your soup pot and turn to medium high heat.  Once warm, add chopped onion and a sprinkle of kosher salt. Cook until softened. Add two drained cans of beans, entire can of chilis and half a jar of salsa into soup pot and give it a mix. Fill both of the empty black bean cans with water and add to soup pot as well. Let it simmer on low for a bit.  Now is a good time to mash up that third can of black beans right in its can with a fork. Oh, no need to drain this one. Add that to the pot, stir it up and then taste it. This is the doctor-it-up time. Need more spice? Add more salsa. Like it more liquidy? Add some water. You get the gist, right? Told you it wasn’t rocket science! Serve with a dollop of sour cream and then top with chopped scallion or chive!

I personally think no Black Bean Soup is complete without the cornbread.  So here is another one of my easy, peasy recipes.

Homemade(ish) Cornbread

I box of Jiffy corn muffin mix

I small can of creamed corn

1 egg

1 tablespoon of oil

1 8-inch cast iron skillet

Place cast iron skillet in a 425-degree oven to preheat! Mix all the ingredients into a bowl, careful to not over mix. Carefully take preheated skillet out of oven, IT WILL BE SUPER HOT, and pour cornbread mixture in. It will make a most wonderful sizzling sound. Bake in oven until top is a golden brown and toothpick comes out clean, about 15-20 minutes. Let sit a bit on counter until you can’t wait another second, cut into triangles and serve with your soup!

Moral: If you take a short cut, just be sure to use that extra saved time to do something kind for yourself or others!

with warmth,

*A little thing I do: I stock my freezer with bags of chopped onions, frozen kale and corn when it goes on sale. This way I always have them on hand for soup season. They are just one step from fresh, and time and cost effective! With the time I save in peeling, chopping and crying over an onion I could rule the world! I could pack a box! I could write a blog! I could eat a handful of peanut m&m’s! I could take a nap! So many options… so little time!

No, I am not in the Witness Protection Program

Sometimes when asked for my address I give that blank panic stare. Other times I have to lug myself into the gas station because I’ve typed in the wrong zip code and they think I have a stolen credit card. Many times when I am in a store buying window treatments, I have to go through three homes in my mind to get to the one I am currently living in. I have gotten up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom; you do that too, right, and walked right into a wall.  That’s my life, a coaches’ wife life. See, my husband is a football coach—and a good one. He’s been an assistant coach at a number of high-level college programs (winning two national championships) and currently is an offensive line coach in the NFL. With that often comes opportunity. With opportunity comes moving.  If we are not moving, then we are unpacking and if we are not unpacking then we are just waiting to pack up again. I’m not looking for sympathy, just stating the facts ma’am. 

I soon found out that one of my jobs, as the female leader of our football family is to keep all our lives in order while moving.  Keep us sailing smoothly from one port to the next, all with a smile upon my face. My obvious jobs include collecting all school, medical and dental records, every x-ray and the dog’s records as well. More importantly is not losing that precious collection in transit.  There is the cleaning, listing, staging, and selling of our home while packing it up at the very same time. Then handling all those gut-wrenching goodbyes. I am shaking my head right now because those jobs may look small on paper, yet they take up so much of my whole life. I grade myself hard on this job and will only tolerate a high passing grade.

The first grade is on selling the current home that cared for us. I get attached to our homes. They know so much about us and become part of our family.  They have seen us at our best and worst. They have protected us from weather, helped us prepare meals, entertained friends and family and kept us safe. My goal is to find a potential buyer who will love and care for our home like we did and ultimately buy it. It all begins with the decluttering, depersonalizing and cleaning process. Then we get the home “show ready” which always includes a plate of warm cookies and a note. Oh and then I ask my fairy friends for help. Yes I do have little house fairies, and I am not embarrassed to admit it. They have not failed me yet, so who’s laughing now?

The goodbye is another grade I receive. To me true success is measured by how much we cry when we move. If people will be missed and hearts are sad then I know we have loved and lived there fully. Don’t get me wrong, I do not celebrate all the tears, but I do feel a sense of assurance. My theory is that saying goodbye should be sad. Imagine how sad it would be if you moved and missed no one or vice versa?  That would be the saddest of all.

My other grade comes from finding the next perfect home. It’s such a crapshoot and the clock is always ticking. You listen to endless well-meaning people and their opinions. You scour the Internet reading every opinion on every potential neighborhood, school district and the like. Usually the responsibility for choosing the school district falls squarely into my lap.  Yet, this last move of ours was slightly different. With it being my daughter’s third high school move, and first without her older brother in tow, we let her pick the school. I am not a fan of change and felt we owed her that much. So we met with three different districts school principals. My two children basically asked all the questions while I sat there dumbfounded wondering, “When did they become so grown up?” Once the school was determined, we began the fun part; house hunting.  

We, like most, have our list of demands.  It includes all the basic needs like room and bathroom count and acceptable commute and such.  But it also includes the not-so-basic demands.

1. Laundry CANNOT be in the basement. I watched the movie Amityville Horror as a teen and fear someone will grab my legs as I go up and down the stairs.

2. A place I can see myself inspired to write.

3. A spot for a garden; or if I’m being honest, a place to manage weeds.

4.  Wood burning fireplace would be wonderful!

5. A room for all our friends and family we moved away from to visit, sleep, eat and sign our guestbook. *

6. Most of all, we need to feel that we could live in this home and be happy.

picture courtesy of Madi, after she drove to school this morning just to find out it had been cancelled! 

I am writing this blog in my latest and most favorite home of all (so far). I felt it the minute I saw her. She sat at the end of a curvy driveway with her back nestled up into the woods.  She is brick with tall black shutters. Her kitchen was quite undersized, outdated but she had a large wood-burning fireplace on one end. Her wood floors creak, her big windows a bit drafty. She is not perfect but she IS beautiful, understated, simple yet strong.  Sometimes when I come home and see her, I cry. She could be and actually is my friend. If she could talk she would thank me for choosing her and for loving her, I just know she would. I would respond with a “No—thank you for being such an important part of our family.” Final Grade: A+.

 Moral: Give your whole heart and soul to every job you do.

Your lucky friend,

 *A little thing I do: A book inconspicuously sits on the bedside table in our guest room.  It is filled with heartfelt sentiments, funny tales, drawings, scribbles and run on sentences from our houseguests. This guestbook is my “bone.”  I hate when friends and family leave and I’m not so fond of the cleanup either. So, I don’t let myself read what they have written until that job is done.  This book is proof that our life may keep us moving away from the people we love, but it can never really keep us apart. When I am sad and lonely, I reread all the posts.  As time has passed, so have some of the people who have stayed with us in our 9 homes.  That makes this little thing I do priceless indeed.

Hearts amongst us

I’ve never been sure if hearts find me or if I find them.  It doesn’t really matter. It is just a wonderful part of my life.  Heart shaped potato chips, clouds, leaves, ponds, rocks and even a baked potato.  I plan one day to make them a book, but I do not suggest you hold your breath!

I have a dear friend who fought a courageous, long and hard battle with breast cancer. For years we prayed, walked relays, drank oodles of green tea, added flax seeds to everything and went to way too many doctor appointments.  We celebrated birthdays and holidays with gratitude and gifts.  Every gift I gave her was a heart of some kind to remind her that even though we did not always live close by she was always in my heart.  We would have many heart-to-heart talks too. She was always worried about her family and that she would be forgotten. I listened and tried to quell her fears, even though I was scared she would forget us. I remember one night asking her to please, please, please visit me when she was gone … she promised.

As life would have it, towards the end of her battle, we were living just 5 miles from each other. I was there at her final radiation and chemotherapy treatments. I was there when Hospice came for that initial interview. I was there when they admitted her. I had the honor of being by her side for her last breath. 

The days following were all a blur. Family, friends and arrangements came and went. Writing thank you cards filled the next few weeks. Months later, I was invited to look through what her husband had left that the children and her sister did not feel compelled to keep. It was the trip I dreaded most, since it was the last time I would be in one of her homes. It felt like the worst kind of tag sale … things lined up on counters and tables. As I perused the items, someone commented on how much she must have loved hearts. That was our thing, so I carefully collected the heart cookie pan, bowl and jewelry dish—oh, and the two mugs we drank tea from. Those pieces are still some of my most prized possessions. 

Years passed and she never visited and I was most baffled and disappointed.  See, if you knew her, you would understand that nothing can stop her if she sets her mind to something, other than that horrific, despicable breast cancer.  I could not understand why, after her promise, she would not send me a sign.

It happened at a most unsuspected time. I was driving to my son’s golf match with another mom. It was a bit of a drive and we were sort of new friends so it was a car ride filled with chatter. She was so easy to talk to, and the kind of person who asked questions and listened to your answer. During the drive the story of my friend spilled out of me … and I told her how I was lucky enough to keep a few of the heart gifts I had given to her over the course of our friendship. Her response was something like this, “So that’s why you find hearts everywhere?’ At first I was confused, but then it hit me like thirty tons of bricks. All the hearts I had been finding were actually finding me. She really had been sending me signs. I just did not see them for their true value, until that moment. I started to cry in her car as I am crying now. It took the eyes of a new friend to see through the eyes of my old one.

Don’t be sad, for she will never, ever be forgotten. She is everywhere. And now when you see a heart, and trust me you will, you’ll remember her as well. If it’s not too much trouble, please, send me a picture of the hearts you find—yet beware. She has a pretty funny sense of humor too!

Moral: Sometimes, what is right in front of you can only be seen with the help of a friend.

your heart loving friend,

Have you seen my abs?

No, seriously, have you seen my abs?  I haven’t in quite sometime now. If I’m being honest, they may have actually run away.  You see, I’ve never been very nice to them.  Why? It’s simple, they have never really impressed me. I guess I just never felt they went out of their way for me.  When I was 16 I thought they were flabby and lazy.  If I only knew what was to come I might have been much more appreciative and complimentary. 

As a single gal in my 20’s, I was certain that my stomach was my weak link.  After all, why else would all my friends be getting married while I was their bridesmaid? It had to be the abs, right?  So everyday after work, my abs and I teamed up and went to the gym.  Of course I do not really think it was the abs, but one night out I met the guy who became my husband!  So my abs and I got married and spent our honeymoon in a bikini!!!  Looking back now, that was our peak, our shining moment! 

I’m sure what followed is common to many. The 30’s brought pregnancies and children. We spent the first pregnancy making sure we had enough calcium for strong bones, which meant we enjoyed chocolate chip cookies with every glass of milk.  Not our best move. It is possible that my abs felt forgotten, taken advantage of and therefore quite unhappy.  We spent those years caring for the needs of our kids and put ours aside.  At that time in our lives we were hanging by a mommy thread and we were the least of our concerns. 

With the start of the 40’s, we were in sync again!  Our common goal of turning the big 4-0 and looking our best was in full force!  As life often happens, my abs and I started strong and then began to take our relationship for granted and slacked off.  We never went to the gym together, our morning sit up routine became a thing of the past, and we just did not make time together a priority.  We spent our hours driving kids to and from activities, homework and keeping our home in order. It shocked me how reorganizing the spice rack was more important to us than going to the gym.  At the end of our 40’s a young friend made us her New Years Resolution, and would literally pick us up each morning at 5:30 and go to the gym.  I don’t admit this to too many people, but we loved that routine.  That is until she moved away and we went back to our old ways!

With the 50’s here our kids are either in college or on their way. Our mornings are not full of making three meals a day, picking up the house, running errands and food shopping all before the clock strikes 3. We have time now to take care of us. No excuses anymore, no drawers to reorganize.  We have found comfort in starting out the day at the gym. The ironic thing is that now my abs are nowhere to be found.  NOWHERE!  I have been searching in all the obvious places… gym, my exercise clothes, inside my sneakers, even my skinny jeans but no sign of them anywhere.  Someone told me that many abs can be found in Barre Classes, so I attended that too … for over a year now. Everyday that I go I think they will be there waiting for me with open arms. The other day my instructor friend said, “Place your left hand on your abs and smack them, this will engage them.”  With hope I placed my hand on my belly.  NEWS FLASH: They are still missing. 

So if you happen to see my abs wandering the streets, please send them home to me. Let them know that I am determined to find them because I really do miss them very much.

Moral: Taking anything or anyone for granted usually does not end well.

Your friend,

Up, up and away...

Every time I board a plane I kiss my fingers and lay them upon the entrance. It’s sort of like sharing a piece of my heart with the vehicle that will thrust me through the sky to my next destination. As you can tell I am not such a great flyer. I mentally struggle with maintaining my composure while sitting on a very heavy piece of metal tubing hurtling through the air at 500 miles per hour!!! I was not always so fearful, I used to actually love flying. But in my defense I have a pretty darn good reason for this sixteen-ish-year-old fear. 

Once upon a time while attending the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl I was invited to be a guest on a small private jet to the Grand Canyon. It seemed so luxurious and it happened to be my birthday! I accepted and boarded one of the six-seaters with great anticipation. I expected champagne, croissants and great views!!! What I had not expected was the worst turbulence I had ever experienced in my lifetime. Our heads were literally being banged up against the walls. My knuckles were so white from grabbing my friends hand beside me. You could see each of our relieved faces when our descent began until our pilot realized he was landing at the wrong airport! Really???? So up our little plane climbed again, as the clouds and currents played with us like a child with a mobile. 

 That was bad enough, but that was not the worst of it … Upon landing we took a lovely drive along the canyon and ate a delicious lunch at a window table overlooking the Grand Canyon. While eating lunch our jet group decided we would stick together and ride home unified, since we thought how could the flight home possibly be worse?

The return flight was smooth, and we were chatting and laughing as we began our descent until we saw smoke—yeah, you just read that right, SMOKE! The cabin was quickly filling with smoke and the pilot was calling for emergency clearance to land! With it becoming difficult for the pilot to see he opened his door ... Yes, his door!!!! We landed within minutes to a flurry of emergency vehicles! 

Apparently a fuse blew and my friends rain coat caught on fire. They reassured us that we were really never in any danger—of course they probably weren’t counting the possibility of a heart attack.

That night while I was struggling with facing death combined with my gratitude for being safe, a plate of cookies arrived with a note, “Sorry for the bumpy ride!” And that my friends is when this sweet, grateful, kind-hearted girl who loved flying became anything but.  

My other flying habit, the Angel Roll Call, I also credit to this experience. Every single flight upon take off, landing and turbulence of any kind I silently rattle off the names of humans and pets in my lifetime who now reside in heaven. It seems a way for me to focus and think. I believe that when I call their names inside my head they hear me and help keep me safe in the sky. I repeat this ever-growing list until I no longer feel compelled.  

My final habit occurs upon exiting the plane. I make it a point to shout towards the cockpit an honest to goodness “thanks for getting us here safely” cheer because I really do mean it.

And in case you were wondering, each one works and really does make me feel more comfortable and at ease. Just maybe sharing this story with you will help a fellow scaredy cat flyer just like me.

Moral: Life events mold us, might as well embrace them!

your friend,

Finally…my first blog

Ever notice that sometimes life just does not go according to your schedule?  Well, that happens to be the case with this website.  Technology got the best of us.  In my Pollyanna mind this website would be three weeks old by now, which is why talking about my resolutions seemed so timely.  Now that we are finally up and running, 3 weeks later, not so timely.  But still, I felt it was important to share as my first blog.

I hope you will choose to come along on this new journey with me, as I share my random thoughts and I encourage you to please share yours with me.  I don’t know about you, but I am very excited... enjoy the read!

My 2014 Resolution is accomplished...better late than never, right?

As most of you know, of the many things I do, one is being a children’s book author (thus the website and blog).  As part of my “job” I have the honor of traveling around the United States speaking at schools, organizations, businesses and to anyone and everyone else that I meet along the way; airline attendants, taxi cab drivers, school custodians...you get the picture. Some people say I would talk to a tree if it could talk back to me.  For years, some of these people have asked me if I have a blog.  I’ll be honest, (as I always am), I had no idea what they were talking about. I thought it was a sport!!!  I then thought who (yes, even The Who’s down in Whoville) would want to read what I have to say, or even follow my blog?  It surprises me that people are somehow attracted to what is on my mind and in my heart.  As they say somewhere, give the people what they want.  So, I got “schooled in blogging” and here it goes...

It was the end of 2013 and I was struggling with what resolution I could possibly make that I was capable of following through with!  Those pesky promises even from when I was a little girl have always ranged from be nicer to my younger sister, stop biting my nails to the more “mature” ones like: eat less bread, drink 8 glasses of water a day, keep all flat surfaces in my home free from clutter, do 300 sit-ups each morning, be less of a procrastinator, embrace my inner OCD... all of which lasted maybe until well, I forgot to remember!!!  But then I figured it out!! My 2014 resolution would be to rethink my business plan and give it my all, because I love it too dearly to let it go.  So among other things, I would start by redesigning Inch by Inch Publications’ website and incorporate a BLOG!  I thought how hard can this be, after all it’s not a sport!?!?!

Wondering how it worked out for me?  Well, I am sitting here writing to you on my back porch (a sunny 40-degree morning and yes my fingers are very frosty) with my trusty, sweet dog Cornell, and the date is December 20, 2014! Yup, procrastinated all year long, and not while doing sit ups, being kind to myself or drinking water!!!  Yet in my own defense I really did try all year long.  My obstacle was my lack of knowledge of how technology works.  So this is where my younger sister Karen enters the picture, and yes, I am so much nicer to her these days.  Karen has all skills I have not and vice versa. While I baked and crafted she did everything she could to help Inch by Inch inch along. Who knew my resolution would become hers? With her determination, she hired a past coworker of hers, the talented and always patient Regina Ranonis Tucker, who also happens to have the same resolution as me, imagine that? The website was not redesigned a little bit, it has been utterly and completely transformed. Somehow Regina understood all my sayings and managed to design my new website!!! I hope you like it as much as I do and want to share it and my blog with your friends and family.  All you have to do is click the share button below, no exercise involved!

Just as Aesop’s Fables has a moral at the end of each fable, so shall I.

Moral: Do not be afraid to ask and enlist the help of those that can do what you can not!  

your friend,