Lopsided Meatballs

Alyssa's wedding is one week from today. One week! This week has been very busy trying to get things ready that I can help with from here. I've made eight corsages, and three bridesmaids bouquets. I bought my dress. I've made meatballs.

I've made and frozen many meatballs. I am still making and freezing many meatballs. Many, many meatballs.

All summer I have felt a little guilty, I bought and planted a bunch of herbs. I planted rosemary, thyme, basil, oregano, parsley, sage and chives. Then this summer, I never felt like cooking anything. At all. The herbs kept growing and I kept not using them. I felt bad for spending the money, on them and not using them.

 Well, the guilt is gone. I have harvested, washed, picked through and chopped so many herbs the last week that my fingers may be permanently green. I have used just about all of the herbs except the sage and chives. They have paid for themselves many times over now. If I had bought all of the herbs for the meatballs at the store it would have added up very quickly. I probably would have had to use dried herbs just because of the cost.

I have smelled like a walking talking meatball for days! No matter how many times you shower or wash your hands the smell just stays with you. And then of course there is the onions and garlic.

Anyone who knows me, knows I HATE onions. I hate them with a passion. I don't like them cooked, I don't like them raw. I know, and this is the ONLY reason I will ever use them, that they do add flavor to dishes. When I do decided to use them, which is very rarely, there is only one way I can do it, I "slap chop" the hell out of them. I dice them up very, very small with my knife, and then put the tiny dices in my slap chopper, and pulverize them. After that, I must cook them down to nonexistence, or I won't be able to eat them.

So.... that's what I have been doing. Chopping, slapping, mixing, cooking, frying and of course testing meatballs.

Yes, I said frying. I guess there are many thoughts on how to cook a proper meatball. When I was growing up, my mom pan fried her meatballs to brown the outside, and then put them in the sauce to finish cooking. I have always made them that way as well.

I am a big fan of the Food Network. Out of curiosity, I have watched many different shows about making meatballs. Alton Brown says that my way of making meatballs is NOT "Good Eats." He says to bake them. Tyler Florence, says to bake them too. He says, "it's how we  do it in our restaurants." They hold their shape better, they said. You can cook them faster, they said. Valerie, my daughter, said that she had baked them and it worked great. Ok, so I decided to bake them....once. They tasted fine, but they had a weird spongy texture that I did not like. I did not like it at all. Then I started thinking. I have never meant a restaurant meatball that I liked. Never. I mean they aren't awful or anything, well, sometimes, but they are never good. I rarely ever order meatballs when I'm out, even as much as I love them, because they always disappoint. Even as a child, I remember being unhappy with any meatball but my mom's. So..... why would I change that?

Now, my meatballs are not perfectly shaped orbs of meat. Pan frying them leaves them flat on two sides. I fry them on one side for five minutes and them turn them over and fry them on the other side for five minutes. They have two flat sides. But, I can't say that I care. I just want them to taste good. I've been writing this post in five minute intervals. I can fit about sixteen meatballs in my frying pan at a time. I have made approximately 247 so far. That's a lot of five minute intervals.

I may never make meatballs again.......

September 11, 2001

I woke up early as usual. I was a school bus driver for Van Meter School District at the time and had to be to work at 6:45 am. I woke up the kids to get ready for school. Sierra, our cat came with me, as she did every day, jumping on each bed as I turned on their lights and roused them. I gave them each a hug and then left for work. It was a beautiful September morning. I was thinking to myself about what I needed to get done for Alyssa's birthday supper. She turned eleven that day. It was her "spirit birthday" or so she was told by one of her teachers. A "spirit birthday" is the birthday where you turn the age that the date of your birthday is. Alyssa believed that that meant it was going to be a special birthday. Being newly eleven, which is still young enough to believe in magic, I'm sure she believed she would have a magical birthday.

I got to the school, got my bus ready and headed out. My route went as usual, I must not have had the radio on that morning. I parked my bus and went to my car. I wanted to go and vote in the school board election so I could get it out of the way so I could get on with my day. I turned on the car and the radio.

I turned off the radio, I turned off the car. I walked into the school. I walked into the cafeteria. There was a study hall of high schoolers in there. What would normally have been a buzzing noise of students talking, and lunch ladies working, was replaced with a strange hush. I looked around and went into the kitchen. I asked if they knew what had happened. The head cook, looked at me with a stunned face and said yes, and remarked on how quickly the study hall had changed. How quickly these high schoolers had changed. I looked through the kitchen serving window and looked at the students.

Faces, young faces, were dazed, fighting tears, reddening with anger. Boys, suddenly realized how quickly they may be asked to become men. Would their college plans change to a military future. Girls, some weeping openly, wondered what was happening to the world around them. What seemed important when they walked into school, fifteen minutes earlier, faded quickly to frivolity. I looked at the faces. I wanted very much to collect my children and take them home. I went to the office, the elementary principle was talking to someone, saying that counselors were saying it was important to let kids stay in their normal routine. Keep them in school, keep them busy. I left and went to vote. Suddenly, voting seemed even more important.

I went to vote, the people there hadn't heard. Shock froze their faces when they were told. I voted and went home.

I was riveted to the TV. I couldn't stop watching. I got on the computer. At that time AOL was the main way to get onto the Internet. I got on, and looked for more news even as I had CNN on the TV. I saw my brother was online and I IM'd him to ask where exactly my sister lived in New York. I wasn't very familiar with New York City, at all, and didn't know if she might be in danger. She was safe. As we were messaging back and forth I saw something that said that one of the towers had fallen and said something to him about it. He told me, no, he could still see the tower there, they had to be mistaken. After I finished reading his comment I turned back to the TV to see if I could see the tower through all that smoke. As I studied the screen, the second tower fell. There goes the second tower, was all I could write back. I turned away from the computer and just stared at the TV. I wondered if this was a bad dream, was it some strange "War of the Worlds" dramatization? The world seemed to have stopped for an eternity. Words left the reporters, people that you are used to hearing babble on and on, had nothing to say.

"You have mail" screamed my computer. It had interrupted me from my tunnel vision with a start. My heart jumped from my chest, it was like an alarm clock waking me from a deep sleep. I turned, it was an email from my friend Dawn. "All those people," are the only three words I remember about it.

Later that afternoon I went back to work to take kids home from school. I brought red, white and blue ribbons back with me. Each of us drivers tied one on our bus rear view mirrors on the door side of the bus so the kids could see them when they came out of the school. My afternoon route did not go as usual. I left the radio off.

Kindergartners to high schoolers were on my bus. The older kids sat, still in a stunned silence. Looking out the window as the world went by. A world that looked so much different than the world they went by just that morning. The younger kids asked questions. Questions I didn't know how to answer. Questions that had no answers.

I got back to the school, got in my car, turned on the radio, and went home. Conferences were that night at school. The principles decided to continue with them, again keep the kids in their routine. I got home, I asked the kids if they wanted to go to conferences, they said no. We stayed home. We tried to enjoy Alyssa's birthday dinner. I can't tell you what we had. I don't remember making anything. Willie's cousins were there. The four of us tried to make the evening as normal as possible for Valerie, Josh and especially Alyssa. Her magical birthday was not to be. We ate, we sang happy birthday, we opened presents. We watched President Bush address the nation.

Iowa usually seems so far away from New York City. Iowa usually seems like a different world than Washington DC. Shanksville, Pennsylvania, was not even known to me. That day, that horrid horrid day, suddenly they felt like next door. Suddenly, every single one of those firefighters, police officers, and people from many countries, faiths and creeds, they were all family. The world had shrunk exponentially that day.

Ramdom Stuff

 I haven't been in much of a inspired mood lately. I've had a hard time thinking of things to blog about, unless it is bad mood stuff, and I don't want to do a lot of that. So, I was looking at some photos I took recently and decided to just tell little tidbits about them.

I have decided that this is my new dream vehicle. Now, I know that since it is my new dream vehicle I should know everything about it. I don't, you can ask my kids, knowing things about automobiles is not something my brain does. I seem to have a finite amount of room for information in my brain. If I start remembering detailed information about cars, I'll forget something else. That something else might be something important, like, how to get to work, for instance.

All I know is that Willie and I saw it at a car show at the Hoopston Sweetcorn Festival. It is a Ford, I know this because it says Ford on it. It is old, it is reddish orange, and it has white walls. I don't have real big desires when it comes to cars. If it goes forward and backwards, turns right and left, stops on demand and has a heater, I am pretty well set. Oh, and not having the engine belt fall off every time it rains is a big plus, but I can work with that. I just really like the way this truck looks. I can see me tooling around in it. It looks fun.

 Now, from the lets point out the obvious, department. I just couldn't resist taking this picture, Someone drove by while I was taking it and probably wondered what the heck......

 This spider is living in my garden. As ferocious as he looks, I decided to let him be. I figure he is eating the bugs we don't want on our vegetables. Plus, he is way in the back yard and not in my house. As long as he realizes that he does not belong in my house, we can coexist.

 Kahlen has figured out how to take pictures on my phone. She has not perfected the art, but everyone has to start somewhere.

And finally, I have a definite love hate relationship with this bridge. It is the bridge over the Mississippi river between Iowa and Illinois on interstate 80. When I am going west on it I love it. It is a welcome sight, it is beckoning me home. It is the bridge to my family. When I am going east on it, well, I said no bad mood stuff for this blog, so I will stop. Soon, I will be going west on it again for Alyssa's wedding. That makes me happy.

Trying This Video Thing Again

This is the sound of the thirteen year locusts when you have thirty-seven trees in your yard. (if the video works this time) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tjJAMv5UrW4 If you can't get it to work try this link to youtube

This year is the year of the thirteen year locust in Illinois. For those of you who may not have experienced this phenomenon, it is a sound to behold.

These little critters come out in mass once every thirteen years. I'm not completely sure how the whole process works, but here are the basics. Once every thirteen years, these locusts who have been underground dig their way to the surface. They climb into the trees. They make a whole heck of a lot of noise, and mate. They shed their skin, leave a big mess and die, leaving even a bigger mess.

The birds and other insect eaters, get very fat and happy.

The last time they came to visit, we were in Iowa. I think they come in a different cycle there. Joshua, was seven or eight. He had been fascinated with these strange and new creatures. We went on a lot of walks in the woods and heard the loud humming most of the summer. Then one day we went for a walk at Walnut Woods State Park in Des Moines. The locusts were starting to die. There were locusts all over the ground, some already dead. some still dying. Josh, not ready for the end of this experience was trying to save the little guys. He would carefully pick up a locust that was on the ground still moving. He gently placed them back on the tree they had fallen from. Once he was satisfied that locust was safe he would move on to the next.  He was determined to save these rather disgusting looking bugs. I didn't have the heart to tell him his mission was doomed to fail. We spent the better portion of that afternoon saving locusts. Valerie was disgusted by the whole thing, the crunching of the carcasses under her feet grossed her out. Alyssa, helped Josh, but I think she was pretty disgusted too.

"Campfire"

After a long summer of hot, hot days, disappointing   job searches and missing my kids and granddaughter terribly, I'm not so sure I am sorry to see summer go. One thing I love to do in the summer is go camping. Due to many factors we have not had a chance to camp this summer. I am not happy to see the chances to camp go swiftly by.

This last weekend of the summer season, Labor Day weekend was not our chance to go camping, we both had to work the whole weekend. I have to say, however, I'm not too upset about that. Friday and Saturday, the temperature was near 100 degrees. Not lovely for camping. Sunday it rained, and rained. Today, Labor Day proper, was beautiful. We both had today off. Made me want to be out camping, very much.

Since,  camping was not to be, and today was a beautiful yet chilly day, We decided to do the next best thing. We built a fire in the fireplace. It has seemed to have a very calming and soothing effect on my nerves. I have been in a rotten mood for weeks now. I've spent much time feeling sorry for myself, and pouting. My luck has been one catastrophic ( ok not catastrophic, but very unpleasant) event after another, and my nerves have been on the tipping side of on edge. A week out at a camp site, sitting next to a campfire, would do a world of good for me.

That said, having a roaring fire in the fire place is the next best thing.  We went across the street to Casey's and got a bag of marshmallows. I put the fresh soft marshmallow on a long fork. I found the perfect spot in the fire to toast yet not char the perfect white pillows of sugary puff.

I watched the embers glow as my marshmallow poofed up and swelled. Quickly the outside browned and bubbled. I turned the fork and let it brown evenly on all sides. Until, toasted marshmallow perfection was achieved.

As I put the tasty toasted tidbit in my mouth the crispy outside crackled as it broke and gave way to the warm melted goo inside. It was a tiny moment of indulgence in this summer of scrimping, sweating and general unpleasantness.

I was so glad this chilly weather made a "campfire" possible. It may not have been  outside, it may not have been in the woods, but it was an almost perfect replacement. The warmth from the fire, contrasting the cool fall air breezing through the windows was a perfect relief, not only for me but also for Mia. Who sat happily warming herself in the yellow glow.

Just a Quick Note

Feeling MUCH better today! A little less self absorbed and a lot less whiney. Have much to do, going to be a good weekend! Can't wait!

Never Say Never

This is not going to be a fun post. It is not going to have photos. It is going to be a whiny post. So, if you aren't up for that I warn you to stop reading now. I'm not going to post this on facebook or twitter. I just need to vent and this is where I am going to do it.

When Willie decided he needed to make a change in his career, I supported him. I knew what he was going through at work and what it was doing to him. I knew he needed out. I got it. When we left Danville the first time I swore to myself I would never step foot in that town again. I guess the old "never say never" is wiser than we think.

When I agreed to come back here, I decided that if I was going to have to live here, I was done with my job. A job that I only liked because of the people I worked with. A job that I had actually found a replacement for, I was going to go back to school bus driving for a district that I had worked for before. My only real promise that I made to myself was that I was not going to work for the same place in Danville. I just wasn't going to do that.

I decided to look at this move as a chance to do something new. Maybe something I had never thought of before. Maybe just something simple, that I could go home from and not have to think about it and dread it. If I had to be torn away from my family, maybe there would be a good reason for it. If I couldn't see my beautiful granddaughter everyday, then something else would be there for me. I looked for the good in it. I trusted God that this was all going to work out for the best. I tried very hard to look on the bright side. It was very hard at times, I got very lonely for my family and very frustrated that I couldn't find a job.

Months went by and still no real job. I tried babysitting for the summer, but didn't make enough money. It was time to face reality. The only place that would hire me, was the one place I promised myself I wouldn't go to. Again, "never say never" punched me in the face and bit me in the ass.

Now, I can't stop feeling angry. I am so angry I just want to get in the car and go back to Des Moines screaming the whole way. I don't get it. I trusted that the one thing I wouldn't have to do is go back there. Now, don't get me wrong I AM NOT angry at Willie. I know this was the right move for him. I do. It was the right thing at the right time. It really was. I am angry at the universe, or God or Willie's old boss, (oh especially at Willie's old boss) or all of them for making this necessary to begin with. I love Willie, I want the best for him. But I want what is good for me too. Is that wrong? Is that just being selfish? I don't want to feel like this any more. If I have to be so far away from the people I cherish, all I want is a job I don't despise. Is that too much to ask?

I don't want to be angry any more. I want to trust that God really does have a plan for me and that he really is going to work this out. I want to trust, but right now, the anger makes it very hard.

Please, forgive my ranting, I just had to let it out somewhere.

August Easter Eggs

Funny thing about August, it's hard to find Easter egg dye, go figure. But Easter egg dying is exactly what I had in mind on this hot August day. Why? I am sure you are wondering. Have I lost my faculties? Is it time to question my sanity, even more than normal? No, not this time. There is a perfectly good explanation.

This weekend is my daughter's bridal shower. As the theme we are doing the seasons of the year. One of the seasons, of course being spring, and what says spring more than Easter.

Instead of boiling the eggs, I didn't want to take the chance of having rotten eggs by Saturday, I decided to blow the eggs. I seem to remember the process being much easier when I was much younger. I ended up with a head ache and a sore jaw. (Take your mind out of the gutter please.) It took most of the morning to get 13 eggs emptied out so they could be dyed. I was out of breath and exhausted by the end of the process.

 Now it was time to dye. My first try was to use watercolor paint. It worked, and I was happy with the result, mostly. It didn't really look like an Easter egg though. I got out the food coloring and experimented with it. My first try was an utter failure. I tried just dropping the coloring on the egg and letting it run down the egg. It looked ok, except that the egg was sitting in a pool of a mix of colors and it looked awful.

Next try was to make egg dye. I used cold water, vinegar, and the food coloring. The only reason I used the vinegar is that when you buy egg dye you have to use vinegar. I don't know that it really made any difference, but I added it anyway. It seemed to work. The colors were vibrant, and rich. I dropped the food coloring on the wet eggs and spun them on a paint brush. That was fun and made some cool effects. I was pretty happy with how that all worked out.

I wanted to personalize them a little too. I used a black sharpie to put Shane and Alyssa's initials on two of the eggs, and then an L on another. I was pretty proud of how those turned out. Then I put each of their names and Kahlen's name on three of the eggs.

 I decided to get even more creative and tried to draw a bride and groom on two of them. I'm pretty happy with how they turned out. I'll let you decide whether I am misguided in my happiness.

I got them all done. My ears were still ringing from blowing them. I decided to put them in the basket I had bought on clearance sale from Pottery Barn after real Easter, to take a picture to send Shane's mom and sister. We and my daughter Valerie are all planning this shower together. Since I am 400 miles away, sending pictures is my only way of letting them know what I am doing.

I get the pictures all set up and taken. I go to sit on the couch for a minute to get them all sent. As I relax for a minute, a gust of wind comes in the window. The curtain blows at full force. The sound of eggs crashing all over the table and on to the hardwood floor cut through my heart like a knife. I immediately jump up and run over. My heart breaking with each new cracking noise. Tears well up in my eyes. I wanted to scream! The one thing I can really do for this shower, was all of my hard work destroyed? Are you kidding me with this? I picked up each egg, carefully. I looked at them expecting the worst. They weren't destroyed, but some were cracked. I was mad! Very mad! At least they were still usable, but they weren't how I wanted them. It seems lately, everything ends in disaster.

The Suitcase

The suitcase can arouse a very broad range of emotions. Some times the sight of a suitcase can be a happy exciting thing. You can imagine the face of an eight year old who was just surprised with a family trip to Disney World. Mouth smiling, eyes glowing and grinning as the packed suitcase is wheeled out to the front room.

Quite often the suitcase is a sickening thing to see. The stomach turning fiercely as it is carried away from you. The back of a soldier, going overseas to places not safe, holding the handle as it is taken on to a plane.

Then, the exact same suitcase, when being carried toward you, in what seems a moment that lasts forever, is a suitcase of miracles. The soldier returning home, finally, safely.

The suitcase has very strange powers over us. It can raise us up with wonderful emotions and crash us down in despair. It is our lifeline and our dread all at once. It can mean closeness and separation both at the same time.

I love packing my suitcase, but hate unpacking it. Packing my suitcase means, most likely, that I am getting to go somewhere fun. I am getting to go see people I love. Unpacking it means that I have left them behind and won't see them again for a long time. Packing is fun, unpacking is sad.

My suitcase has never been anywhere exciting. It has never been to Jamaica, or Europe, or even New York City. It has never been on an airplane, a cruise ship, or in a five star hotel. It has yet to be taken to the ocean, or the grand canyon. It is not a well seasoned traveling suitcase.

Where my suitcase does go, is home. Home, where we get to see the kids, where we get to see Kahlen, where we get to see friends and family. My suitcase, it may long to go on adventures, but it is never happier than when it is home.

Fun at the Iowa State Fair

Garden Bounty

I have spent the morning fire roasting vegetables from my garden. We have tomatoes, jalapenos  and carrots right now. I have not been happy with the tomato cages we have this year. The plants fell over and we have had many rot on the ground. So frustrating. The ones we have saved will become tomato sauce for pasta or chili (with the jalapenos). I don't know how to can, and the whole idea scares me. I'm afraid that I will end up killing someone. I choose to freeze  instead.

 The carrots are a different story. I really don't know exactly what to do with them. My plan was to cut them up and freeze them for soups and stews this winter. My friends, Dawn and Kelley, who's mothers actually did this type of thing remember there is more to it than that.

They remember their mothers cleaning and peeling and blanching them before freezing them. Suddenly my quick clean and chop idea got a little more complicated.

I thought long and hard about these beautiful and kind of strange looking carrots. I started thinking about the blanching process. What is blanching? It is a partial cooking process. So, do I actually have to blanch them, or can I just partially cook them? Hmmmm.

Well, I decided that a partial cooking of any sort seemed like it could work. Home grown carrots, for whatever reason are more bitter than the ones you get in the store. I don't know why, but they are. Blanching may help to remove some of this bitterness, but I wondered if you also ended up losing a little flavor in the process. I thought about roasting them in the oven. Roasting helps develop the sugars, I thought that should help to take the bitterness away, right?

We haven't had to have the air conditioner on for about a week now. I love that. I didn't want to run the oven and heat up the house. I didn't want to have to turn on the air. I was going to fire roast the tomatoes and jalapenos on the grill anyway, why not the carrots? Not only will it develop the sugars, but it will add a smokiness that will be good in soups and stews. Well, that's my theory anyway. I suppose if this fire roasting and then freezing thing was a good idea, Bobby Flay would have done it years ago. Still going to give it a go. I'll let you know this winter if it worked out.

Unexpected Finds

 Today I had to drive down to Mattoon to deposit my first Walgreens check in the bank. It felt kind of good to know the unpleasantness of returning to a job I hate put money in the bank. Having the day off, and wanting to think about other things I decided that since I had driven an hour and a half I might as well do something.

I drove down a road that I thought a sign had said would lead me to a lake. Turns out, I thought wrong, or at least I never found it. Then I saw a sign for "Lincoln Log Home," and decided what the heck.

As I was driving, I thought to myself, I'm going to feel real stupid if it turns out that it was a model house made out of Lincoln logs. In Illinois it seems everyone tries to cash in on Lincoln, so I wasn't sure what I would find.

 As it turned out it was a real site. It was the last farm that President Abraham Lincoln's father Thomas lived on. At one time the president actually owned part of the farm himself. Bad investments by both his father and his step-brother made it necessary for Lincoln to buy out part of the farm to keep his family on it.

 I have heard stories and accounts that Lincoln's father was less than loving to him and even cruel. The fact that he was able to put that aside and help his father in his times of need says something about the character of our sixteenth president.

He did love his step-mother and that fact is shown with quotes on plaques throughout the park. On his last trip to the farm before his inauguration he went with his stepmother to his father's grave.  Perhaps it was for her that he helped his father.

 The split rail fence brings to mind the many stories of Lincoln as a boy. Though, I don't think he lived at the farm, it is easy to imagine him working there. I can see him feeding the livestock and helping to mend the roof when coming to visit. Seeing his father age and become less independent may have softened his childhood memories, making it easier to do what was needed.

There was another house on the site called the Sergent Farm. I don't know anything about it, but it must have had some importance since it has been preserved on the Lincoln farm site as well.

When I walked into that little house I first noticed the flooring. I jokingly said to the lady working there that I didn't think the vinyl was period correct. She giggled and told me what it really was. It was painted canvas. Very period correct in point of fact. I was intrigued! It looks like vinyl. I think it is something I am going to have to investigate on the Internet to find out more. She said it was basically the same canvas used on covered wagons and probably painted with a milk based paint. Yes, I must learn more!

Whenever I go to a historic site, especially ones with homes, the size of things like doorways and stair steps always catch my attention. People were so much smaller back in the 1850's. We now bump our heads on the doorways and our feet feel clumsy on the stair steps. The size of a cradle, it looks like a doll's cradle. Yet, it was used for a baby. I think of Kahlen,  even as a newborn she would have looked huge in it.

Our lives are so different now. In many ways better, but in others, not really. The connection to neighbors, the connection to the land, there is so much we have lost with technology and advancements. Still, I do like my central heating system in the dead of winter.

I am happy I didn't find the lake I thought I was looking for. I will look for it again one day. I hope to bring Kahlen to see the Lincoln log home someday, and maybe a picnic at the lake would be nice afterwards. If I hadn't taken a detour off my planned route, I may have never found this little place in history. I think I am going to make it a habit to venture off of the interstate from time to time. I keep finding wonderful things there.

The Iowa State Fair

 After the big birthday party on  Saturday Willie and I took Kahlen to the Iowa State Fair. We went with our son Josh and soon to be daughter in law Caitlin.

If you have never been to the Iowa  State fair, here are a few things you need to know. First, this is a pre-caucus year. Iowa, being the first state in the nation to vote for who will run for president, gets flooded with candidates during the fair. There is good and bad in this situation. The good is that Iowa gets a lot of revenue from candidates, reporters and others following the candidates.

 The bad part of being the first in the nation caucus state, the political commercials. For every candidate there are political action groups both for and against them. For every PAC there is at least 15,000 irritating, and less than honest commercials.

 The fair is a favorite place for these candidates. They schmooze, they shake hands, they smile, and let's face it, they lie. Finally, they leave.

The second thing to know about the fair, and this is so much more important, there is FOOD. Lots of it. If you can put it on a stick, coat it and deep fat fry it, it is at the state fair. This year the new fried adventure was deep fat fried butter. I never found it, can't tell you how it works or if it tastes better than it sounds. It sounds awful to me, but I guess those who tried it liked it. My favorite fried food on a stick is fried pineapple. Ok, yeah, I go for a good corn dog as well. There are also pork chops on a stick, chicken on a stick, bananas on a stick. Oh and deep fat fried pickles! They aren't on a stick, but there are YUMMY!

The next thing to know is there is always a butter cow. There has been a butter cow at the fair for the past 100 years. How they kept it from melting before reliable refrigeration, I don't know. Iowa gets very hot in the summer and fair time is usually the hottest week of the year.  Some years the butter cow lady will also make other butter sculptures. One year she did Elvis, one year she did a tribute to the first moon landing. It is always a must see at the fair.

The fair is 100% family oriented. There is something for everyone. There are animals to see, including the big boar and big bull. Everyone likes to stand next to the big boar pen just waiting to see him get up and move. He usually doesn't. The big bull, no one messes with him.

There are chickens and bunnies and ducks and sheep. There is just about everything a little kid could want to see.

Of course there is the midway, with its rides and carny folk. I don't take Kahlen through there yet. She is a little young for that. I do look forward to taking her on the ferris wheel one day.

There is so much to do and see. There is art, music, and of course toddlers dancing in the streets. We were very lucky to have a beautiful day.  We walked and ate and watched Kahlen happily dance for 45 minutes. She had a lemonade that seemed to have sugared her up just enough to keep her going for hours. I thought for sure she would fall asleep on the shuttle bus back to the car. She didn't.

It was the perfect end to the perfect day. Once in the car Kahlen finally passed out, happy and content.

Happy Birthday, Kahlen!!!

 Kahlen is TWO! TWO!!! Can you believe it? Our little "Punky Brewster" has changed from the baby born two years ago. The little helpless, screaming, pooping blob all swaddled so carefully in a receiving blanket is gone. She changed swiftly into a crawling baby getting into what ever she could find and chasing kitty whenever kitty made the mistake of getting in her way.
Soon she was cruising the furniture and then wobbly walking around the living room. The baby, changed into a toddler and is now becoming a little girl! Time has flown by and not likely to slow down anytime soon.

 Her birthday party was a lot of fun! It was at her Grammy's house. (Thank you, Anita) Lots of people were there. Kahlen spent a lot of time running from person to person greeting and hugging. There were a lot of kids there for her to play with, which kept her very busy. She had presents and cupcakes and all of the rest of the birthday essentials.

Puppies were invited to the party as well. We brought Bazinga along. He got to play with Anita's dog, Bubba for a while.  Bubba was about 10,000 times bigger than Bazinga, yet Bazinga seemed to think he could take him down. Bubba seemed fine with it and quickly taught Bazinga a few manners and they got along fine after.

The day went much too quickly. How come the fun days always do? Kahlen was getting tired and needed a nap, people started leaving, the day was a success. Kahlen was a happy two year old. She had been the center of attention as it always should be in Kahlen world, life was good.  

One year ago

 Can you believe how she's changed?!?

Two years ago

High School Reunion

 I went to Des Moines Technical High School. I graduated, (wait for it......... it has been a very long time so this will be a very long wait.........) THIRTY YEARS AGO! It astounds me every time I think of it. I grew up at the tail end of the generation that said "never trust anyone over thirty." Now, I have been out of high school for that long. Something is just very wrong about that!

My high school was very different and unique. It was a technical high school. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, it was a school that not only taught you everything you needed to graduate from a regular high school, but taught you a trade at the same time.

 In many ways it was a typical high school, with basketball, football and track teams. In other ways it was very different. We took all of the normal classes, English, math, history. Along with the traditional curriculum we also had a core area. We spent three hours a day in our core areas. Core areas could be anything from nursing, to accounting, to commercial art to auto mechanics. These core areas are what set our school apart from the other high schools in Des Moines, or really, just about anywhere. It was really something very special. An experience I will never forget, and certainly have never ever regretted.

Having spent three hours a day with the same people over a high school career, doing something that you were very interested in together, it brings a different social dynamic than your normal high school. I was in the commercial art core area. We had the range of people from the homecoming queen to the outcast druggy in our core area. But we were all brought together with the common interest of art.

I went to a traditional high school for my first year. I never quite fit in anywhere. I wasn't a "freak" as we called the crowd that enjoyed smoking pot in the back of the school bus. I certainly did not fit in with the "jock" crowd. My idea of an athletic activity was a game called slaughter that my friends and I enjoyed playing. It was not an organized sport in anyway, which is probably why we all enjoyed it. Not one of us were the organized sports type. We fit in with each other, but kind of stuck out in our school. In junior high some of us were mercilessly teased and picked on by both the freaks and the jocks.

When I transferred to Tech, I fit in. Students came from all parts of Des Moines. I was from the south side, my husband, who also graduated from Tech, was from the west side. One of my good friends was from the east side. Most of the students at Tech were there for a reason. The reason was our chosen core area. That is what brought us together. It was there that the homecoming queen and the freak from the back of the bus found common ground.  Not that it was a utopia in any way. There were still issues and still those bound and determined to cause drama, but it was not quite as pronounced there.

Sadly, the Des Moines school district decided to close Tech in 1986. The building remained a school, but no longer a Technical high school. It became more of a magnet school, where students from all of the schools from Des Moines and even surrounding school districts come to take classes that are not offered at their home school, not necessarily  a vocational class.

We got to tour the building for our reunion. It has changed to the point of being unrecognizable in many parts. There is now an elementary school and middle school in the building. (Perhaps this is the time I should point out that the building is a five story former WWII bomb factory with two basements.) The part of the building that I spent most of my time is completely different. The basement where Willie took auto mechanics looks mostly the same.

The reunion was a multi year reunion, not just our class. It was planned quickly and many who wanted to come couldn't due to short notice, but it was still well attended and a lot of fun. It was good to see a few old friends.

The best part was spending the weekend with my two best friends ever, Dawn and Kelley. The weekend was full of laughter till we had to run to the rest room or wet our pants. Memories of old times and jokes about menopause, part of the whole running to the bathroom problem. Each time we get together it is like no time has passed since we walked down the isle of the auditorium wearing our blue robes with blue and gold tassels.

We have been friends since we were McCombs Jr. High Trojans, and became Des Moines Tech Engineers. I can't see anything changing that now. We have shared tears, laughter, jobs and adventures. We fought over boys and built snowmen and finger painted on Dawn's mom's kitchen floor, yeah, we were in high school when we did those things, (maybe that explains a little about not fitting in at times.) We grew up together and are still growing and learning together. We live in three different states, yet have a bond that won't break. I don't know how I got so lucky, or what I did right to get to experience junior high, high school and life with these extraordinary women, but I thank God every day for them.