I'm talking about radio; specifically talk radio. I don't have a SiriusXM subscription in my car, and probably won't purchase one. NPR keeps me happy for the most part, with a mix of CD's and favorite commercial radio stations for music. But I have wished for more radio stations that focus on my individual interests and have found that Stitcher is a wonderful source. I discovered it while exploring apps on my smartphone and feel like I have struck gold.
Stitcher is like Pandora (music internet radio) in that you can select talk radio stations based on your own preferences and create your own station. Then you can choose the particular program and podcast from your own station's menu when you are ready to listen.
My own Stitcher station has a mix of programming about books, health, gardening, politics, writing, food, travel, and news. When I go to my station, I can choose the program and the most recent podcast, or other podcasts that I may have missed. I can also choose live radio by state or front page news.
I usually listen to my own station. It was created by selecting programming from broad categories including Comedy; Business and Industry; News and Politics; Education, Society and Culture; Entertainment, Games and Hobbies, Lifestyles and Health; Local; Music Commentary; Parenting, Family and Kids; Science and Medicine; Spirituality and Religion; Sports; Technology; In Spanish; and World and International. Many of these broad categories are broken down into subcategories, so that you can find just the kind of programming you want to put in your own station.
The problem may be that you will need to winnow your list down, there are so many choices -- but that's a good problem! For example, there are about 40 programs about books and authors alone!
My radio listening has been pretty much limited to my car in the past, but now I am listening more often on my smartphone as I get dressed in the morning or work around the house. I can also listen to my personal station on my computer through Stitcher's website. I think that radio is pretty much like tv in that the deciding factor is the quality of the content. Of course, "quality" is subjective, so if you want to listen to 18 hours of talk about sports or even just football, that's your call. I can accept that, while I listen to hours of talk about books!
You might want to give Stitcher a try. The smartphone app is free, so you could add it and explore the possibilities. You can also download Stitcher to your computer through their website at http://www.stitcher.com/home.php
In future posts, I will tell you about some of my favorite Stitcher programs.
Happy Listening!
Annie
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Why We Cook the Way We Do
Weekend Cooking is open to anyone who has any kind of food-related post to share: Book (novel, nonfiction) reviews, cookbook reviews, movie reviews, recipes, random thoughts, gadgets, fabulous quotations, photographs. If your post is even vaguely foodie, feel free to grab the button and link up anytime over the weekend
My mother had an interesting recipe for strawberry shortcake. I never questioned the fact that there was no cake involved; it was simply the way she prepared a fresh strawberry dessert -- with pie crust. She rolled out pie crust squares and baked them on a cookie sheet and layered them with the syrupy sweetened strawberries and topped it off with freshly whipped cream. It was delicious, and to our family, it was "strawberry shortcake."
Recently, a mention of strawberry shortcake on Facebook led me to ask my cousin if his mother (my aunt) prepared strawberry shortcake with pie crust. It turns out that she did, and he had grown up the same way I did, thinking that the absence of cake wasn't unusual. I also determined that the recipe must have come from my grandmother on my Dad's side. Dad confirmed that he had been the source of my mother's strawberry recipe; he had always had it with pie crust and had asked Mother to continue making it that way. In other words, "It's a family thing."
Cousin Terry Joe also mentioned that his mother had always baked a pie with sweet potatoes and called it pumpkin pie. Same spices as pumpkin pie, but made with sweet potatoes. Another "family thing".
I began thinking about why we cook the way we do. Some of us are Food Channel followers, may have developed into vegans, or have espoused other dietary traditions. The Internet makes thousands of recipes at our fingertips, and many of us experiment with newly available food choices, or we grow our own.
During our earliest cooking experiences, we may have looked to our family members for advice or ingredients. That's how we may have come up with pie crust strawberry shortcake or "pumpkin pie" made with sweet potatoes. It's also how we may have a family tradition of "American spaghetti" (without Italian seasonings) or removing the skin from chicken before frying, years before healthy eating dictated it. (Both of these are further examples from my childhood.)
I have never been known as a great cook. I'm the person who puts together a holiday meal for a large group, who provides the meat and most of the side dishes, and wishes for that specific compliment, "This is really delicious." Sometimes it comes; more often, it doesn't. My corn bread dressing will never measure up to my stepmother's, and my chocolate cake and fudge will always take second place to my mother's and my sister's.
I do have the edge with two dishes, though. The first is what our family always called "gunk". Gunk is that pie that you make with Eagle Brand milk and lemonade. I like it best with a graham cracker crust that I make myself, with extra butter and sugar. It's called "gunk" because my kids could never wait until it set up into a pie (and because it was calling me, too). So we spooned it into bowls and dug in. And it was really delicious -- really!
The other dish has been designated the best meatloaf my husband ever had. That's a recent designation. My mother's meatloaf recipe is a mixture of ground beef, chopped onion, ketchup, egg, oatmeal, salt and pepper, with ketchup poured over the top. One day I was watching Paula Deen and noted that her recipe was very similar to mine, except that she mixed ketchup, brown sugar, and honey dijon mustard for the glaze. I tried it and the rest is history -- I have joined the ranks of complimented cooks and now I am adding ingredients everywhere!
Back to the subject of this post: some reasons we may cook the way we do -- to please our families and because our mother (grandmother, great-grandmother, etc.) did it that way. You may have heard this story, or a variation:
Alice was baking a ham for Sunday dinner, and called her mother for the recipe. Mom told her to first cut off the ends of the ham. She did so, followed the recipe, and the ham was delicious. Later, she asked her mother why she needed to cut off the ends of the ham. Her mother said that Grandma did it that way and Alice should ask her why. Alice was visiting her grandmother in the assisted living center the next week and asked her why it was necessary to cut the ends off the ham before baking it. Grandma gave her an odd look and said, "I always cut off the ends because otherwise, it wouldn't have fit my roasting pan."
What odd recipes or food preparation traditions are in your family?
Annie
Monday, August 29, 2011
Learning to Savor is Worth the Effort
I recently posted about words that I have installed on the walls in our bathroom and living room to remind myself and, hopefully, to define myself. I have added another word to my personal lexigon, one which may be most important to those of us who now understand that we don't (and never really did) have all the time in the world to decide what is important and what kind of lives we want to live.
The new word is "savor". I'm adding it to the other words -- believe, learn, listen, touch, dance, sing, relax, imagine, touch, trust, teach, dream, and "enjoy", which is listed as a synonym in the dictionary.
Maybe it's my age, but "to savor" means much more to me than "to enjoy." It's probably because the primary definition of "to enjoy" in the dictionary I consulted was "to have a good time."
I remember being asked, when I was a child, if I had a good time at a birthday party or a school picnic. The answer was usually "yes", but I didn't have the capacity to describe what it was that made the event notable. (This was before today's often outlandishly expensive children's parties, which will be the subject of a future post.) If nothing went wrong at the parties I attended (such as falling off the swings, or being chosen last for one of the games); if my friends were there and the food was good, then I had a good time.
"Savoring" an event, or even the daily routine of our lives, puts much more responsibility on our adult selves, but the reward is much more satisfying than simply "enjoying ourselves" or "having a good time." Savoring implies that we take the time and employ our senses to seek out exactly what it is that flavors the event -- what it is that makes it special. Call this mindfulness if you will, and we are told that the more mindful we are, the happier our lives will be.
"Savoring" isn't limited to an expensive cruise or a once-in-a-lifetime gathering; it can be experienced with a really outstanding cup of tea. It's a practice, and it requires practice. I love to hear and read about people who have mastered the art of living and I believe that savoring each positive moment is a part of their lives that they have cultivated. I appreciate the examples they set for the rest of us, especially when I note that the "good life" they demonstrate is within the grasp of most of us.
What do you savor in your life?
Annie
The new word is "savor". I'm adding it to the other words -- believe, learn, listen, touch, dance, sing, relax, imagine, touch, trust, teach, dream, and "enjoy", which is listed as a synonym in the dictionary.
Maybe it's my age, but "to savor" means much more to me than "to enjoy." It's probably because the primary definition of "to enjoy" in the dictionary I consulted was "to have a good time."
I remember being asked, when I was a child, if I had a good time at a birthday party or a school picnic. The answer was usually "yes", but I didn't have the capacity to describe what it was that made the event notable. (This was before today's often outlandishly expensive children's parties, which will be the subject of a future post.) If nothing went wrong at the parties I attended (such as falling off the swings, or being chosen last for one of the games); if my friends were there and the food was good, then I had a good time.
"Savoring" an event, or even the daily routine of our lives, puts much more responsibility on our adult selves, but the reward is much more satisfying than simply "enjoying ourselves" or "having a good time." Savoring implies that we take the time and employ our senses to seek out exactly what it is that flavors the event -- what it is that makes it special. Call this mindfulness if you will, and we are told that the more mindful we are, the happier our lives will be.
"Savoring" isn't limited to an expensive cruise or a once-in-a-lifetime gathering; it can be experienced with a really outstanding cup of tea. It's a practice, and it requires practice. I love to hear and read about people who have mastered the art of living and I believe that savoring each positive moment is a part of their lives that they have cultivated. I appreciate the examples they set for the rest of us, especially when I note that the "good life" they demonstrate is within the grasp of most of us.
What do you savor in your life?
Annie
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
"Odd Girl Out" or "One of a Kind"?
Dear Friends,
When I first posted this, I left out an important point. It is now included in red print. Thank you to my Facebook friend who reminded me of his own experiences and to Nance for her comment.
I imagine that most females in our culture have experienced the pain of exclusion. Maybe we've been the "odd girl out" in a friendship trio; maybe we've been rejected by the Queen Bee and Wannabes; or maybe at some point in our lives, we've been outside the charmed circle of sorority or club membership, or that happy little group of women who lunch, shop, or play cards together.
If you haven't been the excluded one, you may be just a generation or two away. The probability of being the "odd girl out" is high for our daughters and granddaughters. The shifting sands of "best friends forever" and junior high and high school cliques may be a training ground for self-doubt in adulthood. That self-doubt may promote that same behavior of exclusion in ourselves and our children.
Probably most of us have been on the giving as well as the receiving end when it comes to exclusion. In my mature years, I can now see where I have been guilty. I congratulated myself on being open to friendship when I was a girl and actually described my "group" that way. But the fact that we were a "group" has implications; there were girls I didn't know, girls I didn't make the effort to know. The loss was mine.
There's another term that I like: "One of a Kind". It implies, to me, the type of person who sets herself/himself apart. It's an internal quality over which the individual has control. You can make yourself "one of a kind" by paying attention to your own special gifts/interests/values and developing that part of yourself that is like no other.
"One of a Kind" is an insurance policy. I believe it protects us from feeling "less than" because of someone else's determination that we are the odd girl out. It transcends friendship because we are always centered in ourselves, but it can enrich friendships because it recognizes the unique qualities that we treasure about ourselves and others.
It is important for adults to guide young people in finding and developing that "one of a kind". Some young people are fortunate to have that special adult in a teacher, counselor, or older friend. When that isn't the case, some (rare) young people are able to nurture themselves; others can turn to bad substitutes.
We can ask ourselves the question, the next time we feel like an outsider: Am I the odd girl out or one of a kind? And whose decision is it? Whose decision should it be?
Annie
When I first posted this, I left out an important point. It is now included in red print. Thank you to my Facebook friend who reminded me of his own experiences and to Nance for her comment.
I imagine that most females in our culture have experienced the pain of exclusion. Maybe we've been the "odd girl out" in a friendship trio; maybe we've been rejected by the Queen Bee and Wannabes; or maybe at some point in our lives, we've been outside the charmed circle of sorority or club membership, or that happy little group of women who lunch, shop, or play cards together.
If you haven't been the excluded one, you may be just a generation or two away. The probability of being the "odd girl out" is high for our daughters and granddaughters. The shifting sands of "best friends forever" and junior high and high school cliques may be a training ground for self-doubt in adulthood. That self-doubt may promote that same behavior of exclusion in ourselves and our children.
Probably most of us have been on the giving as well as the receiving end when it comes to exclusion. In my mature years, I can now see where I have been guilty. I congratulated myself on being open to friendship when I was a girl and actually described my "group" that way. But the fact that we were a "group" has implications; there were girls I didn't know, girls I didn't make the effort to know. The loss was mine.
There's another term that I like: "One of a Kind". It implies, to me, the type of person who sets herself/himself apart. It's an internal quality over which the individual has control. You can make yourself "one of a kind" by paying attention to your own special gifts/interests/values and developing that part of yourself that is like no other.
"One of a Kind" is an insurance policy. I believe it protects us from feeling "less than" because of someone else's determination that we are the odd girl out. It transcends friendship because we are always centered in ourselves, but it can enrich friendships because it recognizes the unique qualities that we treasure about ourselves and others.
It is important for adults to guide young people in finding and developing that "one of a kind". Some young people are fortunate to have that special adult in a teacher, counselor, or older friend. When that isn't the case, some (rare) young people are able to nurture themselves; others can turn to bad substitutes.
We can ask ourselves the question, the next time we feel like an outsider: Am I the odd girl out or one of a kind? And whose decision is it? Whose decision should it be?
Annie
Monday, August 1, 2011
Father's Day and Birthday Gift Report - Ice Cream and Appreciation
Some of you may remember that I posted at Christmas about our gift to my Dad. He has been having some age-related problems with his vision, which have interfered with his reading. As a librarian, I have always taken pleasure in selecting books for him, but had decided to buy something else until his vision problems were addressed. For Christmas, we gave him 13 12-packs of Caffeine Free Coke Classic. CFCC is hard to find in the small town where my dad lives and he really appreciated receiving a good supply.
When Father's Day came, I decided to repeat the purchase of something I knew he would really appreciate and enjoy. Sometimes when we go to visit Dad, we stop by the local Braum's and pick up a pint of his favorite ice cream, Braum's butter pecan. In Oklahoma and some locations in Texas, Arkansas, Kansas and Missouri, Braum's is the local gold standard for ice cream. (They have really good hamburgers, too.) Since Dad lives in a town without a Braum's, he didn't have a regular supply of his favorite flavor. We fixed that (temporarily) at Father's Day with a dozen individually-packed pints.
Dad's birthday is in early July, and I was again thinking about his gift. This was to be his 90th, and I wanted it to be special, but I knew it would be difficult because he has everything he needs and most of what he wants (except good vision, hearing, and the stamina he used to have). He is also planning to move soon and is trying to divest himself of most of his household possessions.
I asked him how his ice cream supply was holding up and he replied, "It's gone."
We decided it was time for another supply of ice-cream and made plans to stop at Braum's on our way to his birthday party.
The other part of our gift was appreciation. We were the messengers of greetings from several people who had known Dad during his business life in my hometown. Dad was a building contractor and I had several photographs of homes he had built in the 1950's and 1960's, at the time of their construction and more recently. I had posted the photos on my hometown's group page on Facebook. I had originally posted them for the enjoyment of the group, but was elated at the comments of appreciation for my dad's work and the homes that several group members had lived in over the years.
I decided to share that appreciation with Dad at his birthday party. He was moved to tears by the comments and good wishes from the kind people from our hometown. I felt good that we were able to give him a special moment, just by being the messenger, and am grateful for the wishes sent for that special day.
Ice cream and appreciation: I guess it's a pretty good gift for any of us, isn't it?
Annie
When Father's Day came, I decided to repeat the purchase of something I knew he would really appreciate and enjoy. Sometimes when we go to visit Dad, we stop by the local Braum's and pick up a pint of his favorite ice cream, Braum's butter pecan. In Oklahoma and some locations in Texas, Arkansas, Kansas and Missouri, Braum's is the local gold standard for ice cream. (They have really good hamburgers, too.) Since Dad lives in a town without a Braum's, he didn't have a regular supply of his favorite flavor. We fixed that (temporarily) at Father's Day with a dozen individually-packed pints.
Dad's birthday is in early July, and I was again thinking about his gift. This was to be his 90th, and I wanted it to be special, but I knew it would be difficult because he has everything he needs and most of what he wants (except good vision, hearing, and the stamina he used to have). He is also planning to move soon and is trying to divest himself of most of his household possessions.
I asked him how his ice cream supply was holding up and he replied, "It's gone."
We decided it was time for another supply of ice-cream and made plans to stop at Braum's on our way to his birthday party.
The other part of our gift was appreciation. We were the messengers of greetings from several people who had known Dad during his business life in my hometown. Dad was a building contractor and I had several photographs of homes he had built in the 1950's and 1960's, at the time of their construction and more recently. I had posted the photos on my hometown's group page on Facebook. I had originally posted them for the enjoyment of the group, but was elated at the comments of appreciation for my dad's work and the homes that several group members had lived in over the years.
I decided to share that appreciation with Dad at his birthday party. He was moved to tears by the comments and good wishes from the kind people from our hometown. I felt good that we were able to give him a special moment, just by being the messenger, and am grateful for the wishes sent for that special day.
Ice cream and appreciation: I guess it's a pretty good gift for any of us, isn't it?
Annie
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Concerts and Karaoke
I remember a concert I attended in Memphis the mid-1970's. I remember it so well because I am not a regular concert goer. It also stands out because the artist was Cat Stephens (and I loved his music) and because I felt so old. I was about 30 at the time, but the other people at the concert were younger -- much, much younger (in outlook, if not in age). I was an adult, with two young children at home, and had to be told that the sweet smoky aroma around me was marijuana. I had never experienced the effect of thousands of cigarette lighters in a darkened arena, not to mention dodging Frisbees when the lights came back on. I loved it -- absolutely loved it -- and felt younger at heart for a while.
I had the same feeling, and a similar experience, last week. I attended an American Idol concert in Oklahoma City. Our tickets were a retirement gift for my husband from his brother. We usually watched Idol and then would predict who would get voted off each week. We had our favorites, of course. Mine were Casey and James; Tom really liked Haley and Lauren -- imagine that!
I looked forward to hearing Casey and James again, even though we were to be seated in the nosebleed section. My brother-in-law showed us the arena plan and I was set all to watch the show on the oversized screens. There was no way we could see the performers faces from where we would be sitting.
Mike decided we should try for a last-minute seat exchange and managed seats on the second row, center section. I couldn't help but wonder at out good luck and did a quick Google search to see if there was anything negative about seats that close to the stage. Nothing except the probability of having to stand throughout the concert and being on the receiving end of bodily fluids and other by-products of idol worship (American style).
I kept (tried to keep) my thoughts to myself and determined that I would enjoy the concert as much as possible. And I did enjoy the concert, except for the presence of my brother-in-law to my right, who blocked my view as he took dozens of photographs on his iPhone. I can't blame him, though, because he paid for two sets of tickets (he wasn't able to dump the nosebleed tickets) and he loves to take photos (lots of photos). I handed my phone to Tom and asked him to take a couple of Casey and James, which he did. And I sat. And I stood. And I sat. And I stood. I loved hearing Casey, and stood all the way through anything James performed. And I felt younger at heart for a while. I feel younger at heart even now, as I write about it. Maybe I'll go to another concert in 30 years or so!
Something else I have rare experience with is karaoke. I recently read an article in a local magazine about a young entrepreneur who has developed an app for smart phones. I remembered her from my daughter's Honor Choir days when they were both sweet little girls with the voices of angels. Now she has developed an app which translates into my having my own personal karaoke recorder. I downloaded LaDiDa to my phone and recorded my first song: It goes like this: "This is my song, this is my first song, probably not my last song, but this is my song." (Not very creative, am I?)
Sometimes I download apps and don't use them. I thought that this might be one of those. This time, though, I did find a very happy use for LaDiDa. On vacation, in Alabama, I showed it to my daughter and asked her to record something so she could see how it works, which she did (Patsy Cline's "Walking after Midnight".) Lovely! Part of the app is that you can save the songs and share them. I also asked my granddaughters to record some of the camp songs they were singing in the backseat of the car, after we picked them up from church camp. Wonderful!
When you use LaDiDa, you can choose different ways of recording and somehow, it adapts to your choices and to your voice (more or less successfully). You might want to try it for fun. (Search the app store for LaDiDa.)
As for me, the non-karaoke grandma, I'm happy for this app and for these songs now stored through my iPhone. I am now carrying around (once again) the voices of angels!
Annie
.
I had the same feeling, and a similar experience, last week. I attended an American Idol concert in Oklahoma City. Our tickets were a retirement gift for my husband from his brother. We usually watched Idol and then would predict who would get voted off each week. We had our favorites, of course. Mine were Casey and James; Tom really liked Haley and Lauren -- imagine that!
I looked forward to hearing Casey and James again, even though we were to be seated in the nosebleed section. My brother-in-law showed us the arena plan and I was set all to watch the show on the oversized screens. There was no way we could see the performers faces from where we would be sitting.
Mike decided we should try for a last-minute seat exchange and managed seats on the second row, center section. I couldn't help but wonder at out good luck and did a quick Google search to see if there was anything negative about seats that close to the stage. Nothing except the probability of having to stand throughout the concert and being on the receiving end of bodily fluids and other by-products of idol worship (American style).
I kept (tried to keep) my thoughts to myself and determined that I would enjoy the concert as much as possible. And I did enjoy the concert, except for the presence of my brother-in-law to my right, who blocked my view as he took dozens of photographs on his iPhone. I can't blame him, though, because he paid for two sets of tickets (he wasn't able to dump the nosebleed tickets) and he loves to take photos (lots of photos). I handed my phone to Tom and asked him to take a couple of Casey and James, which he did. And I sat. And I stood. And I sat. And I stood. I loved hearing Casey, and stood all the way through anything James performed. And I felt younger at heart for a while. I feel younger at heart even now, as I write about it. Maybe I'll go to another concert in 30 years or so!
Something else I have rare experience with is karaoke. I recently read an article in a local magazine about a young entrepreneur who has developed an app for smart phones. I remembered her from my daughter's Honor Choir days when they were both sweet little girls with the voices of angels. Now she has developed an app which translates into my having my own personal karaoke recorder. I downloaded LaDiDa to my phone and recorded my first song: It goes like this: "This is my song, this is my first song, probably not my last song, but this is my song." (Not very creative, am I?)
Sometimes I download apps and don't use them. I thought that this might be one of those. This time, though, I did find a very happy use for LaDiDa. On vacation, in Alabama, I showed it to my daughter and asked her to record something so she could see how it works, which she did (Patsy Cline's "Walking after Midnight".) Lovely! Part of the app is that you can save the songs and share them. I also asked my granddaughters to record some of the camp songs they were singing in the backseat of the car, after we picked them up from church camp. Wonderful!
When you use LaDiDa, you can choose different ways of recording and somehow, it adapts to your choices and to your voice (more or less successfully). You might want to try it for fun. (Search the app store for LaDiDa.)
As for me, the non-karaoke grandma, I'm happy for this app and for these songs now stored through my iPhone. I am now carrying around (once again) the voices of angels!
Annie
.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Adding Years to Our Lives and Life to our Years
I've been feeling at the mercy of outside forces recently. My natural tendency is to let circumstances feed mental chaos, which leads me to a state of "brain fog". That's where I've been for a few weeks, with enough mental energy to check in and comment on Facebook, but not enough to sit down and post to my blog. Many, many thanks to those of you who have visited here recently and apologies that you have found me "not at home". I'm so grateful for those of you who are still around and I'm ready to join the blogging community again. My brother recently asked me how many read my blog and my response was "not many", at least as compared to the thousands who visit some other blogs. That's only part of the equation, though. I know (as you do) that the other important thing is visiting others' blogs, making new friends, and gaining new insight. That's why blogging will continue to be part of my life and why I'm happy to be back!
One thing that happened recently is two deaths in our extended family. Both were beloved women who will be greatly missed.
Terry was 62 -- much too young to die. She was my former sister-in-law and we had lost contact during the years after her divorce. I attended her funeral and was impressed by what her family members and friends said about her -- that she enjoyed her granddaughter's overnight visits, particularly racing through her home -- in her wheelchair. That she was very important to a young woman who saw her as a mother figure. That her nephew loved and appreciated her taking him in and loving him when he had nowhere else to go.
She had been in ill health for years. I don't know all of the circumstances and I want to be clear that there is no judgement in my writing about her health. She was overweight and so am I. There are often consequences for being overweight and most likely, Terry's early death was one of them. We know that statistically is often the case.
The other death in my family was my Aunt Lona Mae (Aunt Sister), who died recently at age 100. I have posted about my aunt earlier; her life was one of good health, hard work, and involvement in her church, her family, her friends, and a concern for others. She enjoyed life and lived it to the fullest.
During her funeral, many stories were told about Lona Mae. Many were quite funny. An example: When she and my Uncle Jess were expecting their first child, they moved to a small home on a plot of land on her parent's farm. One day, Jess went into town and ran into a local nurse, who told him that she was going to visit Lona Mae the next day, just to see how she was doing. Jess went home and told Lona Mae that the nurse was coming and that she would check Lona Mae's blood pressure. Lona Mae asked what checking her blood pressure meant; Jess responded, "I'm not sure, but you'd better take a bath."
A more recent story had the minister telling widowed Lona Mae that he thought it was time that she met a new man. She told him that it would be difficult, because she liked older men and there weren't any around older than she was.
The same minister asked Lona Mae what her rules were for long life. Her responses:
That's not to say that any of the rest of us would never need a doctor, even if we did live a healthy life. But if I may expand on her words, "Stay away from doctors as much as possible (by being responsible for our own health) and seek medical help when you need it." That would include all of the normal checkups that can keep us on track, and any of the medical procedures we might need because of circumstances beyond our control. If we all followed these expanded rules, maybe it would also help with the crisis in health care our country faces. At the very least, it might add years to our lives and life to our years!
Hoping for a long and healthy life for you and those whom you love,
Annie
One thing that happened recently is two deaths in our extended family. Both were beloved women who will be greatly missed.
Terry was 62 -- much too young to die. She was my former sister-in-law and we had lost contact during the years after her divorce. I attended her funeral and was impressed by what her family members and friends said about her -- that she enjoyed her granddaughter's overnight visits, particularly racing through her home -- in her wheelchair. That she was very important to a young woman who saw her as a mother figure. That her nephew loved and appreciated her taking him in and loving him when he had nowhere else to go.
She had been in ill health for years. I don't know all of the circumstances and I want to be clear that there is no judgement in my writing about her health. She was overweight and so am I. There are often consequences for being overweight and most likely, Terry's early death was one of them. We know that statistically is often the case.
The other death in my family was my Aunt Lona Mae (Aunt Sister), who died recently at age 100. I have posted about my aunt earlier; her life was one of good health, hard work, and involvement in her church, her family, her friends, and a concern for others. She enjoyed life and lived it to the fullest.
During her funeral, many stories were told about Lona Mae. Many were quite funny. An example: When she and my Uncle Jess were expecting their first child, they moved to a small home on a plot of land on her parent's farm. One day, Jess went into town and ran into a local nurse, who told him that she was going to visit Lona Mae the next day, just to see how she was doing. Jess went home and told Lona Mae that the nurse was coming and that she would check Lona Mae's blood pressure. Lona Mae asked what checking her blood pressure meant; Jess responded, "I'm not sure, but you'd better take a bath."
A more recent story had the minister telling widowed Lona Mae that he thought it was time that she met a new man. She told him that it would be difficult, because she liked older men and there weren't any around older than she was.
The same minister asked Lona Mae what her rules were for long life. Her responses:
- Have a routine. Eat regular meals, get up and go to the bed at the same time.
- Have a passion. Lona Mae's was the Dorcas class at her church and the work they did for the community.
- Stay away from doctors.
That's not to say that any of the rest of us would never need a doctor, even if we did live a healthy life. But if I may expand on her words, "Stay away from doctors as much as possible (by being responsible for our own health) and seek medical help when you need it." That would include all of the normal checkups that can keep us on track, and any of the medical procedures we might need because of circumstances beyond our control. If we all followed these expanded rules, maybe it would also help with the crisis in health care our country faces. At the very least, it might add years to our lives and life to our years!
Hoping for a long and healthy life for you and those whom you love,
Annie
Friday, June 10, 2011
Tywhappity, Two Mile, and Bark Camp
My cousin, Terry Joe, is the most charming country boy you'll ever meet. I still think of him that way, even if he is 68 years old. He sounds like Johnny Cash when he sings (even Johnny Cash said so) and was a member of Mike Huckabee's band for a while. He's now retired from Arkansas state government and has a knack for storytelling. He grew up on the family farm at Bark Camp, not far from my hometown of Kennett, Missouri. I've recently learned of a place called Tywhappity from Terry Joe and I'll admit that I thought he was pulling my leg. Tywhappity sounds mythical, doesn't it? Like Glocca Morra or Yoknapatawpha County. It turns out that Tywhappity is a real place and is also not far from Kennett. I'm embarrassed to admit that I had never heard of the tiny community of Tywhappity.
It happened because of Facebook. I had recently become Facebook friends with Chris Kimbrow. I had known Chris as a child and had lived next door to her in Kennett. Chris made the connection and sent me an invitation to become Facebook friends. Terry Joe noticed that I had added Chris to my friends list and sent me an e-mail: "Was Chris one of the Tywhappity Kimbrows?"
I wrote him back and told him that I didn't think Chris was a Tywhappity Kimbrow, but I wasn't sure since I didn't know what that meant. Terry responded that Tywhappity was a place and shared this story:
I remember a presentation I gave to the Rotary Club in Fort Smith in which I mentioned where I was born. I told them the best way to find Bark Camp was to look on the map. We were four miles from Poole's Chapel, eight miles from Tywhappity and two miles from a place called Two Mile. The president of the club asked if that statement met the 4-Way Rotary Test, the first question of which is "is it the truth?"
It happened because of Facebook. I had recently become Facebook friends with Chris Kimbrow. I had known Chris as a child and had lived next door to her in Kennett. Chris made the connection and sent me an invitation to become Facebook friends. Terry Joe noticed that I had added Chris to my friends list and sent me an e-mail: "Was Chris one of the Tywhappity Kimbrows?"
I wrote him back and told him that I didn't think Chris was a Tywhappity Kimbrow, but I wasn't sure since I didn't know what that meant. Terry responded that Tywhappity was a place and shared this story:
I remember a presentation I gave to the Rotary Club in Fort Smith in which I mentioned where I was born. I told them the best way to find Bark Camp was to look on the map. We were four miles from Poole's Chapel, eight miles from Tywhappity and two miles from a place called Two Mile. The president of the club asked if that statement met the 4-Way Rotary Test, the first question of which is "is it the truth?"
I invited him to come with me to do some quail hunting. After breakfast at Bark Camp and hunting at Poole's Chapel, we were driving down the road and I saw the Two Mile Church in the distance. My brother, Tony, was with us and I asked him what the building was. He replied, "The Two Mile Church." I asked if anything significant had happened to him there and he answered ,"I was married there." Then I asked where his wife grew up and when he replied "Tywhappity". My friend the Rotary President nearly fell out of the truck.
Back to Terry's original question: Is my friend Chris one of the Tywhappity Kimbrows? It turns out that she is, by marriage. Her husband and his brother went to school with Terry Joe and Tony, after they moved from Tywhappity and Bark Camp Schools to a rural consolidated school. Both Bark Camp and Tywhappity Schools closed years ago.
It's a small world -- made even smaller by Facebook, blogs and other tools that bring us together through technology. But it's hard to imagine a place (in the real world) any smaller than Tywhappity or Two Mile or Bark Camp. The only thing harder would be to imagine a world without such places.
Annie
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Following Severe Weather from Oklahoma to Georgia and Points East
I will admit it -- I'm a worrier. I am also a person who will not let anyone leave without hearing these words from me, "I love you. Be careful." And I urge my family to check in with me when they get where they're going, or when bad weather is in their neighborhoods, or when I know that something is not right in their worlds. We have a large family, so that means a lot of checking in, but that's okay with me. I need to know -- as if knowing what's going on is a charm against something really bad happening. (I also want to hear from them at other times, but that's another story.)
When I started writing this, my daughter and her family in northern Alabama were under a tornado warning, the second one they had been under on Wednesday. I thought that I could work on a blog post as I watched what was going on in Alabama. I was wrong. I was so wrong that I never got dressed on Wednesday; I stayed in my pajamas all day. I didn't go to the library program that I had planned to attend. I needed to stay with her family, in spirit, as much as I could.
You know what happened in Alabama. There were many who lost their lives, their family members and friends, their homes and their businesses. My daughter and her family and their home were unscathed and I am so grateful for that. I also weep for those who lost so much in Alabama, Tennessee, Mississippi, Georgia and Virginia. I feel wrung out, as if I personally witnessed a tragedy. In a way, I did -- at least much more so than we have ever been able to. For me, it started last week. Maybe it did for you, too.
We knew what was coming in Oklahoma -- the possibility of tornadoes. That's not unusual; the town I used to live in before we moved here, the town whose library I managed for 13 years, received heavy tornado damage in May of 2010. We were under warnings that night, as we were last week. We were a little better prepared this year; we had enrolled in our city's "blackboard warning system", which called us on our cell phones to tell us to take cover. We could hear the sirens going off, and we were listening to NOAA radio. I knew it was time to take my little dog into our "safe spot" (our walk-in closet) and stayed there for 45 minutes. I had time to get really uncomfortable, take a couple of calls from Tom, who was at work, and think about the possibility of some sort of portable "safe bubble" (similar to what the astronauts have when they land in the ocean) that would be affordable, reinforced, padded and comfortable, and life-saving for those of us who don't have cellars or safe rooms.
As the storm system moved on, my attention was drawn to my home town and the surrounding area. Kennett, Missouri, is about 45 minutes from Poplar Bluff, where the levies were breached on the Black River. It is also 30 minutes from the Mississippi River. The entire area was drenched from rain and my friends on Facebook expressed great concern for the lives, homes and businesses as more storms approached them. Tornadoes in St. Louis and Memphis affected friends and family, but we were relieved to hear that everybody was safe after the storms.
Then came Wednesday. We had all heard that a monster system was heading towards eastern Tennessee, Alabama and Georgia and this takes me back to the beginning of my post. I was the beneficiary of information from many sources the day of the tornado outbreak, as I had been earlier in the week. This time, I was watching my daughter, her husband, and three grandchildren from a great distance, with a growing sense of alarm and helplessness. They seemed to be in the direct path of the tornados and I was able to talk with Mary by phone during the first round, making sure that they were in their safe place and had their weather radios close by. She reassured me that they all were together except Adam, who was at work. She directed me to the website of their local television station so that I could watch live reports of what was happening. Then we said good-bye and told each other we would stay in touch.
I watched the channel Mary recommended on my computer and also went to Google Maps to zoom in to exactly where the tornados were. I could see Mary's street west of town and follow the tornado path which went northeast. It appeared that they were in the clear, but the weather crew said that more storms would be coming. I took a break away from the computer during lunch.
When I went back, they were under another warning. As I started tracking the storm, they announced that electricity was out in some areas and that would affect the sirens; people might not hear them. I tried to call Mary and couldn't get through. I told myself that Mary had her weather radio and would be tuned in, so she would know they were under a warning. Then they announced that the NOAA weather station closest to Mary's home was out and would probably be until Thursday. I was in a panic and all I could do was watch and pray. At one point, as I watched, the electricity went out at the television station I was watching and the crew was in the dark. They were still broadcasting, but they couldn't continue with the radar tracking because their lights were out. They found someone's iPad and were able to focus their tv cameras on its screen, continuing to follow that way for a few minutes until their electricity came back on.
Finally, I was reassured again, as the tornado went east of Mary's home. My son Cory (who lives in the Washington DC area) was able to keep in contact with Mary through most of it, and relayed to me that they were safe. I later found out that they had no damage. They did have some debris, including some pretty good sized pieces of metal siding. As Cory texted me about Mary and family, I heard that the DC area was under a tornado warning and he signed off.
At this point, we were learning about the tornados that had hit Tuscaloosa and Birmingham, south of the Huntsville area where Mary lives. Eventually, we knew what the rest of the country knew, that this was the second-worst tornado outbreak in recorded history and hundreds of people lost their lives along its path. Their are thousands of stories like mine about the storms, many of them will be told by people who were there and personally experienced the horrors of that day.
My story is one of a mother and grandmother who watched from a distance and cried and prayed for her children. Technology has given us so much, including the ability to know (when it's working) minute-by-minute what is going on. Sometimes that's a blessing; sometimes maybe it's not. Now I know (as I always did, deep inside), that saying, "Be careful. I love you!" is a protective charm that doesn't always work. The most I will say about that is that "I love you" is always worth saying.
When I started writing this, my daughter and her family in northern Alabama were under a tornado warning, the second one they had been under on Wednesday. I thought that I could work on a blog post as I watched what was going on in Alabama. I was wrong. I was so wrong that I never got dressed on Wednesday; I stayed in my pajamas all day. I didn't go to the library program that I had planned to attend. I needed to stay with her family, in spirit, as much as I could.
You know what happened in Alabama. There were many who lost their lives, their family members and friends, their homes and their businesses. My daughter and her family and their home were unscathed and I am so grateful for that. I also weep for those who lost so much in Alabama, Tennessee, Mississippi, Georgia and Virginia. I feel wrung out, as if I personally witnessed a tragedy. In a way, I did -- at least much more so than we have ever been able to. For me, it started last week. Maybe it did for you, too.
We knew what was coming in Oklahoma -- the possibility of tornadoes. That's not unusual; the town I used to live in before we moved here, the town whose library I managed for 13 years, received heavy tornado damage in May of 2010. We were under warnings that night, as we were last week. We were a little better prepared this year; we had enrolled in our city's "blackboard warning system", which called us on our cell phones to tell us to take cover. We could hear the sirens going off, and we were listening to NOAA radio. I knew it was time to take my little dog into our "safe spot" (our walk-in closet) and stayed there for 45 minutes. I had time to get really uncomfortable, take a couple of calls from Tom, who was at work, and think about the possibility of some sort of portable "safe bubble" (similar to what the astronauts have when they land in the ocean) that would be affordable, reinforced, padded and comfortable, and life-saving for those of us who don't have cellars or safe rooms.
As the storm system moved on, my attention was drawn to my home town and the surrounding area. Kennett, Missouri, is about 45 minutes from Poplar Bluff, where the levies were breached on the Black River. It is also 30 minutes from the Mississippi River. The entire area was drenched from rain and my friends on Facebook expressed great concern for the lives, homes and businesses as more storms approached them. Tornadoes in St. Louis and Memphis affected friends and family, but we were relieved to hear that everybody was safe after the storms.
Then came Wednesday. We had all heard that a monster system was heading towards eastern Tennessee, Alabama and Georgia and this takes me back to the beginning of my post. I was the beneficiary of information from many sources the day of the tornado outbreak, as I had been earlier in the week. This time, I was watching my daughter, her husband, and three grandchildren from a great distance, with a growing sense of alarm and helplessness. They seemed to be in the direct path of the tornados and I was able to talk with Mary by phone during the first round, making sure that they were in their safe place and had their weather radios close by. She reassured me that they all were together except Adam, who was at work. She directed me to the website of their local television station so that I could watch live reports of what was happening. Then we said good-bye and told each other we would stay in touch.
I watched the channel Mary recommended on my computer and also went to Google Maps to zoom in to exactly where the tornados were. I could see Mary's street west of town and follow the tornado path which went northeast. It appeared that they were in the clear, but the weather crew said that more storms would be coming. I took a break away from the computer during lunch.
When I went back, they were under another warning. As I started tracking the storm, they announced that electricity was out in some areas and that would affect the sirens; people might not hear them. I tried to call Mary and couldn't get through. I told myself that Mary had her weather radio and would be tuned in, so she would know they were under a warning. Then they announced that the NOAA weather station closest to Mary's home was out and would probably be until Thursday. I was in a panic and all I could do was watch and pray. At one point, as I watched, the electricity went out at the television station I was watching and the crew was in the dark. They were still broadcasting, but they couldn't continue with the radar tracking because their lights were out. They found someone's iPad and were able to focus their tv cameras on its screen, continuing to follow that way for a few minutes until their electricity came back on.
Finally, I was reassured again, as the tornado went east of Mary's home. My son Cory (who lives in the Washington DC area) was able to keep in contact with Mary through most of it, and relayed to me that they were safe. I later found out that they had no damage. They did have some debris, including some pretty good sized pieces of metal siding. As Cory texted me about Mary and family, I heard that the DC area was under a tornado warning and he signed off.
At this point, we were learning about the tornados that had hit Tuscaloosa and Birmingham, south of the Huntsville area where Mary lives. Eventually, we knew what the rest of the country knew, that this was the second-worst tornado outbreak in recorded history and hundreds of people lost their lives along its path. Their are thousands of stories like mine about the storms, many of them will be told by people who were there and personally experienced the horrors of that day.
My story is one of a mother and grandmother who watched from a distance and cried and prayed for her children. Technology has given us so much, including the ability to know (when it's working) minute-by-minute what is going on. Sometimes that's a blessing; sometimes maybe it's not. Now I know (as I always did, deep inside), that saying, "Be careful. I love you!" is a protective charm that doesn't always work. The most I will say about that is that "I love you" is always worth saying.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Enjoying the Season: Easter and Spring
I love seasonal decorating but in Oklahoma, we sometimes need a reminder about what season it is! Today it's warm, but it's not too late for a cold spell. With that in mind, I will share what is going on inside our house -- bunnies and chicks everywhere! (Note: The printed cards in these photographs are from The Graphics Fairy, a wonderful source of vintage illustrations, many in color, that can be printed out for your projects.)
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