Jasmine's Story

Jasmine’s Story

  

--Peg Kraft

 




　
If a story is too sad to be read than is it too sad to write?


And that is me. Today. Sad.

I have a story to write and it’s an important story and here’s the thing. I’ve been putting it off.

“Why is that?” you may wonder.

I can justify it by saying I had other trains to put on before that caboose, other works in the pipeline or in plain English, I had older stories to write first.

I once had a conversation with a very wise woman whom I have had the pleasure and honor of calling my mother for 55 years, that dealt with an issue of time I was having while writing a story.

“It doesn’t really matter when it happened,” she answered my question. “Last week or last month, it wasn’t really relevant to the story.”

And in this case, right now, with the stories I am writing you, time isn’t relevant either so that’s a pretty flimsy excuse.

I am in the process of writing My Girl T and the next story is starting to stretch and yawn and awaken in my head. Stories seem to take on a life of their own and this one got it’s name today.

Jasmine’s Story.

I was going to sit down and read an email message from Jasmine and let it rattle around in my head while I finished writing My Girl T but found out I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t read the email the whole way through. It made me too sad. Let me start at the beginning and maybe if you help me, we can get through this together.
Earlier this month I sent out, via email, the latest chapter- hot off the presses!- of My Story, the memoirs of Dorothy R. Bowers, my mom.

A couple of weeks later I get an email from Jasmine. Although Jasmine and my nephew Eric are not technically- legally married, they have been together a long time and have children together.

“Which one is Eric?” my children may wonder. This is a question I often get when I talk of family that my children don’t know. Oh the banes of having lived so far away.

Eric is the son of Charles, one of my brothers (I have seven brothers you know) which makes Eric your first cousin.

Now, in prep for some story or another I was looking through old photographs and saw a picture of Charles, Eric and my mother that would have been perfect for here, but do you think I can find it now that I need it? No! But I did find this old school photo of Charles that I thought you might enjoy.

　

I also found a photo of Jaiyden that I love.

Jaiyden is one of Eric and Jasmine’s daughters. Here she is with my beautiful, hot mess of a sister Phyllis. It was a steamy July afternoon in twenty-ten, during a family reunion and Phyllis had been playing with all the babies.

Who doesn’t love babies?

　

　

I didn’t know they had been expecting another baby.

Then I got this email.


“Eric asked me to send you an email and pictures of the baby. He’s still in the hospital. He was born 1.4.15, 4lb 3oz, 16 inches. He wasn't due until February 21st and he was diagnosed with Charge Syndrome. He’s had several procedures done to open his nasal passages ...now they think it's best to put a feeding tube in- they're planning on doing that on Monday...unfortunately Eric is in jail. I don’t know how long he’s going to be there but anyway here’s some pictures & I hope everyone is doing as good as they can.”

I called Momma. “Momma did you know that Eric and Jasmine had a baby boy?” She usually tells me when babies are born in our family and sometimes I just don’t process the information. I forget. Sometimes I see or get the announcements on social media before she does and I tell her.

“No. I knew they were going to have one but I never heard when he was born,” Momma said. “What’s his birth date?” and I could hear her shuffle things around on her desk, in search of paper and pencil, I presume.

“Well just let me read you the email,” I said. I was ready for her and had it open on my computer.

“What is this Charge Syndrome?” Momma asked after I finished.

“I don’t know, you want me to Google it?”

“Yes.”
“In 1981, the term "CHARGE" came into use as an acronym for the set of unusual congenital features seen in a number of newborn children.” I read from Wikipedia. “The letters stand for: coloboma of the eye, heart defects, atresia of the nasal choanae, retardation of growth and/or development, genital and/or urinary abnormalities, and ear abnormalities and deafness. These features are no longer used in making a diagnosis of CHARGE syndrome, but the name remains. CHARGE syndrome is the leading cause of congenital deafblindness.”

“Oh my,” Momma said and I could hear the profound sadness creep into her voice. No one loved babies more than my mother. She uttered such a heart wrenching “Oh my” that I can still hear it echoing in my head.



“What did they name him?”

“I’ll email and ask,” I told Momma, then added. “Any idea why Eric’s in jail?”

“No.”

I composed a quick email and sent it off. “Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry to hear about the problems with the babe. Can you give me his full name for my birthday book. Can I put this news in my weekly family and friends letter? Love and prayers sweetheart.”

The next day, this email was waiting in my inbox for me.


“I named him Eric Scott Platt-Bowers Jr., he was born 6:01 pm. I feel bad for not remembering all his little details cuz I do with the girls. I have just been going thru so much stress-wise and worrying. I don't have anything I need for him yet. Just a few clothes people gave me because I stupidly got rid of stuff from the girls and now this whole thing with Eric. Everything’s just a mess. The Charge Syndrome thing they told me is a rare genetic disorder, they can’t tell me much about it but said that we aren't at risk of it happening again. Of course you can include him in your letter. Eric did want me to send his love to everyone especially Granny. He’s been wanting us to get up to see her but things never work out as planned for us.”

Eric sends his love to you and Jasmine sent me this photo.

“Thanks for the pics,” I emailed Jasmine. “Could you give me the full names and birthdates of the girls as well as yours for my birthday book. I don't know why I don't already have this info.” And curiosity getting the best of me, I added, “Can you tell me why Eric is in jail?”
“I have more photos but my phone backed them up to Google or something and now, since my phone broke and I’m using Eric’s I don’t know how to get them. Just as long as they aren’t lost forever it’s fine by me.
Destini Renae Platt 6 20 07
Jaiyden Sue Platt 9 19 09
And mine 11 04 (I won’t print her year of birth)
Well a few years ago Eric got pulled over and ended up getting put on probation cause he had some weed on him and of course they consider smoking weed a dui.. his P.O. (parole officer) is the very most uncool person ever! ...Eric got violated a few times since for various stupid things like driving or not keeping up with fines. He was only driving because we had this appointment with the genetic doctor and he got pulled over again and his P.O. had him put in jail even though he knows everything we’ve been going thru and are going thru with the baby. He doesn't have to do this anyway. His P.O. isn't being too nice or lenient and he wants to 'take back' the probation time Eric has given (2yrs) and have him do jail time PLUS time for the violation! If the judge agrees I have no clue what I’ll do. I mean it’s clear what I have to do to make sure our kids are ok and as best I can help Eric. But it’ll be hard, really hard, especially with the baby and they can’t tell me much as far as what kind of care he’s going to need. They said it’s going to be a wait and see type thing and to be honest I’m scared to death…”
Frankly, I would be too!
“…because I don't know and no one can tell me and the thought of doing it all alone scares me even more and right now I’m just pretty down and upset and super stressed...I’ll be ok thou, I don't have a choice. I hate having to take the kids to see their daddy cause the visit isn't even contact. It’s sad for them.”
I could say all kinds of things and lots of them are not very sympathetic. Maybe some of the same things were running through your mind too as you read Jasmine’s account of Eric’s legal problems.
“Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time,” is one.
Maybe Eric shouldn’t have had the ‘weed’ on him. And we won’t even talk about how some states are de-criminalizing marijuana and treating it much the same as alcohol.
Driving with no license? All I can say about that is he knew he shouldn’t have but in light of the circumstances wouldn’t you or I have done the same thing?
Maybe he should have stuck to the speed limit that day or used his turn signal or whatever the offense was that got him pulled over in the first place. Maybe the cop knew him and knew he didn’t have a license. I don’t know. But this I do know. Recriminations don’t help a thing. And neither does pity or sympathy.
But brownies do. Brownies can be the answer. Brownies can solve a whole lot of problems. What to do with extra eggs and butter. What to do with the cocoa in the cupboard. What treat can I make for my husband. What to do on a rainy day, and my favorite excuse, “The house is chilly- I think I’ll bake something.”
I was sitting there, in my comfortable home, with my pitiful little problems, smelling the chocolaty sweet aroma of a freshly baked batch of brownies cooling on the counter, reading Jasmine’s email.
I was sad. How could the parole officer be so hardhearted!
“I am sad for you,” I wrote Jasmine. “but don't know how I can help. I doubt a batch of homemade brownies would help but I will certainly do what I can to help.” I didn’t have any baby things to send her. My babies are long grown and gone. I don’t have any money to send her. All I have is me. “Oh, I can write your story and if you give me a list of your needs, an address where people - family and friends-there are like 50 people who read my weekly letters - we will see if there is anyone out there who will send you some of the things that you need. A joy shared is a double joy, a burden shared is half a burden. Peace and love.”
I know there are no better people in this world than you guys. I know that if you can, you will help Jasmine. Look around and see if there aren’t things that you have that you don’t use anymore. Things that you don’t need or your kids have outgrown. Maybe you were going to donate them to your church rummage sale.
Yeah, I hear you. There is that postage thing.
Maybe you have a few extra bucks sitting around waiting for a good excuse to be spent. That’s just a stamp. I guess you’ll have to search your heart and see if and what or how much you can bear.
Jasmine sent me a long email and knowing what it was about, I didn’t read more than the first few lines. I will read it when I need the info, I thought to myself.
This morning I needed it. And I started reading it.
“I don’t have a car seat or stroller for him but the hospital said if I watch a video they'll give me a car seat. I don’t have a bouncy seat, a swing, high chair, a jumper (I’m unsure if he can even use one or when) or a bath tub. I didn't get anything and I didn't know what I’d need. I’m unsure of what size diaper he’d be in, he's about 8lbs now.”
Eight pounds at almost four months old, that sounds small to me. I kept reading.
“Maybe one of those boppy pillows and bamboo (I think) chairs they have, they're kind of funny looking but might be good for him. I was told he could have some developmental delays and that could be because he was born early or because of the Charge or because he has an under developed cerebellum. They also said he might not have any delays at all. I have clothes that people have given him. I’m not sure what I’m going to need medically if anything, he’s supposed to have another procedure done to open his nasal passage a little more tomorrow (Monday the 20th) and they are going to put a feeding tube in. They feel this is what’s best and they say it’s hopefully not permanent. I was told to apply for social security for him and I did. I thought, ‘cool I can get him everything he needs’ but it's not going to kick in until after he comes home and I have no clue when that is going to be yet. They are talking about switching him to a rehab for babies somewhere in Lancaster and that would be great because then he’ll be closer to home and I can see him more. Unfortunately I can count on both hands how many times I’ve seen him because he’s in Philadelphia and I can't afford the trip nor do I have a reliable, safe vehicle.”
And that was all the further I read.
How sad is that? E.J. (Eric Junior) is almost four months old and his mother has seen him less than ten times. I can’t imagine what it must be like for Jasmine.
So, let’s read on, shall we?
“They're going to want me to take classes on feeding tubes and C.P.R. and for the car seat I’m not sure how I’m going to make it there to take that class. Its all been pretty tough financially and mentally trying my best to get back and forth as much as possible and it isn’t nearly often enough and trying to maintain and keep house with life as normal as possible for the girls. I know there’s going to be all kinds of tests and stuff for him to where it’ll probably be a lot of back and forth once he does get home. I was told he’s definitely going to require more surgeries for various different things. I’ve done a little research but not much. Unfortunately my internet got shut off so from what I’m told (in his case anyway) the c stands for eyes and they are confident he can see out of his right eye for sure but they need to check the other things...h is for heart and a is for atresia which he had and they opened (guess that’s the medical term for the blockage in his nose)...r is for renal & they said that looked fine....g is for growth and e is for ears which again like his eyes he can definitely hear out of one but are unsure about the other. He’s such a happy baby for all he’s been thru from what the nurses tell me. I wish I could be with him more then I am but hopefully soon. I just hope he doesn't forget who I am or the sound of my voice.”
That was one fear I never had to have.
“That’s all I can think of for now as far as what he needs or as far as what I know he’s going to need. They can’t tell me much on the Charge Syndrome other then wait and see. I’m pretty positive he’ll have a physical therapist, he has one now. We had a friend of the family (he knew my grandpa) staying here with us and he’s like another grandparent to the kids because he has Alzheimer and we were helping care for him and that helped us a lot financially because he put money towards the bills and I could use his vehicle to go see the baby. Well as soon I had the baby and we told his brother that he might have to watch him a for a few hours here or there, they had him put in a home to "help" me which made things so much worse because now I can't afford anything and I don't have transportation so I’m probably going to have to see about getting on some list through state or something and moving because I don't know how I’m going to be able to afford it. Things are already getting shut off ...everything is a mess...but for now I’m at the same spot.
Jasmine Platt
402 S Front St
Wrightsville PA 17368.
I don't like asking for help because for some reason its just how I am but I need it so- thank you. I appreciate it. Even if all anyone has to give me are words of encouragement. That helps. I can't even begin to describe how horrible it makes me feel that as a parent I can't get the things for my baby that he needs and that’s just him because the girls are gonna need clothes and shoes soon and Dez’s birthday is coming up in June and I’m starting to get ahead of myself and stress about it. It’s too far in the future. I have to take it one day and one step at a time. It’s probably the only way I’ll get through this.
You can use Eric’s email to be in touch with me or mine is jazzi11487@gmail.com and the phone number is 717-758-8107. I tend to text more then talk because sometimes I can't think or because of the girls and I don’t get good service. I was thinking of making a Go Fund Me account but I’m not sure how or having those donation jars at the gas stations, since his syndrome is so rare, to try and help ease some of expense but I haven’t done that but again thanks so much.

_Jasmine

It sounds to me like Jasmine needs family and friends to rally around her. To pitch in and help. If I was there I could make the jars and take them to the gas stations for her. I don’t know anything about Go Fund Me accounts.
(thinking, thinking, thinking)
Could I do it here in Missouri when the babe is in Pennsylvania? The donation jars at the gas station thing I mean?

Even if all you have to give are prayers, than that would be perfect.

Prayers are powerful.

May Birthdays

David Reimsnider, 5^th

Jonecca Robinson, 7^th

 Rosie Kipp, 7^th

Cody Austin Kraft, 8^th

Lena Franklin, 10^th

Matthew Flowers, 10^th

John Canales and his daughter Nakia were both born on the same day (different years, don’t you know?) the 10^th

Dustin Louis Illo, 16^th

Vincent E. Soden, 18^th

Cssandra Lynn Soden Kriebel, 18^th

Mr. B -my Jersey Boy!- 19^th

Farley Germain Bowers, 25^th

Keith Christopher McDonald, 29^th

Samantha Rae Herold, 30^th

Russell James Harrison IV, 30^th

Julie Bowers, 30^th

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EVERYONE!!!

Aunt Marie

“I don’t know what you’re doing but you certainly are keeping me entertained,” my mother said, commenting on the stories I posted.
What sweeter words could a girl ever hope to hear? Especially if that girl aspires to be a writer.
This whole thing started last Sunday as I sat in front of my computer writing my weekly letter/blog. My weekly letter, the one that I print, was becoming too long. Ten pages. That means I have to print both sides of five sheets of paper, fold and then crease them as flat as I can. The Post Office charges more if a letter won’t fit easily through a test slot even if the weight isn’t over! But I’ve done it. I think five pages is the limit before I have to pay more postage.
So, there I sit, on a Sunday afternoon and I’m proofreading this ten page letter that I’ve written when I’m finding things that had to be changed. Missed or misspelled words, a sentence that doesn’t flow right and sometimes even a whole new thought had to be added!
By the time I got through with my story about the ducks in a puddle the rest of the letter had pushed on to page eleven.
So, that was okay. One extra sheet of paper. I don’t mind putting a few pennies with the stamps that my Jersey Boy had bought and sent to me.
“Thank you for the two books of stamps, Mr. B! I love you and miss you!”

“Who’s Mr. B?” you ask.
That could be a story all in and of itself. Sigh.
So there I am, a writer and a story-teller with almost another two full pages to fill. Not a problem. I moved a short story about burial pods onto the rest of page four and I started editing the next story. By the time I finished, the rest of my letter was pushed onto page thirteen.
Thirteen would be printed on the top of the physical page seven. Now I had another blank page and a half.

  This is getting ridiculous!
On the phone that Sunday night with an amazing woman whom I’ve had the privilege and honor of being called the daughter of, (can I end a sentence with ‘of’?) I asked, “Momma, what if I changed my weekly letter into something more like a story than a letter?”
“They are stories,” my down-to-earth mother stated and I smiled.
“So my letter isn’t done and I’m too tired to finish it tonight. But I will post a story for you to read tomorrow,” I said.
“Okay,” she said amenably.

“Now, when I print it, do you want it in letter format or story format?” I asked. Although my mother does have a foot in this century and has an iPad, she still prefers to have my letters printed.
She cleared her throat, thinking about it for just a moment before she replied. “Story.”
Settled.
Monday I looked at and made a few changes to my first story including giving it the title Lucky Duck. Then I set about making the next section of my letter into a story.
Doggone it! But it was getting long!
Writing Pods, Hurt Knee and Easter Dinner took the printed letter to page sixteen. That’s eight sheets of paper! And I wasn’t yet done.
“I'm not going to worry about how many pages there are. I'm going to just write until the words stop,” I wrote on my Facebook status. Hours later I get this comment from my beautiful niece Bambi.
“I love your writings!!!” I got three exclamation points! Yay!!!
And I love this photo I took of her and her newborn son four years ago.

But therein lies…lays the problem. I have people who count on receiving a letter in the mail from me every week. I try to have it in the mail by Monday but sometimes it’s Tuesday and this week was marching on.
My beloved Aunt Marie was one of those people. “When your letter arrives in the mail, nothing gets done in this house until it’s read,” she once told me. We were sitting around the kitchen table. Nothing says home like a kitchen table, do you know what I mean? I smile even now as I remember that day. That vision is so clear in my head that I think I must have a photo of it someplace. Aunt Marie, sitting there with her long sleeved red blouse tucked into her tan polyester slacks with an elastic waistband. A white sweater vest covering her shoulders and back. Not everyone can pull off this look but Aunt Marie could. With pride and dignity too.
Aunt Marie had a voice and a laugh I can call up anytime I want and when she laughed her belly shook. I loved that! I used to sit there and try to think of stories just to make her laugh. Is that bad?
Aunt Marie made me feel important. Probably sinfully so. And now memories are all I have of that wonderful woman. Talk about having a hard life - no! We won’t talk about that. But here is the thing that makes me call her and think of her as my ‘beloved’ Aunt Marie. She was happy. Despite what she had been served up in life -and I only know a tiny little bit of that- she wasn’t bitter. When I moved into her world, when I started sending her my letters and stopping to visit her on the way to my mothers in Dushore, Pennsylvania, she was always bright-eyed. A welcoming smile on her beautiful face. And she was polite - always polite. I never showed up, unexpected or otherwise and never not been offered drink and food to eat, no matter what time I walked through her door.
I’d sit at the kitchen table and Aunt Marie would putter around and get out little plates and set them on the counter and get in the fridge and get some sandwich or salad fixens out, chatting the whole time.

And Aunt Marie always ate with me. Even if she had just eaten, she was “… just about to have a cookie with my tea,” and she would politely nibble along with me. We would sit around the heart of the home, a.k.a. the kitchen table, and talk and sip coffee - tea, and talk and eat and talk some more. All too soon it would be time for me to be gitten. Thanks and hugs and kisses were all exchanged and a promise was extracted to stop the next time I was going by~
~Well! That was a pleasant memory for me right smack in the middle of telling you about last weeks letter.
So! Writing Pods, Hurt Knee and Easter Dinner took the printed letter to page sixteen, I wasn’t done and now I had another blank page and a half. Again, not a problem but if history repeats itself, it would be another day until I was done. I decided it was getting too late in the week to edit anymore stories. I had people waiting for their weekly letter! I needed to get it wrapped up, printed and in the mail! It was Wednesday already!
I continued with the story format leaving the rest of the page blank then I printed and mailed the letters. Sixteen pages! Eight two-sided sheets of paper! Twenty-one cents extra postage!
The postal clerk affixed a stamp to the envelope she had just weighed and handed the rest to me as she rang up my receipt.
“Boy, a stamp collector is really going to like getting that extra stamp on there,” a man standing close by commented.
“Yeah?” I wanted to acknowledge him.
“Yeah!”
And that brings you up to this week which is starting with a five page deficit. Last week, after I posted the stories, I was left with a page of newsy news. So let’s get on with it, shall we...
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　








 

Change

Change

In the past weeks, when not writing or keeping house, I have been busy with crafts. Years ago, I bought a homemade scrubbie from a gal. She said she would sell them to me for a buck a piece. We were friends. When I went to pick up the three or four I ordered I guess we weren't as good of friends anymore. "I get a dollar fifty for them now," she told me.
 “You told me a buck a piece,” I complained. She grumbled but stuck to her original price.

I don’t remember what I did with the others but I’ve had one in my shower for these many years. It’s great to exfoliate your face and legs with. It’s getting wore out now, guys, I’m tellin’ ya! So it was with need in mind that I Googled it and found out how to make my own.

I sometimes share my crafts with Patty, the attendant at the Laundromat I frequent.

She likes to talk so I thought this would give us something else to jibber-jabber about.

No sooner had I walked in the door with a scrubbie in my hand than the owner saw it. “Where did you get this?” Janet asked reaching for the pretty blue scrubbie.

“I just made it,” I proudly declared as I handed it over.

“Do you sell them?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I always get them for my sister. She loves them. I usually pick them up at flea markets but I haven’t been able to find them in a while. Do you have any more of them?” she asked.

“I have four more at home… oh wait, I gave one to Miss Helen. I have three more at home.”

“I’m leaving to go see my sister in a day and a half. If you can get me four of them by then I’ll give you two fifty a piece,” Janet offered. Before I had a chance to argue the price, she added, “That’s what I pay for them at the flea markets.”

I thought that sounded fair and I agreed. She paid me on the spot, I almost wished she wouldn’t have now, but that’s another story. And all’s well that ends well.

On the way home I stopped at the craft store. I got enough tulle for fifteen more scrubbies plus two Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs (it was before Easter) and I got a dollar and some change back from that ten I’d just earned. I was hoping Janet would buy more if I showed up with more and I wanted to be able to offer her other colors too.

I’ll tell you what! I love my scrubbies.

Most commonly you would use a scrubbie for dishes and I saw (on the internet of course) that you can wash them in the silverware holder of your dishwasher too. Not having one of those I can’t test that out for you. The scrubbies are especially good for your non-stick cookware because they won’t scratch, or your stainless sink. My kitchen scrubbie has almost replaced my beloved homemade dishrags for the washing of the dishes. But I still need to keep a dishrag handy for the wiping up.

Now I’ll tell you really what! Once I started using a homemade dishrag, I can’t image why I was ever so reluctant to try one in the first place. (It’s the change thing, I know. We don’t like change.) My first homemade dishrag came from Katrina, my daughter-in-law. She sent me one along with a few other small gifts. I put the dishrag on the desk of my shelf as I unpacked the small box and there it has lived ever since. Months… years now maybe.

Every time I would catch a glimpse of it as it peeked out from whatever junk I had piled on and around it, I would remember the estrangement between us. Why do we torture ourselves like that? Just use it, I admonished myself one day. Then you can hate it and throw it away and be done with it.

But I didn’t hate it. In fact I loved it. The loops and whorls of the knots seemed to help remove food from the dishes. So far so good, I thought. Let’s see how it does wiping up. I wrung it out and was pleased with the results. The yarn was absorbent and the nooks and crannies seemed to pick up and keep hold of the crumbs really well until you shake them out in the trash or rinse them out in the sink.

That was when I got busy making those.

Change can be a good thing.

　

Camera Takes A Shit

 

 

Hi everyone!

This photo was my desktop photo for a couple of weeks.

I just like the light, especially where it drips off the leaf.

 

 

With spring here and things bursting out all over, I'm happy to photograph the new life.

When I looked at it on my computer, I was surprised at how fuzzy he was.

I think this guy is going to be just a leaf.

 

 

Have you ever seen a dandelion close up?

Surprising, isn't it?

 

 

I think this guy is some kind of water spider. I was at the pond when I took his photo.

 

 

This next guy needs no introduction. I'm sure you know what it is.

"What kind is he?" you may wonder.

I don't know. He crawled out of the water and up onto a rock.

A water snake?

 

 

Gooseberry!

 

 

 

I don't know what this is, but the ant likes it.

 

 

More new life.

 

 

The birth of a leaf.

 

 

I bet this is a nymph.

 

 

A violet.

Do you know that gourmet restaurants serve violets?

And right here they are for the picking.

 

 

A green iridescent bee-bug on a dogwood bloom. Blossom? 

 

 

A dragon fly.

 

 

I believe this is called a hoary puccoon. It is in the borage family.

 

 

 

I think this is mustard but I didn't look it up like I did the hoary puccoon.

 

 

When I first saw this next little critter, it was skittering through the sand.

Yes, those are granules of sand you see there.

In fact, it was only because of the motion that I even saw it.

I thought it was a sand spider, covered with sand.

Keep in mind that I have to be at least four feet away for my camera to focus. I really couldn't see it that well.

What is it!

(I don't have to ask what it's doing.)

 

 

Sand crab...bug?

 

It was as I was photographing this little guy when it happened.

 

 

"What happened, Peg?"

My camera took a shit.

I hope you enjoyed my photos because

I don't know how long it will be until I get a new camera.

In the meantime, I'll be using Andrews.

 

 

Love everyone!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Making Biscuits

Late last summer, after Mike and I picked up our brand spankin-new RV, we spent a few days camping with his brother Cork and sister-in-law Pam. They made us breakfast one morning.

Breakfast, outside, on an early September morning, under the trees, on a flower covered picnic table, surrounded by family was perfect. Just perfect. I enjoyed it so much that I wanted to share it. I wanted to invite our handsome youngest son Kevin, his beautiful wife Kandyce and that awesome grandson of ours to go camping for a weekend with us and we would go out to the state park.

We are lucky enough to have one of Missouri's largest state parks right in our own backyard. It has 17,441 acres, 89 miles of shoreline, two swimming beaches, boat-launching areas, marinas, campgrounds, camper cabins, two yurts, hiking, mountain biking and equestrian trails, tours of Ozark Caverns and this state park even has an airport in it.

Our RV can sleep eight so there is plenty of room. I thought we would invite the kids as well as Krysten, Kandyce’s twin, to go with us if she wanted to. The table makes into a bed, the couch makes into a bed, it has a king size bed for Mike and me and it has a feature I’ve never seen before. It has a queen size bunk bed that lowers down right overtop the driver and passenger seats. When not in use you deflate and remove the air mattress and the whole unit goes right back up to the ceiling and you never know it’s there. There’s even a place to store the ladder. How cool is that?

I had visions of steaks on the grill, evening campfire, s’mores, wine, laughter and love. No mosquitoes! Waking up all sleepy-eyed, tousle-headed and pajama-rumbled to a breakfast of bacon and eggs cooked on the grill. Kevin, of course, was the Grillmaster.

Unfortunately, we had some warranty work done on the RV and we didn’t get it back until it was too late to do any camping. It’s something I’d still like to do but I don’t know if it will ever come to fruition.

Look at that, would ya!

“What’s that Peg?” you ask.

I’m off on a tangent again! Doggone it! What I really wanted to talk about was Cork and Pam’s NuWave.

“What’s a NuWave?” you ask.

I’m getting to that.

Cork cooked the bacon and eggs on the griddle of his gas grill and Pam made the hash brown potatoes on her NuWave.

“That’s one of those induction cookers I saw on the TV,” Mike said to me when Pam carried it out and plugged it in. Then he turned to Pam “How do you like it?” he asked her.

“I love it, I use it all the time,” she told us. “We don’t fry in the RV.”

“What a great idea,” Mike and I both said. And it’s better for the RV too, I’m sure. You know how frying odors can hang around for a long time in your house. When I take the girls out in the evening after I’ve fried something for dinner, I can always tell what it was when I come back in.

The next time Mike saw the infomercial I ended up with not one - but two NuWave Induction Cooktops!

They were offering a deal. By one, get one free! Just pay shipping. And that makes it just about the price per piece that it should have been to begin with. Along with the cooktops Mike bought me two nonstick skillets, (“You can fry an egg without any oil,” he told me, “and it won’t stick!”) and a combination steamer/fondue pot, with eight forks.

I have my very first fondue pot! I didn’t even know I wanted one!

I am not that experienced in the art of fondue. I can honestly say that I have only ever had two experiences with fondue and both of those times were courtesy of … who else? Those wonderful people Cork and Pam.

“Is Cork Mike’s brothers real name?” you may be wondering.

No. Cork’s real name is Charles. Pam calls him Chuck. I tried to call him Chuck because I felt funny calling him by the family nickname that Mike uses but he pulled me aside one day, “You can call me Cork.”

When we had fondue with Cork and Pam we had steak that had been marinated overnight and cut into bite size pieces. You get a piece of steak on your fork and drop it into the hot oil sitting in the middle of the table.

I’ll tell you what. If you need to slow down your eating, that’s the way to do it! One bite of meat every few minutes will definitely slow you down. And I have to tell you that Pam makes the best curry sauce to dip your steak into. To me, that little piece of steak was just the way to get the curry sauce to my mouth. Mmmmm mmm.

So now I have my very first fondue pot and I want to have a Fondue Party. Cooking little pieces of meat in hot oil is too time consuming. A cheese fondue with bread cubes doesn’t sound like much of a party to me and it’s all I can remember from the days when fondue pots were all the rage and advertised on TV. That and chocolate fondue. We are not doing a chocolate fondue.

Maybe something like a Sunday brunch would be better, I thought. Is there such a thing as a breakfast fondue? I started investigating and found a recipe for a fruit fondue that you can ‘serve with pieces of waffle, French toast or pieces of sausage’ it said. I don’t know about dipping sausage into a fruit fondue but the rest of it sounded pretty good to me. I followed the link to the recipe and it looked easy and straightforward. Something I thought I could manage without a practice run.

I start to plan this in my head. I can have the fruit fondue and I could make a big pan of bacon in the oven. Who doesn’t like bacon? I could even have a few sausages too. Wal*Mart sells a ready made sausage patty that I like pretty good and it just gets warmed in the microwave.

At our weekly Golden Corral breakfast with our friend Margaret one Saturday morning I asked if she would be open to coming for a brunch some Sunday morning.

“If I don’t have anything else planned … yes, I’d come,” she said.

Then I started to tell her what I was planning. “…and you can dip pieces of waffle in it,” I told her. “Is there a brand of frozen waffle that’s good?”

“Eggo’s are pretty good,” she said, then paused. “I think I still have a waffle iron you could use.” Margaret doesn’t cook much anymore and it’s been years since she’s made waffles.

In my minds eye I see us preparing a meal together in my kitchen. “Great! You’re in charge of making the waffles!” Margaret’s always good to jump in and help, besides, I’ve never had much luck with waffles.

That’s all the further I got with my Fondue Brunch Fantasy.

Then one day a recipe for a Never Fail Biscuit shows up on my timeline on FaceBook. Biscuits and gravy comes to my mind. I could use my second NuWave to hold a pot of sausage gravy and make biscuits for my brunch - if they are any good, that is.

I’ve never fooled with making biscuits very much. They are too much work and the results are only so-so. You can buy biscuits in a can but then that’s what you get. Canned biscuits. And really, they are good enough, just not all that special and I prefer a fried potato over that any day.

I followed the link to the recipe and checked it out. It has only two ingredients. Self rising flour and heavy whipping cream. How easy is that!

If I am going to make it for brunch, I thought, I’d better try it out first. I bought a pint of heavy whipping cream and whipped up a batch. Easy breezy-lemon squeezy!

I’ll tell you what, these little boogers are good! And just the right texture to support gravy. And equally as good with some butter and even all by themselves!

“Give it to us Peg,” I hear you.

So the recipe is equal parts -by weight- of self rising flour and heavy whipping cream. That’s it. Oh, and you can add a little salt if you want to but I hardly ever do. (I’ll pass on the complete instructions to anyone who asks for it.)

The first batch didn’t last long with me getting one every time I thought about them (or walked past the kitchen counter and saw them laying there). So I made a second batch. I didn’t really want to because I seemed helpless to stop myself from snacking on them all day long but I couldn’t just throw the rest of the heavy cream out. I had to make a second batch.

Lucky for me that Kevin and Kandyce stopped by that evening and I was able to unload most of that second batch on them.

“Are you going to try one?” I asked as I handed the bag of still warm biscuits to Kandyce.

“I am hungry,” she said. “And we haven’t had supper yet.”

Kandyce mmmmm’ed as she ate her first bite and I smiled.

Kevin and Mike were talking between themselves. “Give me a bite of that,” Kevin said just as Kandyce popped the last little bite into her mouth. She opened the bag and held it out for Kevin.

“Still warm,” he said as he reached in for one. Then he bit into it. “Mmmm,” he said, “these have a really good flavor.” He sounded surprised.
“I know right! And they are so easy to make too!”

Two batches of Never Fail Biscuits down and there was still some heavy cream left, just not enough to make more biscuits, thank goodness.

“Throw it away,” you say?

I hate to throw away things that are perfectly good!

“Buy more cream and make more biscuits.”

No! I can’t stop eating them so one batch at a time is enough! If I bought more cream that would mean two or three more batches I’d have to make before the cream goes bad-and I don’t know the shelf life of cream. Seven days?

“Just put it in your coffee Peggy,” I heard my mother say in my mind’s eye. She is so practical! Had it been her, she would have done exactly that because she uses cream in her coffee, but I gave up milk in my coffee years ago.

“Then throw it out,” Momma says exasperated. Nothing like offering up a solution to a problem and being shot down now is there?

No! I can’t bear to!

So I capitulated and put cream in my next cup of coffee…and my next…and as the day wore on my tummy starts to hurt. Another cup of coffee and I’m dumping in the last of the cream when I realize that it might be the cream causing my tummy to hurt. Since I gave up milk years ago, I no longer have the enzyme that breaks down the lactose in milk.

Again, let me say that I hate to throw things away that are good. Don’t laugh, but I drank it anyway. Halfway through that cup of coffee my tummy starts to hurt again. This is silly, and I got up from my desk and dumped the last of my coffee. And my tummy stopped hurting.

What a conundrum! How was I to make just one batch of biscuits and not have all that cream left over that I feel like I gotta use?

Make it with regular milk?

“Won’t work Peg,” you say.

Yeah, well I know that now. The biscuits didn’t go to waste but they weren’t as good. The texture and flavor was different.

I know it probably has something to do with fat, because that’s the difference between milk and cream. Could I add fat to it? I was letting it rattle around in my head as I went about my day.

That night, on my daily phone call to my beautiful mother, my problem came to mind.

“Momma, is there substitution for heavy cream?” She had told me the substitution for buttermilk years ago and I thought there was a chance she might know the substitution for heavy cream too.

She cleared her throat as she searched her mind. “Let me just check the Joy Of Cooking and get back with you on that,” she said. Heavy cream was a luxury not often afforded when you are raising eleven kids, so making things that called for heavy cream were not on her menu. However, as it turns out, there is a substitution for heavy cream.

“Three quarters cup milk and one third cup butter,” Momma told me, “will yield one cup of heavy whipping cream.

Isn’t she awesome!

Now I could make just enough heavy cream for one batch of biscuits! What kind of difference will it make in the biscuits? I had to try it.

The next day I set about making biscuits. I reached for the butter and realized I should have thought about getting it out of the fridge long before I was ready to use it. Could I melt it and whisk it into the milk? I wondered. What would Momma say? I could call her but I know what she’d say.


“Use soft butter.”
I have been told so many times that something won’t work only to try it for myself and find out it does work. I know my Momma Voice was probably right in this case but I decided to give it a try anyway. It was either that or wait until the butter softened and doggone it! I was ready to make biscuits! Maybe I can whisk it fast enough to incorporate it.

I slowly poured the melted butter into the cold milk and whisked as fast as I could. Things started out looking pretty good. Encouraged, I poured the rest of the butter in. Then the butter started to gather and clump inside my whisk. Dumass, I called myself and knocked it out, added the flour and mixed it all together. The biscuits actually didn’t turn out too bad. Maybe it would work better if I warmed the milk too. I was letting that rattle around in my head as I went about my day. Stuff is always rattling around in my head, don’t you know.

So I had to make biscuits one more time using soft butter. The biscuits turned out perfect. They were just as good as using heavy whipping cream and the soft butter mixed into the flour just fine so why bother melting it?

That night, on my I Love You call, I decided to pit the Momma Voice in my head against the Momma Voice on the phone. I was just sure of what she would tell me and we could have a good laugh.

“Momma, when you make your own heavy cream would you melt the butter or just have it soft?” I would ask.

“Use soft butter,” she would say.

“Well guess what I did?” I would say.

She would be quiet for a moment as she thought about it. “Melted the butter?” she would venture a guess.

I’d smile at her wisdom as I say, “Yep.”

“Peggy!” she would exclaim in that exasperated tone of voice I heard many times while growing up. Not mean though, but definitely with an air of amusement. Even when my mother was mean to us as kids, it was always tempered with love.

And then we would have a good laugh about it.

That’s how the conversation went in my head. In reality it went like this. “Momma, when you make your own heavy cream would you melt the butter or just have it soft?” In my mind’s eye I was gloating in anticipation of victory. In fact, I was so sure that I would have bet you a hundred dollars on what she would say.

“I believe I’d melt it,” she said.

I was flabbergasted but tried not to show it. I didn’t want her to know that I had already tried it and it was not the right thing to do.

I am my mother’s daughter after all.

<<<<<>>>>>

Pods, Hurt Knee and Easter Dinner

 

Something that has been sitting in my letter pix file for a while now is this photo. Do you know what this is?

 

 

No?

I’ll tell you.

This is a burial pod.

I saw something once, a long time ago, that said, “Always be yourself. Unless you can be a unicorn, then always be a unicorn.” Well, maybe we can’t be unicorns but when our souls have left our earthly bodies and gone on to heaven to bask in the glory of our Lord, wouldn’t it be cool to have your body go back into the earth to nourish other living things?

　

<<<<<>>>>>

I had a dumbass attack a couple of weeks ago. I did something I should have known better than try to do.

“What did you do now, Peg?” you ask.

I was working out on the treadmill, doing my interval running and I was paying attention to how my feet were landing. I tend to walk on the outside of my feet and that is clearly evidenced by my shoes-after I get them broke in that is. So I thought that if I made more of an effort to land more evenly of my feet that maybe-just maybe-it would use that inner thigh muscle and maybe-just maybe-help to shape my leg.

Yeah. I’m really way past caring about those things but I thought I would give it a try since I was running anyway. Train my foot to not walk off the side of my shoe and shape my leg in the process. It sounded like a win-win for me. Unfortunately after about a week my knee started hurting. Doggone it!

I iced it down, waited a couple of days and got back on the treadmill. I was trying really hard to not think about how my feet were landing and just run naturally but after twenty minutes my knee started hurting again, so I stopped.

More ice and a knee support for a day or so and I decided to get on the treadmill and just walk. I was about forty minutes in when my knee started hurting again. I shut it down and this time I decided to wait for a couple of weeks until I can unlearn what I had been trying so hard to learn.

So … here I sit … not taking very good care of myself. Not exercising and eating things I shouldn’t be eating. We won’t talk about the dollar twenty-five cent size bag of Crunchy Cheetos that I picked up on my way out of Wal*Mart not once, but twice in the last couple of weeks. Dang that impulse rack by the checkouts anyway!

We won’t talk about the really awesome brownie recipe I found online and decided to make. If I look at a recipe and it has simple basic ingredients and things I already keep on hand, then there is a good chance it will be a good recipe. I ate most of the eight by eight pan myself. Not a good thing. They were fudgy and chewy and once I got a taste, I couldn’t seem to stop. That is my downfall. If I don’t taste I can resist much better.

We won’t talk about the bag or two of jelly beans I ate in honor of Easter either. You have to eat jelly beans at Easter. It’s like mandatory. At least in my world. Maybe in your world it’s a chocolate Easter bunny that you have to have once a year.

And what’s Easter without a ham? Unheard of, right?

Mike and I got a ham and I followed the directions printed on the package.

Place on rack cut side down, it said. Cover loosely, it said. What the heck does that mean? Cover loosely? Does that mean to tuck the foil around two sides of the roasting pan? Three sides and leave one open? What exactly does cover loosely mean? My foil wasn’t wide enough to go over the ham and tuck in all the way around. So in my world, cover loosely gets you tucked on three sides. Right or wrong, that’s what I did.

Bake at 325 for 20 minutes per pound, it said. I smiled. I have a calculator. The package label lists the weight. I dug it out of the trash. Luckily it only had a layer of potato, cucumber and carrot peelings on top, which came off pretty easily when I picked it up. Nine point eight five pounds times twenty equals one hundred ninety-seven minutes. Divide by sixty minutes in an hour and the ham was to stay in the oven for three and a half hours. Three point two eight to be exact but three and a half was close enough.

An hour before the ham was to come out I could smell it. Wait, is it starting to burn? I opened the oven, carefully lifted the foil and checked. It was just the juice in the bottom that was burning. Doggone it! No ham gravy!

Half an hour later, as the burnt smell is getting stronger, my mother is yelling at me in my head. Peggy, put some water in there to keep it from burning!

I jumped up from where I was working on my weekly blog and did as she told me to do.

That night on the phone…

“Momma, if you’re cooking a ham and the juice in the bottom of the pan starts to burn, would you put a little water in it?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she said with no hesitation at all.

“Good. That’s what I did. But it was too late to save my drippings.”

Momma tried a couple of different scenarios whereby using the ham drippings to make a gravy would have been possible, but not where I had burned it for so long.

“Why didn’t you put water in when you first smelled it burning?” Momma asked.

“I guess you weren’t yelling loud enough,” I told her. LOL. Like my burning the ham juice is my mothers fault.

Easter is once a year and what’s Easter without a pie?

How about a Homemade Coconut Pie?

I discovered a recipe online that I wanted to try and I know that my mother-at one time-loved Coconut Cream Pie. Thinking only of her I followed the link to Taste of Home and read the recipe and it sounded just perfect. Easy, basic ingredients. Making a crust would be the hardest part. But heck, you could buy a Pillsbury Crust already made or maybe use a graham cracker shell.

Letting all of this rattle around in my head brought an image to my minds eye.

I see my mother scraping and eating the filling from a cream pie with an awful crust that had been served to us in a restaurant once. Me? I can eat lousy crust.

“You don’t need a crust,” I heard her say in my head.

Yeah!

Thank you Momma! 

Save time, trouble and calories! Just make the filling and put it in a bowl and eat it like pudding!

"Peg, if you really wanted to save calories, you wouldn't make the pudding."

I know, right! But it's Easter.

That night on the phone I told Momma about making the pie with no crust and, "Momma, this pudding is made with flour and not corn starch!”

“Makes it taste better, doesn’t it,” she asked-no-stated.

It is good and you know what else is good?

Warm pudding!

After I scraped the pudding into the bowls, I licked the spatula.

Warm pudding always makes me think of my beautiful daughter Kat. That is the only way she would ever eat any of the homemade puddings I made while she was growing up.

I love this picture of her! It is both beautiful and haunting.

 

 

 

 

Lucky Duck

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Lucky Duck

While out walking Itsy and Ginger I came upon this pear…opps, pare -I mean pair of ducks in a rain-flooded rut of a dirt access road. We have a beautiful lake right down over the hill from where they are, why would they choose the puddle over the Lake? Then I saw them fishing.

I surmised there must be something there that they are eating. Bugs, maybe? Or a mineral they need in their diets? Maybe it’s just a convenient source of water close to where they chose to make a nest. I don’t know.

While taking pictures the female gets up and looks towards the bank while the male continues to feed.

She watches for a bit but soon goes back to feeding.

I got bored with the ducks and was getting ready to move on when a cardinal flew past me. I turned to watch him.

A bright red cardinal would be way more interesting than two ducks in a puddle, I thought. I started to move towards where the cardinal had landed and fired off a quick shot. Sometimes that’s all you get, you know what I mean?

All of a sudden I heard a whistle-growl-yip; twig-snapping, leaf and weed-crackling, wings-flapping, ducks-squawking, water-splashing ruckus. In the time it took me to turn my head all I see is something dark, furry and low to the ground slinking backwards into the weeds. I raised my camera and starting shooting. Look who’s in front would ya’. The female. Not that he’s hiding behind her or anything, I’m sure.

He settles his wings and she’s still watching.

 

 

He waddles over and looks with her.

 

 

I can just kick myself over the whole thing!

“Why’s that, Peg?” you ask.

If I hadn’t of turned away from the ducks, there’s a chance I may have captured the whole thing on digital. Hmmm. Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as ‘captured the whole thing on film’ does now, does it?

I think the critter was faster and smarter than the ducks. It lured the ducks to the edge of the puddle and jumped out before they knew what was going on. And that’s why, despite what I saw, I suspect it was a fox. I don’t think whistle pigs hunt ducks. Although the color was right the size was wrong. And are ground hogs smart? I don’t know but I do know this: ‘sly like a fox’ comes from somewhere. Whether he saw me or missed - I don’t know, but there is one more thing that I do know and it’s for sure.

“What’s that, Peg!”

Lucky duck.

Andrew's First Photography

Meet my grandson, Andrew.

He's two.

 

 

 

Today I gave him a camera to use.

We are not talking about a kids camera, nosiree.

We are talking about a Canon Power Shot A3300 IS that set me back $120.

"You have to keep the cord around your neck so you don't drop it," I told him. "And you have to turn it off when you're not taking pictures."

Buttons are a breeze for this kid. Show him once where stuff is and he's got it!

Andrew took a few shots of the bird feeder through the screen in the window.

 

 

He lined his Gummy Bears up and took their pictures too.

 

 

He took pictures of his game on my Nook.

 

 

He took pictures of Pop-pop and the cats too.

"You wanna go outside and take some pictures?" I asked Andrew.

"Yeah," he answered and he went for the dog leashes.

Everyone ready we went out and walked up the Strip to Two-Bit Town.

I didn't even know he took this photo.

 

 

I didn't want to unduly influence Andrew.

I let him take pictures of whatever he wanted and sometimes

he took pictures of his feet.

 

 

I got tickled when I saw him squat to get a photo.

This is my photo of Andrew...

 

 

...and this is what he photographed.

 

 

We were walking around some abandoned mini golf props.

I stood back and let him wander and take photos.

 He took these, all on his own! No prompting or pointing by me.

 

 



 

 

 

He explored piece by piece.

 

 

Andrew seemed to like this pile of junk and took a series of photos. I heard the camera go click, click, click.

 

This one is my favorite.

 

 

He squatted down to shoot into the opening of the miniature building.

 

 

Here's his shot.

 

 

He took a picture of the green one too.

These would be the openings you would putt your ball through on

the mini golf course.

 

 

Andrew walked over to take a picture of this barrel roll.

 

 

Here's the photo he took.

 

 

Andrew handled the camera with skill and respect.

 

 

We left there and went down Valley Road.

"This is dogwood Andrew," and he got his camera out of his pocket where he was keeping it when he wasn't using it, turned it on and took this photo. I'm in focus,

the dogwood is not.

I foresee a lesson on focus in his future.

 

 

We heard an airplane.

 

 

Andrew got it!

And his finger too, but we won't talk about that.

 

 

I stopped to photograph the lilacs and Andrew took a few shots of them too.

I like this one of his.

 

 

  Andrew took six shots of the wheels on his stroller. 

What is it about wheels that men find so fascinating?

 

 

 Tired of walking, Andrew rode for a while. Gingers leash is over the handle of the stroller and Andrew took several photos of Ginger's backside.

 

 

At one point Ginger found something to roll in.

"Oh, look! Ginger's having a rub in the grass!" I said to Andrew.

He took a photo of it, but it's just a brown blur in the grass,

so I'll spare you.

Andrew took some general scenery photos too.

 

 

He took pictures of litter too!

Hmmm. Have you ever known me to do that?

 

I don't know why he was photographing the roadside litter,

but he was pointing it out to me.

"I know," I told him. "That's bad to throw your trash out the car window."

 

Then we heard a helicopter!

Guess who broke all the rules of photography and shot into the sun?

He got the helicopter though.

I'm so proud of him!

 

 

This is my shot of the helicopter.

 

 

Does that mean that Grammy broke the rules and shot into the sun too?

Well, I shot towards, not into.

 

I can't tell you or impress upon you enough that these photos are Andrew's.

He took them of his own volition.

I showed him how to turn the camera on. I told him that this camera was not like my camera.

(I use the view finder on mine)

I told him he had to see it on the screen.

And I showed him where the button was to take the photograph.

"When you're not using it you have to turn it off," I told him after we took a few practice photos.

Andrew tipped the camera up, zeroed in on the on/off button and turned the camera off.

He knows the on button performs both functions.

Did I mention that he's two?

For the most part Andrew remembered to look at the screen, however, there was a time or two I caught him doing this.

 

 

Old habits die hard -- he's used my camera twice.

And this is what he sees me doing.

Does he know what he's doing?

I don't know,

but I do know that he got some awesome shots!