Collections

Collections

Collections

Probably every kid collects something.  Matchbox cars. Rocks. Barbie shoes. Stickers. Cat whiskers (no, those were the future psychopaths.)

I could spend all day on Saturday looking at my collection.  I'd organize it, rearrange it, sort it by color or chronologically.  I didn't collect dolls or books or pressed flowers,  I collected birthday napkins. 

 In the early 60s there were no big box stores of aisles dripping with party supplies.  Birthday parties were not a big business sport.

 We didn't have jump houses. We didn't pay big money to hire a business to house our birthday parties.

If we were lucky, someone's uncle would dress up as a clown and juggle.  That is just creepy.  I  don't trust a painted smile.


  Basically, our moms went to Ben Franklin or T,G & Y and got a party pack of 8 napkins.

  There were not many to choose from...usually it was Raggedy Ann for girls  and a cowboy theme for boys.

And moms were frugal.  They invited 8 kids and only had 8 napkins.  Do you see my stress here?  That meant that there were no extra napkins.

 I couldn't make a mistake!  I couldn't drop any cake!  I couldn't wipe my mouth! The angst still haunts me today.


We played Pin the Tail on the Donkey.  (They always had creases on the donkey where it had been folded in the box.). We played swing the statue and freeze tag.

This was before box cake mix, before elaborate party favors, before dads had to attend the party.

 I loved parties; I loved the cute colors and design. I loved perky.  But, nevertheless, I'd stress on party day.

 Being a closet party girl,  I would strategize over how to have a pristine birthday napkin to add to my collection.

 It was a no-brainer when the mom made a white or yellow cake.  Ahh, I could hide any stains.

  But then there was always a mom who had just ripped a recipe out of her Better Homes and Gardens of the newest chocolate cake. Those moms were just show-offs!

 Chocolate was trickier to keep clean.

 Maybe I could wipe my mouth on my arm or on the inside of my dress or if I was really brave I'd ask the chatty mom if I could get an alternate napkin.

I'm pretty sure if a kid did that today, he'd be in the sequel to "About a Boy" or "Martian Child".  That's just weird.  But sometimes kids don't know that their likes can creep out other people.

I wish I still had that box of all of the birthday napkins throughout my childhood.

So on this blog,  you will probably see my food displayed on fun napkins because it's ok and kinda trendy to be weird or nerdy now.

Oh, and what's the deal on the title?  I always have some kind of chocolate every evening even if it's a few chocolate chips.

 And the dog thing?  Sometimes, I eat cereal so when dinner isn't newsworthy, that's when I'll talk about the funny things my dog does.

 Oh and I love thunderstorms so I might throw in a good lightening story.

Being in the Kitchen is a Genetic Thing!

 I can finally cook again! (It's been since Feb. 1).   I love to cook, my mama loves to cook, my sisters love to cook.  My daughter and daughter-in law love to cook.

When I 'm in the kitchen, I'm a piddler, a dawdler, a lolly-gagger!  I love to make up recipes with whatever I have on hand.  Sometimes, I use actual recipes but I rarely measure.  I cook by feel, not by measurements.  I can have one garlic clove left and I will waste a whole day investigating what I want to cook with it.

I have too many cookbooks (old school) and too many recipes printed out (in any drawer) and too many recipes filed.  I'll never get to all of them.

When I thought back, I realized I grew up in and around the kitchen.  I was in charge of whatever my mom told me to do.  Alot of times, it was "Grate the cheese or make the salad or make the tea."

Younger sister, Liz, now, personal chef, was in charge of "making a creative table decoration."  My other sister Susie, an artist,  was in charge of washing the dishes.

My dad got home late from his rounds at the hospital so we usually ate late.  We all sat down together at the table Monday-Friday.  Saturday nights, my parents usually went out so we ate Swanson's Frozen Chicken Pot Pies.  Sunday morning was a Sarah Lee coffee cake.

I loved the invention of fast food.  Don't get me wrong.  My mom is a great cook and made great food, but to get to eat something pre-made in a foil container was special in our house.

Funny, how things change.  Because my generation ate things in foil containers, cans, and drive-thrus, we Baby Boomers are having to go back to the way our grandmothers cooked.  We are obsessed by "getting the junk" out off of our tables.

It's harder for people around my age because I was around when Toll House Cookies came on the scene!  Cool Whip. Spray Cheese. Frosty's. Dr. Pepper. Chips Ahoy. Campbell's soups. Cake Mixes.  Brownies.  TV dinners. Chicken Nuggets. French Frys.

Food associated with love is age old.

 

I try to take the basic recipes and make them healthier.  Or come up with some concoctions that turn out to be family favorites.

My daughter McKenna is light years ahead of me on the health journey.  You can check her website at Thrive to Live.com


But, everyone has to start somewhere and this is my start....

Memorial Day Feast

 

First thing for the Memorial Day Feast is to find a veteran and hug them, tell them thanks, and take time to listen to their story.

Now for the Food--

Caffeinated Chicken or Beef

Standing Up Vidalia Onion Soup

Joo Joo's Salad Standard

Mediterranean Herbed Asparagus 

Tomato Pie

Something with Chocolate Chips

A Sleepy Woman's Guide to Being an Eccentric Old Lady

A Sleepy Woman’s Guide to Being an Eccentric Old Lady

After being inspired last night by the Beloved Writers’ Group, I was eager to jump up this morning to start on my assignment.  

But I never jump up and do anything.  I mosey up; I saunter up; I meander up; I slither up.  

I’ve never been an early morning person.  Never. Not ever. Ever. Not even close. 

 Growing up, my older sister and I were upstairs and my younger sister and parents were downstairs.  So while my mom was making breakfast, she’d turn the radio on our intercom. 

I felt like she was blaring music at me like prisoners of war talk about.   But she told me that the instrumental version of “Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head”, does not institute torture.  

Somewhere around first grade, I remember just lying at the bottom of my closet looking up at my clothes.  I knew I needed to pick something, put it on and go down to breakfast before school.   I stared up at my perfectly coordinated outfits and thinking, “I just cannot do this every day of my life.”

The pattern continues until this day.  

In high school, we could choose to go to school from 8-3 or 9-4.  I barely made it by nine am.

In college I started my classes at 11 am and while others were finished for the day, I was just getting up.  

After I was married and working at my first job, I would just lie down in front of my closet and repeat the line that I couldn’t do this the rest of my life. 

Then came kids and they needed to get up and go to school.  This was not optional and could be punished by law if they didn’t go.  So at an early age, I told them that I needed to learn independence.

I bought them an alarm clock, taught them to set it and they would have to get themselves up. 

 Once they were dressed, they could wake me up so I could put cereal in a baggie and take them to school.  

I invented “breakfast to go”, but I’m not a good marketer so I didn’t do anything with my invention. 

Just to be clear, I’m not an alcoholic or anything like that.  I like to stay up late and sleep late.  

I used to be embarrassed about it, but now, at almost 58, I’m so close to being an eccentric old woman that I don’t even care. 

 This is me and this is what I do.  

One would think that I could never hold down a job with my waking late cycle.  I have 3 part-time jobs, and if you count playing with grandkids and writing, I have five.  All of them start after I wake up.  

I have panic attacks when I have an 8 am doctor’s appointment.  I set three alarms on my phone to wake me up.  They ring in 10 minute increments. 

 After I slap the Kleenex box, my face cream and the jar of Tums by my bed, I finally hit the snooze button while inadvertently deleting all Facebook messages.   Then Lance, my husband, comes in and tells me that I have exactly twenty minutes to get to my doctor’s appointment. 

Perfect, I think.  I can throw on some yoga pants, a tunic, a pair of dangly earrings, run my fingers through my hair, and brush on a hint of mascara and lipstick.  I get to the doctor’s parking lot, run in, sign in with whatever time I was supposed to be there and make it perfectly fine. 

Eccentric old lady…I embrace it...but not until 11 am.  

  

MORE LANDON STORIES--AS REQUESTED

Landon was my first child.

He is still my first child.




God entrusted me, a very inexperienced, barely a woman at 25, to raise a high spirited, verbose, overly honest, world-in-black-and-white son.

I will skip over many of my mistakes on parenting and enhance the things Landon did, frankly, because looking back, we were probably one of God's sit-com reality shows. *




Landon talked in full sentences (with good grammar), from the moment he was born!

 I think I remember his exact sentence to be, "The doctor slapped my behind, but I'm not gonna cry because what he did is just wrong!"




And there it started with Landon.

  He learned anything I taught him with ease.

 I taught him all kinds of facts, but my favorite was to teach him Bible facts.




 Before he was two, he could answer 200 hundred Bible facts,  (this is not an exaggeration!).

We could have been in the circus with this act!

I'd say, "Landon, do you want to play the Bible game?.

 If he wanted to, I ask him things like,

"Who was Samson's girlfriend?"----Dee LIE La, he's say.

"What are the first four books of the Bible?--Gen SIS, EX Dus, Love IT e cus, NUM bas.

Who was in the fiery furnace? ME shack, shad RACK, & a  BEND I go.

And on it went. 




Once, at nine months,  Lance took him outside while doing yardwork.

  Lance has a propensity to balance my "hover-mother" with his laid-back parenting style.

 Lance was busy doing "yard-y" things when he looked over to Landon and saw him chewing on a bark chip. 

When he got closer, he realized it was a dead, flat mouse!

Ever the calm LJ, finally told me the story a week later.

I gasped and screeched and uttered all other kinds of onomatopoeia s,  

 "Well, he didn't die!" said Lance proudly. 





When I was having kids, there was no Supernanny on TV to teach me how to parent.

 Dr. Dobson had barely published his first book on rearing children. 

Before that, it was Dr. Spock who, I think, was the Father of "children should be seen and not heard" era. 

So I was flying pretty blind here with a toddler.




When I scolded Landon for a 3yr. old crime, he would try to convince me to change the punishment to anything other than what it was.




  After his verbal barrage, I would give out and usually lock MYSELF in the bathroom.

  Landon would bang on the door and say, "There's three more points I want to make about my punishment before I go to my room."

At which I'd yell, "You'd better be a lawyer or you are going to have to pay me back pay for listening to you argue."  

 And then I would stick my fingers in my ears and sing the Star Spangled Banner.

Once I outed myself  from solitary confinement, he was usually in his bunk bed with poster board and marker making "Life is Unfair" posters.





 From this time to the time he went to kindergartener, Landon ran with scissors, talked with his mouth full, and challenged me hourly.




I taught him to read early, because I was a tired mother.

 Once he knew how to read, I let him "practice" reading his bedtime story to me while I "just rested my eyes so I could concentrate while listening to him."




His birthday was the middle of August and the kindergarten cut off was Sept. 1st.



  When I went to register him, the assigned teacher told me that I should consider waiting a year since he has just turned five a few days before.

I looked at her and said, "I don't care if he goes to kindergarten for twelve years; if you don't let him in, I'm gonna have to kill him. " (That's back when parents could joke about things like this and not have to write blogs from jail).

  She did not have a sense of humor and told me that he'd more than likely have to repeat kindergarten. 

Since I was ok with that scenario, I took him to school a few days later.

 At our teacher parent conference in Oct that year., I asked the teacher if he would have to repeat. 

She uttered a barely audible, "no". 

"What?  I said?  Can you please say that louder?" I mocked.  

"He's top in the class., she mumbled and he already knows how to read."

"Yes," I blurted, "have him read, 'Hiram's Red Shirt' to the class and you can have some downtime. "





More time passed with broken windows, scraped knees, and big wheel accidents.





  All his birthdays were outside because I could hose off everything quickly when it was over.




Landon's scrapbook has his dinosaur birthday picture at 5 with a garden rake in the background.

Landon at 6 was with an uncoiled hose around his pirate ship.

Landon's cowboy party at 7 was with two trowels and in his holster. 



And so it went until today, Aug. 14th, Landon's birthday.



 He is 32.  I'm pretty sure his birthday picture will have a lawn mower in the background.



I have passed the torch. 

Landon now  can have all of his kid's birthdays outside and lock himself in the bathroom when his kids argue.




And I'm pretty sure that when I'm in the nursing home, he'll publish a book titled, "My Mom Embellished Too Much. "





Until...my next musing!

JLou

*many of the memories have been embellished because that's what I do.

SIRI NEEDS TO GO TO TIME OUT OR IF SHE ISN'T CAREFUL I'M GONNA HAVE TO CUT HER!

 I have no sense of direction.

 At all.
 Not a bit.
 Not a guess.
I'm somewhat always lost (but not the kind of lost Baptists talk about).

 I have no idea if I'm going left or right or east or west or uptown or downtown.  It's just not in there, folks!  There is a section of my brain that built a bypass road around the wad that holds my sense of direction.

If I HAVE to make a decision about which way to go, I will just go with the most colorful sign or one that has a bird perched on it.

I have a friend who calls herself Pocahontas because she can find her way anywhere.  With that analogy in mind, what is the opposite of Pocahontas?  If Disney was casting me as an animation character, I would probably be a blind fairy that was captured in a jar, shaken up and then let loose.

Lance says that he can always remember which way we are parked by watching which way I go when we leave the movie theater.  If I go left, he knows we are parked to the right.  Same with elevators.  I inevitably go the wrong direction first.

Being lost doesn't bother me because I've done it so much.  I count it as the scenic view of things I wouldn't see otherwise.

One of my quirks (trust me there's more)  is for the 6 1/2 years we lived in Atlanta, my goal was not to drive on 285 because there were more people on 285 at any given time than the town I grew up in.

  I had no problem being a passenger on 285 but I wouldn't drive it.

Still true today.

I was only somewhat  scared once.   I was coming back to Augusta from Atlanta via all back roads that I had printed off of Mapquest (before Siri).  I forgot to print the directions in reverse.  So, coming home,  I took out in a weave and dodge pattern.  But with the aforementioned, I got very lost.

I didn't know that I was lost until I crossed  railroad tracks and saw only honky tonks, bars, and gentlemen's clubs.

I made a squealing U-turn and drove drag racing speed until I could find civilization like a McDonald's or a Burger King. I ended up at Dunkin' Donuts.

Went in and asked directions for I-20.  The customers in the store stared at me blankly.  One lady took pity on me and said that I could follow her to find it.  It took about 15 minutes of turning left and right (or was it right and left?) to get back on the highway.



When the I-phone 4 S came out, I thought that Siri and I would become BFFs.  She'd politely coach me where to turn.  We'd have lunch out together and have amusing electronic conversations. She'd go to Starbucks and Target and other places with me to watch the trendy people.

But what really happened was:

Siri and I have a love/sometimes hate; really hate; really, really hate relationship.  I, once changed Siri to an English chap but he irritated me more because he sounded somewhat polite as he rerouted me.

Siri, has literally told me, "Don't talk to me in that tone of voice!"  This is not an embellishment.   We are like two women who have dated the same guy.  Polite but terse.

I don't know if "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" pertains to electronic devices.




This week I needed to take some Wildtree products to a customer.  I've been to her house a couple of intermittent times but I really cannot remember all of the twists and turns to get to her house.

I take a smidgen of responsibility for my part in irritating Siri with my absent-mindedness and my forgetfulness, but there was no way I deserved what I got.

I'm curious if therapists will come up with a series called Siri Relationship Rescue. 

I asked Siri for the directions to XXXX Deerwood Lane, Augusta, GA.  She said, "Did you mean Deerwood Drive?

Probably I replied. I never can remember the drives, avenues, boulevards, streets, courts and lanes.

She gave me directions.  Since I kinda knew where I was going, I took a back way and then planned to actually listen to her when I got closer.

I don't know how to turn her off so all I heard was:

Make a u-turn at Stephens.
Recalculating.
Make a u-turn at Carlisle
Recalculating
Make a u-turn at Whittingham
Recalculating
Make a u-turn at Forest Acres
Recalculating
Etc., etc.,etc.

After not making any u-turns, I was fifteen minutes out in the general vicinity and started listening to her so I could find my destination.

She told me to turn, turn, turn and she ended up putting me on I-20.  I thought, I've got to follow now or I'll never get to the house. Maybe she just wanted me to go via the interstate.  I obliged. Add 20 more minutes.

My tip-off as to getting wrong directions was when she told me to go to Deans Bridge Road toward Wrens which somehow, my non-directional mind knew (maybe knew) that this was the wrong direction.

I pulled over and called Lance who was probably ignoring my calls because this happens more often than I want you to know.

 So I called McKenna.  When I told her, she didn't even know where I was.

 She gave me the general way to get back to somewhere I knew--Chick-Fil-A and Target.

At 1 hr. and 15 minutes, I found the house and delivered $10.50 cents of product to my customer.  Lance calculated that I spent $20 of gas and wear and tear on the car.

Thereby, I only lost $9.50 that day!

Siri and I are not on speaking terms right now.  She is blaming me for not knowing my streets from my lanes and I'm blaming her for not understanding what I meant in the first place.

When I told my story to Lance, I saw in his eyes that he kinda was on Siri's side.

Because of this, I may just turn the opposite way coming out of the movie theater just to mix him up!

Until something else happens,

Joo Joo
www.mywildtree.com/jlou
jlou7@comcast.net

How To Write a Blog at Least Once a Year or Would Someone Please Remind Me That I Have a Blog.

Blog...blog...blog...blah...blah...blah...

I'm trying this blogging thing one more time... someone please remind me every so often that I have a blog so I'll write on it.

This blog will be stories about every day life---things that actually happen to me---with at least a modicum of truth in the stories.  They may be exaggerated, just a hair, for comedic purposes only.

So, if you know anyone who smiles, with teeth, often, please ask them to like or post a comment or view this thing or whatever bloggers need to get some kind of attention.

Or maybe blogging is out of style.  How would I know?  I barely know how to sign in to my own blog.



I have 2 jobs right now that I get about $1.25 a month.  If this blogging thingy works out, I may or may not be working at my current jobs.

 I work with seniors at the YMCA (not high school seniors).  I teach chair yoga, Pilates and Silver Sneakers.  Basically, I do chair yoga and Pilates because the ending is a 5 minute time to take a nap or to get myself ready to take a nap when I get home.

I do a little more in Silver Sneakers where I basically teach the 60 and up crowd how to get their heartbeat up by doing 60s/70s dances--the swim, the jerk (this one usually injures them), the pony, the monkey, the hitchhiker, disco and a few new ones like the water sprinkler and lawn mower.

My other job is a home based business where I do a lot more home than business. I sell healthy herbs, spices and oils for those who want to eat healthy.  I do this mainly because I like the products and do not want to die earlier than I need to.

But what usually happens is that a customer will tell me how they'd like to buy some products but she is SO strapped for money right then and then tell me a very convincing sad story of woe.  I, then, usually feel sorry for her and give her the product and a massage and a pedicure on the spot.  It's later that I found out that "the customer" was on her way to a Thirty-One party  or Premiere Jewelry where she spent $150.

So you see my dilemma?  I either need to quit sleeping in exercise class or get some actual customers or ask you to get one bazillion people to view this blog so I can continue to sleep in exercise class and give away my product.

McKenna, my daughter, is on her way to a Thirty-one convention right now and if she would get every 31 consultant which is about 1 out of 2 people in the world, to view my blog, I'd really get some readership!

I have always wanted to be and do a lot of different careers.  No, not  actual careers, maybe just jobs.  Well, maybe not jobs, just experiences. Well, maybe just something to do on any given day so I won't get bored.

I started school to be a dancer and be on variety shows.  But I don't really have the drive to do anything big.  It's not that I'm lazy; I'm efficient.  That means I wait until I need to do several "standing up things" before I get off the couch and then I sit until another set of standing urges happen. 

 I changed majors to  be a journalist, mainly because that is something I can do sitting down. But, I found out that I tend to not listen to details and make up funnier ones.

After college, I interned at a TV station and waited to be discovered.  While waiting,  I signed up to be substitute in the school system.  I had just moved to this area and didn't know that there were several counties.  I ended up signing up in the roughest, toughest, rootin' tootin' county in this area.   Immediately I was called by the "scary" school, but, since I'm not into details, I did not know that.  I was 22 and I looked 12 and I ended up staying at that school (Josey) that whole semester.

I did not get killed or pillaged or anything.  

During that summer, I still interned at night and worked at odd jobs through Manpower.  I helped open new banks and did camera demonstrations at KMart.

By the next fall, Josey High School still needed a sub for, wait for it...wait for it... Driver's Ed.  So at 22,  I taught  the hormonal 15 yr olds to drive.  This is extra funny if you know me because I don't even like to drive!  My friends call me "Driving Miss Daisy" because they always have to pick me up.

 Next, I got a job in Public Relations at the Medical College of GA.  We were assigned stories, but also pick topics to explore. We were allowed to interview with anyone working at the college and write our story.   For my picks, I mostly interviewed psychiatrists about obscure diseases. Thus, became my lifelong hobby of murder and mental illness.   But I will tell you that if you are joining a club or a church, do not write those as your hobbies!

Then we moved to Delaware.

In my PR job there, I once dressed up as a giant chicken for United Way of Delaware and was in a parade.  It was so fun until I realized that we had "paraded" to a really bad part of town.  I was standing in the ghetto as a giant chicken and my car was at the start of the parade.  So, what to do, take off the the poultry head and be in possible danger or leave it on and walk two miles back as a chicken?

I clucked and flapped my wings all the way back.

After my Chicken Job, I accidentally started teaching 3 yr. old preschool at the Y.  They couldn't find a teacher so I said I'd be happy to sub until they got a teacher.  And I did and I was there every day for 9 months when incidentally, had my second child the day after class was over.  Think about it...it's a math equation!

After my near death of being roadkill and playing with small children who "were supposed to be potty trained" before they could start school,  we moved to Atlanta.  I accidentally (again) became a preschool music teacher.  I took my kids to to preschool one morning and they had just fired their music person.  I offered to help them out until they found someone.

 I stayed 3 1/2 yrs. and taught the kids words like glockenspiel and the words to show tunes.  The only class I got in trouble with was the time I gave everyone a band-aid to put over their mouths so  they could only hum during class.

Then we moved to Upstate New York.

I did not find any jobs there nor did I get one by accident.  But, in my defense,  we stayed there less than a year.

But while there, I met some great friends and I threw a "If I'd known you when I moved in, I would have given you a baby shower" to one of my new friends.   By this time her child was about 5 months old so everyone gave her a used toy.   I made two cakes using the "doll dress" cake mold.  I put them side by side and iced them like a pair of boobs because she was nursing.

Another party I hosted was my own surprise birthday party.  Lance was out of town on business on my birthday.  I invited all of the neighborhood women to come to a potluck supper.  When they showed up, I told them, "surprise, it's my birthday party.   I gave each one them a gift (that I had bought for myself) to give me for my birthday.  After supper, everyone circled around while I opened the gifts.  It was the first time I had ever gotten everything I wanted!

Lance has not been out of town for any of my other birthdays.


Then we moved back to South Carolina.

Here I've done about 14 different things and am up to date with my jobs from the first part of the blog.

Two things that I still haven't done but they are in my sights are  1. Be a dog walker like Dharma and  2. Be a writer like Erma Bombeck (for those that aren't old, Google her).  Bombeck was a writer that made me laugh until she wrote something about dying of kidney disease.  Really, one should not laugh about that. 

Now, after you politely ask a big wad of people to view my musings, I will post my boring days, not so boring days, silly days, and crazy days.  Occasionally, I might even be serious.

I think I initially started this as a food blog, but I've changed my mind. But since I barely know how to type, I'll just leave the fork motif on it. 

Thanks for helping me on my quest to be the new Erma Bombeck.  If this doesn't work, will you let me walk your dog?

Thanks for sticking with me and remember to occasionally send me a message so I'll remember to write!

Love,

JLou or Joo Joo to my grandkids

P. S.  I am tired, it's late.  If I made any grammatical errors that spell check did not catch...I don't care!  Pretend that you are not OCD about that kind of thing.