The lime tree that Jack grew

It started with the Teacher Appreciation lunch. We were being appreciated in such a creative way. The parents had brought story books to accompany their food contributions, and excerpts were read to us while we dined on fabulous veggie soup, Indian chicken, artichoke bread, spinach quiche (Green Eggs and Ham, of course), fruit salad (The Very Hungry Caterpillar), and so on through the chocolate parfaits. The centerpiece was sculptures from Play With Your Food.

Then we were each given a lime tree with a reading of a poem by a parent about nurturing children. Wow! My very own thornless key lime pie, no I meant TREE, with matching lime green gardening gloves. So I stopped at Calloways Nursery on the way home to get expert advice, a very large pot, a saucer with wheels, plus a big bag of tree/shrub soil mix. The tree has to grow in full sun outside, but be covered it if gets below forty degrees, and brought inside if it gets below thirty degrees. This is way beyond my normal gardening method of sticking plant in pot and promptly forgetting it.

When I took the trash to the dumpster I met my neighbor's son who was digging out bushes on the side of a condo building. The condo association is gradually moving to heat/drought resistant landscaping, so Knock-out roses will be planted. Plus an older woman who lives in that unit will be safer without overgrown shrubs hiding her entry. I talked to the son about removing my patio bushes. I don't know what the bushes are, except that they are prone to some kind of mite infestation and have an unruly growth pattern. Every few years I take out my frustration and prune them way back. I've only kept them because the anole lizards use them for cover.

One thing led to another and I started sawing the bushes. It was therapeutic. Got four out of five down to the stumps before the rain started. I'll get the son to remove the stumps. I'm hoping to move all my cannas right next to the fence so the lizards will have their shaded hiding places back. Then there will be room to transplant some of my other plants in front of the cannas and reclaim most of the paved patio for humans, chairs, and grill. The hardy mint, mums, and giant sedum might be able to fight back against the aggressive myrtle.

I get volunteer plants sprouting from the vermicompost I add to the pots. Some sort of surprise squash plant was already growing up and over the ugly bushes and blooming.  It might not survive transplanting. And then there's the volunteer tomato that is doing better than the intentional tomatoes of last summer. Add a hummingbird feeder, and let the wild rumpus start!.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Sitting in the Chinese fire drill row

It's so my colors!  Received this Dakine beach/tote bag as a birthday gift from a dear friend to use on my trip to meet Grandbaby O.  I could put everything in it--purse, notebook computer, Kindle, progress reports to be written, snacks, Simon the Genius in My Basement even. When the fellow passenger on the shuttle from Park 'N' Fly going to the terminal realized he'd forgotten his wallet at home, I could give him a sad, commiserating little smile and hug my perfect bag a bit closer.

My wheelie suitcase slid nicely into the overhead bin for row 12, and I settled into the skinny middle E seat.  A pleasant fellow had the aisle seat.  For a long time it seemed the window seat might stay empty.  Ah, wouldn't that be a treat?

The last minute passengers arrived to take the A and B seats across the aisle.  The petite pretty hippie chick sat by that window.  Her boyfriend, a 6'6" blond guy with rasta hair and a black Labrador service dog folded into the B seat.  The dog's head hung over the seat in front, just an inch above the pony-tail of a young Barbie coed. The dreadlocks hung over the seat in back.

Finally boarding is an AARP couple.  The woman wants to wedge a large piece of luggage up into the overhead bin, but is too short to see the bin is already overflowing.  A chorus of frustrated passengers who got up at four a.m. chants, "It won't fit, it won't fit, it won't..."  She squeezes into the middle E seat in the row in front of me after taking her carry-on to the back of the plane. Then she pantomimes instructions for her spouse to sit in the window F seat next to me.  His hearing aid isn't working.  The pleasant man and I exit row 12 so the elderly fellow can enter the row.

Two flight attendants have arrived to arrange a move for the rasta and his dog.  No, he's fine.

"Well, I've never seen the airline seat a service dog in this row."

No, he's fine.

"The service dog cannot sit in the aisle."

No, he's fine.

"The service dog will block the beverage cart."

No, he's fine.  The dog will sit on the rasta master's lap.

"No, I've NEVER seen the airline seat a service dog in this row."

The pony-tail is rolling her eyes.  The AARP man is searching for his seatbelt.

A trade is arranged so the rasta and his dog can sit in the bulkhead aisle, but he won't go without the hippie chick.  Another trade is arranged.

Meanwhile, the AARP man is waving the head end of his seatbelt in the air like a snake-charmer's puppet show, but cannot locate the tail end.  The flight attendants want the AARP man to move across the aisle to the seat vacated by the rasta dog since the plane has pushed away from the terminal.  That means the pleasant man and I will have to get out for AARP man to exit.  He stands up, and I reach under his butt to fish the tail end of the seatbelt from beside his seat.  Why, just lookie here!  We can strap you in now, sir!

"This must be the Chinese fire drill row," says one attendant, with a barely perceptible strain to her smile.

The first beverages are served without rolling over the service dog.  The AARP man is proud that his wife found this better flight to speed them toward Boise, you know where the football field is blue, where their daughter is expecting twins, but they may have an eight-hour layover in Portland.  This is an improvement?  PDX is a nice airport, but I wouldn't want to camp there.

After my nap things are surreal and groggy.  The AARP man's wife pantomimes emphatically that he should get out and walk in the aisle so he won't be stiff.  Swell.  The pleasant man and I exit the row so he can go on a march.  The flight attendants take our beverage orders.  This time the pleasant man and I both ask for coffee,  fresh, steaming coffee.  No sooner are the cups on our tray tables than AARP man wants back in.  We put our tray tables up, and pleasant man steps up.  I burn my tongue on the coffee and spill on my fabulous new tote bag.  My shoulder tremor is acting up.  I stand up and bump my head on the overhead bin, spilling coffee all over me.  Fresh, steaming, black coffee, but at least I'm going to Portland where coffee is major and attire is minor.

AARP man is back in his seat waving his seatbelt puppet.  He is reaching down beside his seat against the window wall for the other end.  He comes up with a very scraped wrist bleeding profusely onto his shirt cuff, and still no seat belt.  His wife freaks and pushes her aisle neighbor out of the way to go running down the aisle for assistance.  I push the Call button.  The flight attendants come.  One goes to get the first aid kit.  She returns with iodine wipes, and warns AARP man that the iodine stains.  We get the wipe package torn open and the wound cleaned with AARP's wife supervising from the next row.  The wipe goes into my coffee cup along with two bandaid wrappers.  I buckle AARP man into his seat and tell him to run cold water on his cuff before it goes into the washing machine.

Swaddling and bouncing a fussy Grandbaby O is going to be a piece of cake by comparison to the flight.  And, true, "Chinese fire drill" wasn't the most P.C. thing for a flight attendant to say.  Maybe Keystone Kops would have been better.





© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Looking out my back door at the big moon on the rise

Watching the big moon rise over the neighbor's shed roof where the tiny bluejay figured out how to fly.  It's been a busy few hours on the patio, and the dish hasn't even run away with the spoon yet.

Got home from work to find a patio soap opera unfolding on the fence.  A very scruffy young and clueless bluejay was parked on the top of the gate. That's just where the green anole like to sit and show off his pink neck fan, so he was turning yellowish in aggravation. The baby bird's eyes were going bubby-agoggy.  Please don't let it go humpty-dumptying splat on the concrete!

The anole finale left in disgust, and the baby bird sat down and drowsed on the gate.  It woke up and stretched, then a parent flew in with a nutritious snack and a pep talk. Reenergized, the baby started looking all around for a close destination, then hopped down the fence top.  It made the flight across the alley to the neighbor's shed roof and did a victory hopping dance.  After another little rest it flew to the roof of my condo and out of sight.  The anole returned to do its own victory performance, once again the master of the fence top.  I was  ready for a victory snack of hummus myself.

Who said "fledge"?

Pathetic and woe-begone

Better after a feeding and pep-talk

Yee-haw!  This might be fun!

Cue the "Rocky" theme song!

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Doctor, doctor, doctor give me the news

DR3 starts my new license plate (aka "tag" in Texas). Time to learn the number using mem nonic devices. Or pneumonic. Pneumatic?  I get confused, and having Wild Bill on the phone while I'm searching for a large Phillips screwdriver doesn't aid my concentration.  I need the screwdriver to put my tags on the new Buick. Wild Bill lives in the condo next door and is nearing 89 years of age. He and his little-dog-not-named-Toto are watching me out the doggy-peek window. A WWII vet whose airplane went down in the Pacific, Wild Bill is a frequent reminder of my dad.  And Dad's veterans life insurance paid for my new/old car.  Dad played complex games with himself to remember names and nouns in the last five years of his life.  So this is the circle of life.

Just returned from meeting my grandbaby in Oregon, so I'm aswirl in  baby fabulousity and grandparent love. Earth's axis has shifted. Most of the things I can't remember just aren't that important at the moment.

Still, it might be good to know my tag number. Doctor Three, Doctor Three, Doctor Three .... paging DR3. Mnemonic device needed STAT. ("Stat" in medical parlance is actually not an acronym; it's short for statim, the Latin word for immediately.)
"Mnemonic" trips me up and makes me seem really clueless because I always say it wrong. The m is silent. ( Everybody is silent if and when the grandbaby goes to sleep!)  


Turns out Henry F. Phillips started the Phillips Screw Company in Portland, Oregon, and I have  three Phillips screwdrivers too small for this job.  My shoulder still hurts from lifting my carry-on into the overhead bin at PDX. It doesn't want to torque: 


Torque is a measure of how much a force acting on an object causes that object to rotate. The object rotates about an axis, which we will call the pivot point, and will label 'O'. We will call the force 'F'. 


We will call the grandbaby "O".  We may call the whole screw project "F" if I can't get Wild Bill off the phone and the license plates onto the car!  DR3 give me the news.  I've got a bad case of Phillips screwdrivers!

Dr. J wrote out prescriptions at my appointment, and I went straight to my WalMart pharmacy to get them filled.  I was down to my last blood pressure pill.  Standing in the line at the Drop-Off window, I was fascinated by the pharmacy tech's nametag.  It was on backwards, and showed a grid of emergency situations and store code words:

•  Lose your child at WalMart?  Code Adam.  
• Fire?  Code Red..  
• Bomb in the store?  Code Blue.
• Chemical spill?  Code Orange.
• Accident?  White.
• Hostage situation?  Code Green.
• Tornado about to blow the roof down?  Code Black.
• Terrorist or shooting?  I forget because I drifted into a scary daydream.  That would be the pits to be waiting for a Zoloft refill when terrorists take over the WalMart!  

As a preschool teacher I suspect Code Yellow would mean somebody peed in their pants while driving around on a motorized shopping cart in the Twinkie aisle.

Way back in my hospital kitchen hairnet days we were always agog about "Dr. Red" and "Code Blue" alerts on the PA.  Code Blue was a cardiac arrest call for the crash cart.

Remembering to say the tags are successfully attached to the vehicle.  The Grancy is totally bonded to the grandbaby.  Holding said infant reduces blood pressure significantly and causes euphoria. Wild Bill and his little dog are good for right now.  Can't lift the toolbox back up on the shelf...

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Breathing easier tonight

Twenty-four hours ago I was a nervous wreck.  I'd received a phone message from a Brandon Callahan claiming to be the Director of Litigation for Attorneys Network preparing to take action on a case "connected to the names and Social Security numbers" for myself and my ex. My waking brain was scrolling through every possible scenario from my past life that could lead to any sort of litigation in my county, mentioned by name in the phone message.  Think there's nothing possible? You haven't had a good scare and some time alone stewing with your wild imagination.

"Don't lose any sleep over it."  That was Danger Baby's advice.  "It has to be a mistake.  You have been divorced sixteen years".  Happily divorced, I might add.

Okay, but Dad's estate administrator application was just filed, plus my ex seems to be in foreclosure.  It's pretty amazing what info you can find at your county's case search website.  More fuel for the fevered imagination!

Alas, I had wild, wild nightmares that included plumbing leaks, huge piles of dirty laundry, my former in-laws, Jackie Onassis, marathon runners at a church for the deaf, and a reception for the fashionably late  members of an opera board of directors!  The hors d'oeurves looked really appetizing but we never got to eat.  Welcome to the Hotel California...

Tonight we have determined that this is an obnoxious and ridiculous scam.  If you get a call, don't return it or leave any personal information on the voice mail.  I'm putting these terms in this post so future victims will be able to search them:

http://knowncaller.com/ReversePhone/866-410.php

http://whocallsme.com/Phone-Number.aspx/8889593802

Brandon Callahan

Brendan Callahan

James Newkirk

Zimmerman, Young & Associates

Attorneys Network

Kenneth Weinberg Grayson

888-959-3802,


866-410-8063


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Take a walk on the white side

Fritillary

This is not anything racist!  Heavens no.

Snout

I've been walking the Richardson trail and seeing so much capital N nature happening before my very eyes.

These white-flowered weeds/wildflowers line the trail. The plants are umbrels similar to what I consider Queen Anne's Lace.

After much searching I am going to guess they are Anthriscus, known as  Cow's Parsley or Queen Anne's Lace.  The visitors should sign in.

Some are visitors are shiny.

Others fuzzy.

One ghostly predator, a man-in-the-moon spider.. 

Mystery guest, please sign in.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Worm poetry with professional input

Between Buds and corn

on the cob in the fridge three

nightcrawler boxes

One nightcrawler box on the counter.

Okay, sort of hokey haiku, but hey, it's National Poetry Month and I'm running out of time.  Danced the worm Hokey Pokey with 4-5 year olds at my worm show Thursday morning.  

This post has had an edit thanks to input from Kathleen who said...

I love the nightcrawler boxes in the fridge!!

Kathleen did not say the other hokey haiku did not work, but it didn't take long after reading her comment to realize they did not.  That's why she is a real live professional poet and I am a worm lady.  Alas.

Never got around to grilling the corn last night after talking to the probate attorney and trying to understand what is going on with my registered domain name.*  You will just have to envision the cornsilk in the plastic grocery bag.  And the Buds are gone.  Today I took the three bait boxes to school and the preschoolers released the nightcrawlers into our garden.  Twenty-five of twenty-six students were brave enough to hold a worm.  The worms were pleased to get out of the boxes and into perfect worm weather--dark, humid, cool with rain approaching.  They put on a splendid movement and tunneling exhibition for the children. 

Then we found this tiny moth on the lock to the playground toy chest:.  A few kids liked the sound of "lock moth" so they stomped and staggered around chanting

lock moth

lock moth

lock moth

lock moth

lock moth

Just glad they didn't form a conga line.

lock moth lock moth LOCK MOTH!

lock moth lock moth LOCK MOTH!

During the Q&A at the worm show a mom asked if there were really one thousand red wigglers in a pound.  Yup. Then a pre-K teacher asked how I separate my worms from the humus they have made so I can use that good dirt.  I said on a Friday evening after a really rough week in the preschool I go home and sit on my laundry room floor with my worm bin and I pull the worms out, count them, and put them into a different bin.  After about five hundred worms I feel much better.  Blood pressure and respiration normal.  The earth even seems to be spinning properly on its axis.

1 red wiggler 

2 red wigglers 3 red wigglers 

4 red wigglers 5 red wigglers 6 red wigglers

*The estate doesn't have a domain name.  These are separate issues, although they are both opened cans of worms.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Tdap dancing up the wall

I gladly clicked my heels and toes up to the Minute Clinic to get an adult tetanus/diptheria/pertussis (Tdap) shot so I can hold my grandbaby next week.  This adult booster vaccination became available in 2005.  Adults only need it once, although the regular Td is still needed every ten years.

Pertussis, aka whooping cough, is potentially fatal for infants. At your next annual exam ask your doctor if you are vaccinated.  Not just for your grandbaby, but for all grandbabies! That's the great thing about vaccines. When we are protecting the one we love, we are also loving and protecting the greater oneness of  our community.

Whooping cough is coming back with a vengeance. We thought it was eradicated, but it didn't stay that way when parents stopped vaccinating their children. Fears of vaccinations causing autism have been proven unfounded. But now there is an epidemic of parents who do not want to inconvenience or discomfort their children in any way for even the slightest moment, as that might be a tad inconvenient or uncomfortable for the adults. If you have not guessed, this makes CollageMama VERY, VERY CRABBY.




My shoulder was sore for three days, or my solder was shore. It was a short term sore shoulder for long term prevention. Whining of the individual weighed against a win for my community. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Every parent has to weigh for a moment the possibility that a shot might make a child uncomfortable for a couple days. Is it worth the immediate discomfort and inconvenience for the long-term protection of both the child and the larger community? Absolutely!


Whooping cough — known medically as pertussis — is a highly contagious respiratory tract infection. Although it initially resembles an ordinary cold, whooping cough may eventually turn more serious, particularly in infants. Whooping cough is most contagious before the coughing starts. The best way to prevent it is through vaccinations. The childhood vaccine is called DTaP. The whooping cough booster vaccine for adolescents and adults is called Tdap. Both protect against whooping cough, tetanus, and diphtheria.


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Who me? Yes u!

I had no idea Friday the Thirteenth was also Scrabble Day, but I thank Kim for playing!  On Friday I was short of sleep and still reeling from the school music performance of "The Alphabet Tree".  The Word Bug in the story had to arrange the preschoolers wearing letter t-shirts into words.  The preschoolers were, how to say it, not necessarily ready or wanting to participate in this word-building.

For privacy reasons I can't post identifiable photos of my students, just as they couldn't always form identifiable words.  In the show they had to be formed into:


hot     dot


rats   sour    earth

and

Treat others as you would like to be treated!!!!


I kid u not.

As the art teacher, I had to watch powerless from the sidelines.  Felt like the time in '91 when Oil Can Boyd was pitching for the Texas Rangers and could not get out of the inning.  If I didn't have to rehearse my red wiggler worms for their upcoming performance I would waste time tracking down how many runs the opponents scored in that inning.  I really wanted to Little Bunny Foo-Foo old Oil Can:

bop nim on da hed

The spring semester rolls on over gravel ruts. Five year old boys are practicing writing their letters. They all have a future creating security words for blog comment verification.


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Rowdy neighbors, continuous party

I keep getting distracted from composing this post by the wild spring party outside my window.  For a week now the red admiral butterflies have been playing beach volleyball in wet t-shirts in the soapberry tree.  Cedar waxwings have fought for the karaoke mike.  Monarchs, swallowtails put in celebrity appearances, and a new stubby-tailed anole thinks he is the bouncer.

It's all just so 1974!

The soapberry blossoms have a scent one would not call "subtle". It is like Boone's Farm Apple Wine mixed with Clairol Herbal Essence shampoo.  Seems odd that it is "natural".


Maybe Mother Nature has been yarn-bombing and joining Zumba flash mobs.

Wild strawberry

Passionvine

Six-spotted green tiger beetle

People are even wearing platform shoes again, but I haven't seen any Famolare crepe soles.


Flagrant is not the word I'm searching for, nor blatant.  Conspicuous, yes, but that's not sufficiently pumped.  Even the word "SPRING" does not seem sufficiently fuchsia alligator crinkle-patent leather enough this year...She's got electric boots and a mohair suit.  You know I read it in a magazine....B-b-b-Bennie and the jets.

 © 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Easter in Fort Worth's Cultural District

Raindrops on roses were not the problem driving home from Fort Worth.  Nor whiskers on kittens.  It was a dang scary downpour, and I was praying it wouldn't hail on my new old Buick.  


I went over to Fort Worth on a first highway test drive, and because I never made it to the Impressionist exhibit at the Kimbell Museum during spring break.  Wish I could have shared the exhibit with my parents, capped with a delicious buffet lunch in the Kimbell's restaurant.  The green chile and rice soup was nirvana!  Howie and Fritz would have loved it.


Last year when the Woolly Mammoth had a burst of soup-making creativity, I mailed him Fritzi's well-worn Kimbell cookbook.  Tonight he sent back this recipe:







The green chiles with rice soup had a cheddar cheese and cream base, but also had celery and carrots today. I've made a grocery list to make my own version when the brisket stew is gone.





Got to watch the rain begin from inside the Fort Worth Modern Museum.  Tadao Ando's building has become one of my favorite places even though I don't often like the art on display.The angles, reflections, and textures of the museum feed my inner artist.


Other buildings on my Favorite Things list:

• I.M. Pei's Meyerson Symphony Center for the Dallas Symphony Orchestra.
• Louis Kahn's Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth
• Philip Johnson's Sheldon Art Museum in Lincoln, Nebraska
• Renzo Piano's Nasher Sculpture Center in Dallas
• Moshe Safdie's headquarters for the U.S. Institute of Peace.on the National Mall in D.C.

When the dog bites
When the bee stings
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad

This is a strange, very tiny bee/fly I saw today.  It was smaller than my pinkie fingernail.  Love the see-through striped wings.


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Infinite number of monkeys OR red wigglers with Legos

I gave the red wiggler worms about an hour on the two Lego base plates in my search for activities to keep forty preschoolers engaged at a two-hour "Worms and water conservation" program for Earth Day. The worms did not write "Hamlet" or even any letters. They were surprisingly clingy, preferring to stay in clumps rather than venture out. I expected them to be in a hurry to find the edges of the base plates so they could go underneath where it was dark. These must be Pre-Columbian Flat Earth worms. When they got to the edge of the plate, most turned around and went back to the middle. In the first half hour only one worm went underneath.

Worms don't write Hamlet

In the first act of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard, Guildenstern muses that "If six monkeys were thrown up in the air for long enough they would land on their tails about as often as they would land on their heads"




“There's an infinite number of monkeys outside who want to talk to us about this script for Hamlet they've worked out.” 
― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy


You can watch a little video of a worm moving on a base plate here.

OR

You can learn about infinite monkey theorem, probability, and randomness here.

I will add that the worm movement was much more purposeful than our preschool students' search for plastic eggs on the playground Thursday morning.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Lean green scene

Monday's strange hike got lost in the drama of Tuesday's weather.  Wednesday's Buick is fully loaded, but not with accessories.  We just don't have room in our small school to store the various sections of the spring music festival backdrop as they are completed, so the new car's trunk and backseat have become a dramatis mobilis storage vehiculosis.  Yes, a very bad case of the aforesaid!



This is a very green scene.  The goal is a leafy forest feel without any free-standing pieces for the kids to trip over or knock down.  The stage will be very full of children and Orff instruments.

The scene is being set without spending much green.  So far the costs have been limited to one jar of green fingerpaint, one roll of wax paper, and one roll of strange lime green netting from World Market.  The netting was in the gift wrap department.  Total under twelve bucks.

Other material include a bushel of toilet paper tubes, fabric from two donated Indian saris, mesh-cut corrugated packing materials, donated prints and papers, used tissue gift paper, leftover wire, and some burlap found in a closet.  How is that, Mother Earth?




© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Look Mama, no rust!

Glad to get my new vehicle home to its carport this afternoon with no hail damage.  Many places in the DFW area have serious tornado and storm damage. There have been at least twelve tornadoes in the region. I don't have the latest information, but I'm glad my students are safe, and our school was not in the path of a storm.

We spent most of the afternoon in the windowless interior lunchroom in distraction/diversion mode. None of the students worried, so I think we were very successful. Lots of teachers tap-dancing in North Texas today!

Several friends suggested that my 1996 Skylark would not get a trade-in offer, and that I would have to pay to have the car hauled away.  Some said the only value was the cool  EARTH bumper sticker.  The good news is I had a replacement bumper sticker in reserve in hopes that I would one day have a new vehicle.



My two daughters-in-law have heard me rhapsodize about my newlywed 1980 brown Toyota Corolla, and suggested I would buy a new Corolla. Gotta love these smart women in my family now!  But no, not a Corolla.

Most people guessed small, fuel-efficient vehicles. Danger Baby offered his usual Chevy Malibu suggestion.  Friends with magical thinking guessed a pick-up truck or maybe a bright red Prius convertible!  Nobody guessed a '61 Plymouth Sport Fury, but I still would love to own one!

My dad's longtime home health helper guessed I got another Buick Skylark. Sharla's is the best guess and wins one autographed license plate. Just have to figure out how a car can sign an autograph!  Danger Baby was closest with his $401 guess on the trade-in offer.  His prize license plate will be a classy item in his law office!

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So what did I get?  Enquiring minds want to know how I'll be driving my traveling worms around to their performances.

Yup.  A Buick.  A 2002 Century with only 30K miles!  It's a cream puff.  A little old lady only drove it to church and kept it in her garage.

I hope a reader will tell me the expression for verbally carrying on and on in glowing, golden, melodic terms to compliment someone or something.  Geez!  Is this the beginning of dementia?  All I can think of is

raps his naughtic
rhaps hypnotic
hips rhapsodic
lapse hypsrhosdic

Please, please help.  I'm so far off I can't even find a way to search for this frequently used expression.


© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder

Halma's Kolache Recipe

I have never actually made Grandma's kolaches, but I've also never found kolaches that were as wonderful as hers.  Although her heritage was English, her husband was 100% Bohemian. My own mother would make an annual effort at the recipe and get pretty close, but never close enough.  Good luck to Prairie Bluestem and others trying to recreate this Czech delight.

Kolaches

Dough
1 1/4 cups milk scalded.  While milk is warm add

• heaping 1/2 cup lard
• good 1/2 cup sugar
• 2 teaspoons salt

Let cool to lukewarm.

In 1/2 cup lukewarm water dissolve 2 pkg. Red Star dry yeast with 1 teaspoon sugar.  Let stand until it rises.

• 1 egg
• 5 cups flour before sifting

Sift part of flour into milk, etc., liquid.  Beat well; add egg whole and beat it in.  Add yeast, stir.  Add rest of flour.

• 1 teaspoon mace.  Never add mace on wet dough as it discolors dough.  Put it on flour before stirring.

Stir as much as it will stir then knead in rest of flour.  Put in creased bowl and let it raise double.  Keep warm.

Punch down and pinch off large walnut size.  Work dough into center.  Place on well greased pan.

Let raise again. (1 1/2 again as big, feel soft.)  Punch down again--flatten out.

Raise again (no wrinkles, double size).  Grease over top.

Put teaspoon of fruit.  Spread out using finger to punch down center.

Bake ____ degrees for 20-25 minutes.  [Of course there is a water drop blurring the oven temperature.  I think it says 345.]

Fruit
Fix fruit in advance.

Box prunes with 1/2 cup sugar and 1/2 teaspoon cloves

Box apricots and about a cup of sugar [My mom's note says 8 oz box to 1/2 cup sugar.]

Stew fruit very tender.  Drain juice off.  Cool prunes and pit.  Chop fine, add sugar and cloves. Should be consistency of jam.

Pierce Congregational Cook Book 1914

This next recipe is from Halma's mother-in-law, Mrs. Mary Mastalir, of Verdigre, Nebr. from page 94 of the Congregational Cook Book.  Mary Novak Mastalir was my great grandmother, known as "The Gran".

KOLACE
   Set sponge the night before baking with one cup of luke warm milk and one yeast cake, previously soaked in a little milk.  In the morning add one cup of milk, one level teaspoonful of mace, a pinch of salt.  Sift part of three cupfuls of flour over the sponge, then add thre-fourths [sic] cup of melted butter.  Mix in sponge and add three-fourths cup of sugar.  Gradually work in the remainder of the three cups of flour until the dough is smooth.  The dough should be quite soft, too soft to work with hands.  Let it raise from one and one-half to two hours.  Roll into little balls and place in greased tins, then flatten with finger tips.  Let raise until light and fill the center with a teaspoonful of stewed fruit, apricots, prunes or anything desired.  Bake in a moderate oven about fifteen minutes.

And now to check on the swallowtail and cedar waxwings out in the soapberry tree.

© 2012 Nancy L. Ruder