Exploding Eyeballs

I didn't have allergies until I moved to Arkansas. Now, this morning my eyeballs feels like they are going to pop out of their sockets, or maybe just explode. I might be overstating just slightly. But my head is throbbing, my eyes ache and they're weepy and crusty, my nose is running and I feel generally foggy.

Tomorrow is Spring, but the pollen has been thick for over a week. The weather has been beautiful, at least 10° or more above normal for many days now. We've had a little rain, so all the trees are sprouting new leaves, but before the leaves emerge we are treated to those little hanging pollen thingies covered in the green dust. They are everywhere: on the oak trees in the yards that surround us and on the birch trees in our back yard just beyond the pond. With the slightest breeze, those hanging pollen thingies discharge a fine green dust into the air that ultimately settles on every surface. Our patio is covered with a layer of green powder. The hot tub has a green powder ring around the outside edge of the water. Every surface everywhere you look is covered with a thin to thick layer of green, depending on how long the surface has been sitting unmoved and untouched.

Yesterday we sat outside on patio most of the afternoon while Tom smoked a brisket. Each time I'd put my iPhone down face up on the table, within five minutes the screen would be covered with a layer of pollen. We should have gone inside, but no. We were determined to get as much fresh air as possible after being cooped up indoors all winter. Fresh air that's not so fresh. Today I am paying for it and I'll again stay indoors until it rains, which is hopefully tonight or tomorrow, if we're lucky.

Kroger installed perimeter lighting at the end of last week. One huge light pole is behind our fence less than 40 feet from our property. They turned the light on for the first time Friday night and at 8:30pm, well after dark, this is what it looked like from our patio....

Isn't that special?? Who needs patio lighting? Or solar lights on the pergola or around the garden? Not us. Thanks Kroger.

Sarcasm aside, we sent an email immediately (8:34pm to be exact) to the director of the planning department, the director of code enforcement and every single city council member, along with that photo, expressing our lack of appreciation of Kroger's lighting gift as well as detailing the specific points where Kroger's lighting is in violation of city lighting codes AND the terms of the PUD (Planned Unit Development) under which Kroger was approved to expand. Imagine that. Kroger in violation of city codes and PUD regulatory guidelines. Want to see my shocked face?

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Source: E*Trade Commercial

Saturday afternoon we received an email from one city council member....yes, ONLY ONE out of nine, and this particular city council member does not even represent our ward. The silence from our two ward representatives is deafening. Sunday morning we also received a curt email from the planning director, "I have contacted Kroger."

Ours is not the only property affected. Our next door neighbors have also received Kroger's generous lighting gift since another light pole was erected directly behind their property. Unfortunately, they don't have the tree coverage we do and while our bedroom is luckily situated in the front of our house, their bedroom is in the back of theirs. They are not only gifted with [read: subjected to] a bright as day backyard 24-7, but at over double the allowable height and sans the required shield, the perimeter light easily pierces through their ample window coverings and casts a beautiful orange glow into their bedroom all night long. Imagine never having to use a night light ever again to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night! Now that's special.

You know, if the officials and employees of the city planning and code enforcement departments and the mayor and city council members have decided they just don't feel like doing doing their jobs to appropriately oversee construction of the monstrosity they so recklessly approved, and that we, the neighbors directly adjacent to and adversely impacted by said monstrosity, are going to be required to monitor Kroger's code compliance on their behalf, maybe we should be compensated in some way. A monthly stipend maybe. Or how about free groceries for as long as we own our homes. Then Kroger can make a monthly withdrawal from city officials' wages.

Okay, that's off my chest.

It's Spring Break in Conway. The girls next door are playing out in their driveway just beyond my office window. Laughing, squealing, yelling...."I'm telling mama!" I love hearing them.

Only four more weeks until our trip to Florida! I have a little magnetic white board on the side of the refrigerator that I'm using to make a list of things I want to take with us.



I have my priorities in good order.

What The Hell Is A Pillar Party?

I saw the headline in our local newspaper, the Log Cabin Democrat, "Video: Pillar Party". I watched the video and almost threw up. A "Pillar Party" is a special and exclusive pre-party for the 'Pillars' of the community that was held prior to the annual, open-to-the-public, organized-and-implemented-by-volunteers Jeans and Bling fundraiser for the United Way of Central Arkansas. Apparently, to be considered a 'Pillar of the Community' by the United Way, you must donate $1,000 or more to the United Way annually.

Yes, this bothers me. I find the concept highly offensive. I know people who volunteer countless hours for often more than one organization. They may or may not have a lot of money, but they care enough to generously give their time, energy and expertise to organizations that could not even exist without their volunteers. Yet their generosity is barely acknowledged.

I know money is important. Most organizations cannot function without it. But to elevate the financial donors above every other type of donor is disrespectful, insulting and snobbish. I forgot one more: rude.

But I suppose I'm just being uppity again.

Five More Weeks

Dammit, I need a vacation and I still have five more weeks to go before we leave for Florida. I believe I just might disintegrate into ashes before then. It's been a grueling month so far. My dear friend is in the hospital after having major surgery. I'm trying to finish up the cookbook of my late mother-in-law's recipes. Our taxes still aren't done. And I have a pile of crap laying all over and spilling off of my sewing table that needs to be cut into pieces for quilts. Nothing is getting done.

It was sort of a working weekend. We spent Saturday in the back yard cleaning up the remnants of winter. We pulled the tropical plants out from under the grow lights in the garage to the natural sunlight of the patio. They received a good soaking yesterday from the all day rain storm.

My yard is showing signs of spring even though it's only March. But the weather has been encouragingly warm for this time of year by Arkansas standards.

The fish that hugged the bottom of the pond all winter to stay warm are swimming toward the surface to resume the daily feeding ritual.

Daffodils were the first plants to emerge at the end of February...



Followed by the weeds, which were thankfully unable to keep the hyacinth from peaking up through the leaf debris...



The climbing roses are sprouting new leaves and it won't be long before we have beautiful yellow, salmon and red roses...



Tom's Arapaho blackberries are starting to sprout leaves as well. If we can keep the birds and squirrels away from them this year, we might get enough to bake a couple of blackberry galettes...



The clematis are not only leafing out, but setting buds for those beautiful lavender flowers...



And my Meyer lemon tree that sat protected under the grow lights in the garage all winter is flowering profusely...



Last season I got seventeen lemons. If the flowers are any indication, we may have to prop up the branches later in the summer to keep the heavy fruit from breaking the branches. I should be so lucky. No, actually I would be luckier if we moved to Florida where I could plant that tree in the ground outside where it could stay all year round. But that's another blog post.

I knew Tom would want to kick back Saturday evening and watch a movie, so while he was cleaning out the back yard from limbs and leftover fence repair lumber (because, of course, the fence Kroger contracted to have erected is probably one of the worst fence jobs I've ever seen and had to be modified on our side to close huge gaps that a German shepherd could squeeze through), I decided to make a snack mix for Tom for movie time...



The stuff is too good and by that I mean, after two evenings, there's not a whole lot leftover. I will post the recipe on my food blog, Terri's Table, later today.

Sunday I worked on the cookbook all day long. I've had the box of recipes since the weekend of my nephew's wedding in May last year and so far the cookbook is 67 pages but there's still a lot to do. I'd wager it will be well over 100 pages when it's finished. And I've only tested a few of the recipes. If I tested each recipe, I'm sure it would take two years or more of intense cooking and writing to complete it. But I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

So, yeah, five more weeks until vacation. A lazy week drifting about on a floaty in a swimming pool; boating leisurely through canals and the intracoastal waterway hoping to catch a close-up glimpse of a few manatees and dolphins; drinking wine and watching sunsets on the beach; dinners at harbor and beach-front restaurants or poolside; all in the company of Chris and Kelly and the grandkids and my cousin and her husband.

Then hopefully during the summer we can go back out to Reno to visit Mike and Kathy and the grandkids again. Tom is trying to get the travel trailer ready for that trip.

And all of it in shorts, t-shirt (and of course bathing suit) and flip-flops! Yay summer!

Grandpa Naked Masturbating

Google it. What you'll get apparently is a link to this page of my blog. That particular blog post does in fact contain the word "masturbation" but not a naked grandpa in sight.

Some poor soul from Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil was apparently looking for some old man porn, Googled "Grandpa Naked Masturbating" and was directed to my blog. He or she only stayed 8 seconds. Obviously, my blog was a huge disappointment.

I'm About to Get Uppity Again

About ten years ago, Tom and I decided to go out to dinner for Valentine's Day. We selected a fancy-schmancy restaurant located in what has in recent years become The Peabody Hotel.

I first learned about the Peabody in Memphis. That's where the first Peabody Hotel originated and it's located near Beale Street. However, it seems the Peabody's claim to fame amongst tourists and guests alike is the ducks. Every day, twice a day, they let the Peabody ducks out of their Peabody Palace Cages and march them from their domicile down a red carpet to a large fountain in the lobby where they frolic for several hours until they are herded back up the red carpet to their "home." People come from far and wide to watch these ducks make the trip twice daily.

I mention this extravaganza for two reasons. One, because we lived on a farm and raised a few ducks and two geese. Have you heard the euphemism, "loose as a goose"? It also applies to ducks, but apparently there isn't a similarly descriptive word that rhymes with duck. Without getting too graphic, let me just say that ducks and geese are not the least bit embarrassed or reserved when it comes to eliminating their own excrement. They are happy to waddle up and down that red carpet, swim in the ornate fountain or walk across a driveway from their pond on our property and let loose a very loose one, if you know what I mean. They don't stop. They don't hesitate. They just keep on walking. Second, I'm glad the hotel we chose for our Valentine's Day dinner was not the Peabody at the time, since I was already subjected to goose and duck behavior on a daily basis.

The point of all this is not ducks or duck excrement. The point is Caesar Salad. I know, it's a bit much to put both of those subjects in the same sentence.

So, we made our reservations at this fancy-schmancy restaurant in the fancy-schmancy hotel where we also spent the night because we knew we'd be drinking champagne and we didn't want to drive home after drinking. And, when the time came, we dressed up in our finest. We left our jeans, boots and sweatshirts home. We made our way to the lobby and headed down a dimly lit, plushly carpeted hallway passed an ornate but empty bar to the restaurant. We were greeted at the entryway of the restaurant by a nicely suited Maitre'D and seated at a small table surrounded by other small tables.

Tom had called the restaurant over a week in advance to be certain they stocked a specific champagne, but after being seated we were informed that they had never stocked that specific champagne. One demerit.

We ordered an alternative, but inferior, champagne which was served with unnecessary but extensive pomp and circumstance, and after a few sips our server approached to take our order for dinner. We would, of course, start with a Caesar Salad. I don't even remember what we ordered for our main course.

You see, now I'm starting to get uppity. I love Caesar Salad. I've eaten Caesar Salad at the restaurant in Tijuana, Mexico where the Caesar Salad was created. And I've enjoyed many versions of it, though not veering significantly from the original, prepared and served table-side at several wonderful restaurants on both coasts.

So what version of Caesar Salad were we served at the fancy-schmancy? First of all, here is what a Caesar Salad looks like. Embed the image in your memory because you will see an altered version later, when I get all uppity in your face.....

Beautiful, crisp romaine lettuce dressed with an authentic Caesar dressing and crisp homemade croutons, sprinkled with a little more grated Parmesan cheese and freshly ground black pepper. Oh. My. God. A salad that combines sour, salty, tart, garlicky and crunchy all in one bite.

What we were served was a small "bread cup" in which 2 whole romaine leaves, marginally dressed with some sort of mayonnaise-based dressing, stood leaning against each other. Ladies and gentleman....your Caesar Salad is served.

Now, I have to say that I honestly give chefs a lot of leeway to inject their own creativity into traditional dishes. I love creative food. What I don't appreciate is a cheap-ass rip-off.

I'm ashamed to say, we made a bit of a scene. What transpired was "are you kidding me?" and "that is NOT a Caesar Salad in any way, shape or form" and "not only that, but you assured me that you stocked a champagne you NEVER stocked" and "I'm not staying for dinner and I'm not paying for this faux salad", yada, yada, yada. We paid for the champagne and left. We ate our Valentine's Day dinner at a pizzeria about a block away. A leisurely dinner of homemade pizza and several glasses of a decent red wine was just what the doctor ordered.

Okay, so I'm getting to my point, albeit a not so direct route. Yes, I acknowledge that I am a Caesar Salad snob. But you are invited to my house to taste my Caesar Salad and I defy you not to become a CS snob as well.

To my point, sort of....my father-in-law has carried on my late mother-in-law's tradition of providing me with copies of all of the local or semi-local magazines: The 501 (the number designating the area code for our little part of the world), Icon (a magazine specifically dedicated to Conway, Arkansas), and Women's Inc, a magazine for and about women in central Arkansas, but mostly in Conway, Arkansas.

This afternoon, while my soup was simmering, I sat down and thumbed through three magazines my father-in-law brought last weekend when he came for dinner. I was flipping through Women's Inc. when I came upon a recipe for Caesar Salad written by a local "chef" and here is where I got my back up and got all uppity. This is the photo of the so-called Caesar Salad....


Source: Women's Inc Magazine

In my full-on uppity-ness, THIS IS NOT A CAESAR SALAD!

1. Caesar Salad is made with romaine lettuce. The lettuce in the photo is iceburg lettuce. Not even close!
2. You do not EVER put tomatoes on Caesar Salad. Croutons...yes. Tomatoes....never.
3. Nor would you EVER, EVER, EVER sprinkle a Caesar salad with sliced black olives. EVER.

But beyond that, please read the ingredients for the dressing. No anchovies. Caesar Salad is not Caesar Salad without anchovies.....EVER. And no grated Parmesan cheese. What??? In addition, the ratio of lemon juice (acid) to olive oil is completely imbalanced.

There are five basic balanced flavors to Caesar Salad: garlic (usually pulverized before adding other ingredients), anchovies (saltiness and a slight sea essence), lemon juice (necessary acid to balance the pungent garlic flavor and heaviness of the anchovies), Parmesan cheese (adds a pungent earthy flavor) and olive oil (adds a subtle nutty flavor and emulsifies all the other ingredients).

While I understand food styling, shouldn't we be able to expect, at the very least, a somewhat honest rendition of the final dish? Shouldn't readers be able to discern from the photo what their finished dish should look like?

I know. This is so darn nit-picky, but you just don't reinvent a tradition. I think Jim Croce wrote a song about exactly that:

"You don't tug on superman's cape.
You don't spit into the wind.
You don't pull the mask off the old lone ranger and
You don't mess around with Jim...."

And you don't screw with the recipe for a decent Caesar Salad.

The Narrative Continues

I am in the process of doing my own laundry. Yay, me!! One load in the washer and two more on the floor of my bedroom. I have seriously neglected my own personal requirements.

There's another load of laundry in the trunk of my car from the Clothes Closet. Really nasty, dirty stuff. I left the stuff in the box it came in and I might even wear gloves to go through it. Yep, it's that bad. I was tempted to just toss it all in the trash, but I thought better of it. It's that "good steward" in me.

On another subject, a thick legal sized envelope arrived in the mail last Saturday. It was a lovingly handwritten chronicle of my past from my father's only living sibling, with photos and copies of other typed letters from distant family members. Not my past specifically, but that of my fraternal PATERNAL grandmother and great-grandparents. The information I've been seeking for the last three or four years.

My aunt's letter is very warm and personal. It describes in detail my grandmother's family history, with many anecdotes about her sister and brother, an aunt and uncle I didn't even know I had. My aunt describes her own childhood during the great depression, including the three years during high school when she lived with her grandmother and grandfather in North Dakota and, after high school graduation, working her way through college. She didn't hold back expressing feelings about my dad and, in particular, my mom. When you're almost 90 years old, you don't have any reason to hold back.

When I finish with my late mother-in-laws cookbook, I think I might just sit down and write my family saga. It won't be in the realm of Tolstoy, Melville or Steinbeck, but there are enough characters in our family to make it somewhat interesting.

It Was a Horrible Day Yesterday

Yes, it was a horrible day yesterday.

I was grouchy. I didn't feel like working at the Clothes Closet. I had one load of laundered donated clothes in the dryer that I just left there. I felt guilty about not folding it and taking it in. I still have about 3 more loads of laundry to do, but I didn't and still don't feel like doing it. I feel guilty about that, too.

We had 42 people come into the Clothes Closet yesterday, almost double the daily number we usually serve. Loma and I were busy with a capital B. And, for the first time since we opened, I felt the need to step in and stop one woman from taking too many things. She had pulled about 30 items off the racks and was still going when I stood next to her, and in my worst Spanish ever (she could not speak much English), I said, "No más. Para los demás," roughly translated means "No more. For others" (I didn't know the correct phrasing for "leave for others"). It was very awkward. But she understood, handed me what she had selected, I put it in bags and she left.

I felt awful that I felt I had to intervene and it bothered me all day. I even woke up in the middle of the night thinking about it, even after Tom and I talked a little about it when he got home. I still have questions swirling around in my head this morning. How do we know when someone is taking advantage? How far do we go to intervene? How often should folks be allowed to shop? Weekly? Monthly? Should we have rules or definite limits? Where is the line between being a good steward and an unconditional giver?

I've been doing some research on other community Clothes Closets and their operations. Lord help me and those around me, because as a result of all that voluminous information, my internal consultant/organizer/manager-type is seeping out through my pores. I'm envisioning a mission statement, guidelines for distribution and limitations of items, written exceptions, a website or page which provides all of the aforementioned in addition to hours of operation, how and where to donate, a flyer to provide to businesses and community organizations with our information and possibly solicit donation drop-off sites....you get my drift. My head is out of control.

Anyway, on my To Do List today and for the upcoming week:

• Organize the office that I have neglected for over a week
• Close out the bookkeeping year and make new folders for the new year
• Fold the donated clothes in the dryer and finish washing, drying and folding the remaining loads
• Oh yeah, and how about do my own laundry
• Get back to working on the cookbook of my late mother-in-law's recipes in the hopes of finishing it up next week
• Somewhere in the middle of all that, vacuum and dust and make a loaf of that black bread I've been wanting to try

Not particularly monumental tasks. The issue will be merely staying focused and you know how simply wonderful I am at that.