Cooking Like Crazy

When you only have seven weeks before a very big trip and you'd like to enjoy said trip and not be huffing and puffing after ten steps and if you believe what Oprah said - "If you say you want to lose weight but you don't exercise, you're lying to yourself" - and you know you must get moving because time is running out but you don't know how to fit it into your life, you have a problem.

(Just thought I'd try to compete with the Apostle Paul for the world's longest sentence, but I think he still holds the record.)

Anyway, we headed out today to find some waterproof walking shoes since Elasti-girl told us they would be a good investment in soggy England, and we found them! We're wearing them around the house to make sure our shoes and our feet are a match made in heaven, then we'll venture out to really break 'em in. I had planned to walk on the treadmill in mine this afternoon, but then I engaged in the same mental discussion I regularly have with myself. It goes like this: I know I need to exercise - and not just for the weight loss aspect of the deal, but because I am becoming a bit arthritic and get a little stove up when I sit around too long. But when you're away from home for 10 hours a day, have evening obligations two of the five workdays each week, and like to do fun stuff like blog and research genealogy, it's not that easy to figure out when to exercise. I already get up at 5:45 and can't get too excited about getting up any earlier, and getting home at 5:15 from work means I have to start supper right away. What is a girl to do???

For the countless times I've thought these thoughts, I've never figured out how to get 'er done. Today, however, I decided that I'd cook ahead (like for the whole week) so that I have NO EXCUSE SIR for not heading to the basement and jumping on the treadmill after work. So, I whirled around the kitchen for several hours, trying three new recipes, loved them all, and am going to share them with you here. I think I'll put them each in their own post, to make it easier to index them.

Happy cooking!

Beef Barley Soup

Heat a Dutch oven over medium-high heat and coat with cooking spray. Brown 3/4 lb boneless chuck roast (cut into 1/2" pieces), cooking for 4 minutes, stirring frequently. Remove beef from pan. Add 1 1/2 C sliced carrots, 1 1/2 C sliced celery, 2/3 C chopped onion, and 1-8 oz. package sliced mushrooms. Cook six minutes, or until liquid is almost evaporated. Add the beef, 4 C beef broth, and 1 bay leaf. Simmer, covered, over low heat for 1 1/2 hours or until beef is tender, stirring occasionally. Stir in 2/3 C uncooked pearl barley, cover and simmer until barley is tender. Stir in 1/2 t salt and 1/2 t pepper. Discard bay leaf.  Makes 4 servings.

Photo courtesy of myrecipes.com

Chicken Thighs with Braised Vegetables

Note:  Do all the chopping first.  It will make it easier when you get to cooking.

Dredge 8 chicken thighs in about 1/4 C flour and brown in a large skillet with 1 T oil heated to almost smoking.  Saute about five minutes, turning once.  Remove from pan and keep warm.  Heat 2 t oil in the same pan.  Add 2 C chopped onion, 2 C rutabaga (peeled and cubed), 2 C turnips (peeled and cubed), 2 C butternut squash (peeled and cubed), 1 C parsnips (peeled and cubed), 1 T minced garlic and saute about five minutes.  Stir in 1/2 C chicken broth, 1/4 t thyme, 1/4 t sage, 1/2 t salt, 1/4 t pepper and 1 bay leaf.  Return the chicken to the pan, bring to a boil, cover, and simmer for 20 minutes or until the chicken is done.

Photo courtesy of myrecipes.com

Chicken Surprise Pizza

I called this Chicken Surprise Pizza because it includes a little known (if ever) pizza ingredient: red grapes. I felt I had license to change the name because I changed the ingredients more than a little to accommodate what I had in the house. We had surprise pizza all the time when we were in seminary - the kids loved pizza and I'd make the dough from scratch and throw on whatever I had in the frig, topping it with the cheap cheese we'd get from the co-op I belonged to.

On to the recipe!

First you need a pizza crust. I make mine in the bread machine using this recipe:

Put the following ingredients in the bread machine pan in the order recommended by the manufacturer: 1 1/4 C warm water (110 degrees), 3 C bread flour, 1 t sugar, 1 t salt, 2 t olive oil, 2 t yeast. Select the dough cycle, removing the dough after it has risen and pressing it onto a pizza stone or pan.  If you like lots of thick, chewy dough, use the whole ball.  On the other hand if you prefer thin crust, divide it in half and make two pizzas, doubling the ingredients below.

Then, spread 1/2 C red sauce of choice on the crust (I used Prego). Top with: 1/2 lb bulk chicken or turkey sausage browned, 1 1/2 C seedless red grapes, halved (surprise!), 4 oz fresh mozzarella cheese, thinly sliced, 3 T grated Romano cheese (buy the solid chunk and grate it yourself - it's worth it), 1/4 t black pepper and 1/4 C sliced green onions.

Bake at 425 for 15-20 min. or until crust is browned and cheese is melted.

Photo courtesy of myrecipes.com

One Thing Leads to Another

It all started yesterday when I was reading a comment from a cousin whom I've not seen for many years. (And can I just say she has the most beautiful gray hair. It almost gives me the courage to try it myself.) She found her way here through our mutual red-headed aunt, and what fun to hear from her! It's amazing how technology gives us the opportunity to catch up so effortlessly. I hadn't even finished reading before a memory flew into my head.

We were riding in the back of a station wagon (I can't remember who was driving), but there were several of us cousins hanging out and passing the time while we travelled (unshackled, I might add, in pre-seat belt days). We were approaching the outskirts of Ponca City, Oklahoma, where our grandparents lived, and we all knew what that meant. We were about to be in Conoco territory, driving past the refinery. And in unison, we all hollered, "1-2-3-STINK-CITY!!!", with a long drawing out of the word "stink", so that it was more like "STEEEEENK CITY!!!".

And then, as I was commuting home from work, I heard on the news that travel to Cuba is loosening up a bit. The only person from Cuba I've ever known was a friend from the 5th and 6th grade when we lived in Santa Monica, California. Her family evacuated on one of the last ten flights out of Cuba in the early 60s. And she was my first friend who came from a family whose first language was not English. I would call to talk to her, and as she and her mother shared the same name, whoever answered the phone would ask, "Beeg or leetle?", trying to determine which one I was asking for. I was thinking about this friend overnight, searched for her on Facebook and I believe I may have found her! It's a small world...

Which reminds me of the time Flyboy and I got stuck in "It's a Small World" at Disneyland, and like an earworm, I thought I'd never, ever get that song out of my head again. We were plotting our escape, trapped in a little boat, feeling our sanity slipping through our fingers like sand in an hourglass, these are the days of our lives.

Actually, and I probably shouldn't admit this, but I did, for a short while watch a soap opera. I had babies and hours at home alone and Josh and Reva were my friends and Alan Spaulding was a power hungry pig (name that soap) and Fridays were always cliff hangers. Before long, when the babies were turning into toddlers, there was no more time for soap operas, and we were more into homemade play-doh and stroller walks to meet my best friend, who also had babies. Except at that time she had three while I had two, though we were pregnant together both times (she had twins the second time around).

I'd sure love to sit down with her for a cup of coffee today, but she is currently occupied in other parts of the world. Our husbands were Air Force pilots together, and after we got out, we went to seminary and into ministry while her husband spent the next 30 years flying for one airline after another as merger after merger kept their lives ever interesting. Today, after retiring as a 767 pilot (I think), he is now flying for a charter outfit IN THE MIDDLE OF THE INDIAN OCEAN WHERE THEY LIVE ON AN ISLAND. With PALM TREES and shimmery crystal clear blue water and year-round 80 degree weather with gentle breezes. (Okay, so she also lives in a crowded capital where there are tons of people and tons of tall apartment buildings and narrow streets and scooters parked everywhere. And from her photos, it would appear that people there really don't know how to throw their plastic water bottles in the trash, preferring anywhere but.) I think I may have mentioned this once or twice (or maybe 50 times or so), but I really do love palm trees.

And Fernando Ortega.

And cousins.

I Could Go to Jail (Without Passing Go)

I woke with a start in the middle of the night with a terrifying thought.

I could go to jail.

It all started with yesterday's post. While it's pre-determined content had nothing to do with a certain national franchise (which shall remain unnamed since I'd hate to get in deeper doodoo), I could not let the opportunity pass to cheer the fact that our team won, and as a result is going to the big daddy championship game. And on top of that, I mentioned my favorite play of the game. And to make matters worse, I included a link to YouTube where you could watch if for yourself.

Then, in the wee hours of the morning, I remembered this:

"The N** prohibits any use of the pictures or descriptions of this game without its express written consent".

Uh-oh.

Hopefully, it's not too late. I don't think it is, because no one has come knocking at my door with a warrant or handcuffs. The video is coming down, and I refuse to even speak of the N** out loud because God only knows I wouldn't want to be guilty of describing something that I enjoyed about the game.

Think about it. It could happen to you.

Flyboy: A Cancer Story - Chapter 23

The news continues to be good. Flyboy's bi-annual scans keep coming back clean, a gift we do not take for granted. We are more grateful than we can put into words for every healthy day he enjoys.

It has been exactly a year since the radiologist reported a little fluid around his heart. That was a scare, and particularly since Flyboy also sported a rather ugly cough for weeks on end. Come the end of February he landed in the hospital for a week, at which time he was ultimately diagnosed with CMV (cyto-megalo virus). He did get better and didn't even experience the mile-long list of side effects that could have accompanied the high-powered anti-viral medication he took for three weeks.

And life has been good since then. He has remained relatively healthy and cancer-free. Thank you God.

But here we are, at the end of January again, and his cough is back. Don't know what it means, but it's the kind of cough that rattles him down to his toes and irritates the heck out of him. He's calling his doctor tomorrow, and we're praying it doesn't turn into a repeat of last year.

It's just another opportunity to pray and leave it all in the very capable hands of our heavenly Father. No better place to be!

On a lighter note, our Packers team are is going to the Super Bowl big game! And unless the Jets other contender experiences a resurrection pretty quick we'll be playing the Steelers a team from Pennsylvania. This was by far my favorite moment of today's game: Sorry, you'll just have to guess.

Passport Application - check!

Flyboy had small group training this morning, which gave us a rather late start to the whole passport thing.  It was about 10:45 when we got to Walgreens, where the nice young clerk told us it would be an hour before he could print our photos.  So, we jumped into the car and headed to beautiful downtown Greendale, the closest post office with photo-taking capabilities.

The sign said, "Passport hours: M-F 9-3, Sat 9-11 - appointment recommended".  It was 10:58 when we got to the counter.

Me:   "We didn't know there were passport hours until we saw the sign on the door.  Are you able to help us?
Him:  "Yes, I think we can help you."
Me:   "Is it possible to get photos?"
Him:  "We can do that."
Me:   "Thank you so very much."

"Him" made our day.  In retrospect, Flyboy mentioned I could have gone earlier, while he was at church, in which case, he would have waited until Monday.  Unfortunately, I had not thought of that, and standing there waiting for the pictures to print, we were feeling quite fortunate to be able to get in under the wire.

"Him" made getting a passport fun, even.  He had long dark hair, some facial hair, and dangly earrings that looked rather, well, feminine.  Until we got up to the counter and had a closer look.  They were in the shape of little handcuffs.

Him:   "If you have any questions through the process, please feel free to ask, and by the time we get to the end, you'll probably have your answers anyway."
Me;   "I can't think of any questions at this point."
Him:  "Sign here - it says you swear to not being a terrorist...or something like that."
Flyboy:   "I dunno - she scares me sometimes."
Him:   "Well that's between you.  There is no form for that."
Me:  (as I watch him stapling my birth certificate to the paperwork) "You're keeping my birth certificate?"
Him:   "I thought you didn't have any questions."
Me:   "That was before I saw you stapling my birth certificate to that stack of papers."
Him:   "That will get answered at the end.  You are my first passport applicants.  Does that make you feel any better?"
Me:    "At least the training should be fresh in your mind."
Him:  "I did just have a refresher course.  Took two hours to learn what order to staple the papers in.  I passed, by the way."
Me:   "I DO feel better now."

So, thanks to the very nice (albeit a little quirky) gentleman at the post office, we are one step closer to being in the system.

PS - Should you be in the market for a passport, the photos are cheaper at Walgreens.  But, the ability to get it all done at once made us glad we had them taken at the post office.

Two Months from Today

It's Friday. After work and supper (which consisted of a meal of mixed metaphors - Smokey Black Bean Soup and Greek Sandwiches), we decided to head out, braving the wicked cold weather (in the single digits) and have coffee at Barnes and Noble (our favorite date night destination). We were looking at travel guides in preparation for our upcoming trip to see the Incredibles, and then it hit us.

We leave for London two months from today. Exactly. If that doesn't light a fire under your fanny, I don't know what will.

We settled on a Rick Steves guide, and came home straightaway to gather our documentation and fill out our passport applications, look for waterproof walking shoes online, research the weather in England in March, contemplate how we can lose weight and get into some semblance of fitness in two months, and my oh my, I'm tired just thinking about it all. Tomorrow, without fail, our number one priority is to head to Walgreens for passport photos and then make a bee-line to the post office to turn in our passport applications. They say it can take 4-6 weeks, so we don't have a minute to lose.

Dash has been telling everybody he knows that "...my gwandma is coming to see me after JackJack's birthday..." Awww... JackJack turns five a week before we travel, so that is their milestone by which to gauge our arrival.

We have about ten days in country, and Rick Steves has a week-long itinerary for London alone. I know we can't see everything, but we're trying to figure out what we want to see the most. Flyboy is interested in visiting Hadrian's Wall, being a lover of history, and that side trip would most likely have to happen smack in the middle of our visit with the kiddos. There's a lot to consider, including the Incredibles' plans, and we're going to try to make everybody happy. I'd love to think this won't be our only trip, but one never knows what the future holds.

The countdown begins...

Frozen Cranberry Salad

A reader requested the reposting of this recipe - and I guess over time, all my recipes will be reposted one by one since they evaporated on the other site.

There are a few recipes that my family has come to expect at the holidays. And while this one in no way qualifies as a "whole foods" dish, it wouldn't quite be complete without it. Normally, I mix the ingredients together, spread it in a 9 x 13 and freeze it, cutting it into squares at serving time. This time, I spooned it into muffin-liner-lined-muffin-cups and then froze it. This is one of those super yummy/super rich deals where a little is enough,and a muffin cup's worth is perfect.

Enough suspense! On to the recipe!

Stir together in a large mixing bowl: 1 can whole-berry cranberry sauce, 1 can sweetened condensed milk, 1/4 c lemon juice, 1 large can crushed pineapple(drained), 1 c mini-marshmallows, 1/2 c chopped pecans. Spoon into a 9 x 13 pyrex dish OR into muffin cups and freeze. Thaw ever so slightly before serving.

A Sad Day for emptynestfullheart.com

It wasn't an altogether sad day...I actually had a pretty easy time of it at work, the kids being off school, celebrating in one way or another MLK Day. I got a couple of things done, came home a little early, and then sat on the couch watching Flyboy out the window blowing snow, so thankful that he is in good health, here in the heart of winter. My poor friend Lulu - it never fails - oftens gets stuck moving snow out of her long driveway as her husband travels a lot and inevitably misses the biggest snowfalls of the season. Flyboy was supposed to get home late, and I was wondering what I was going to do about the snow in preparation for the small group that meets at our house on Monday nights. Imagine my happy surprise when he walked in the door early! And then, on top of that, our group wound up cancelling, too many people unable to come.

Hmm...no sad story yet. Wait for it...wait for it...

In the moving over here to carol-ing.com from emptynestfullheart.com, I have tried to be systematic, saving and transferring files to their new home. For the most part it has gone well, until today. Today, I clicked prematurely, and, for all intents and purposes, lost what was left at emptynestfullheart. I could have cried. I figured there would still be access to the site until my contracted time period was up (Feb. 25), but alas...it died the death immediately.

What that will mean here is a slow reintroduction of the recipes I shared there, and the moving of old posts a little at a time instead of all at once. It also means that anyone who had read emptynestfullheart and may have wanted to follow me here but hadn't saved the new site name yet is just out of luck. I'm going to try to get the word out, but it is certainly not as clean a transition as I had hoped for. So, hopefully, with the magic of google and the mention of emptynestfullheart enough times, those who want to read can actually find their way here.

A girl can hope.

In the meantime, if you want a recipe from emptynestfullheart, just email me at: iamcaroling@gmail.com and I'd be happy to send it to you.

Tomorrow is a new day,

Looking Back

Last week I started telling a story...starting with our recent travel to Georgia for Flyboy's sister's funeral, and moving backwards. I got interrupted. That happens to me a lot. I can be right in the middle of a thought - even an interesting thought - and something else can just jump in and take over and before you know it, I don't even know what I was talking about any more.

Now, what was I saying?

To make matters worse, you won't even find the beginning (or would that be the end?) of the story on this blog, because I started it over at www.emptynestfullheart.com and have yet to figure out how to move it over here. So, rather than make this even more confusing than it has to be (which seems to be a specialty of mine), I'm going to back up a few more days and tell you another story.

This one takes place on New Year's Eve and involves no alcohol, no partying, and not even any watching the ball drop at Time Square. So what kind of a New Year's Eve is that? Our kind. We are somewhat boring people and feel that if there were some sort of contest we just might win it. But we'd probably only enter if the prize was a trip to somewhere warm (with palm trees) during the frigid Wisconsin winter. Where was I? Oh, yes...New Year's Eve.

We had been watching some NCIS reruns on television - I believe they were having a Tony Dinozzo marathon, when Flyboy decided he couldn't handle any more excitement, and opted to head to bed. Being a true multi-tasker at heart, I had been dinking around on my laptop while we were watching Tony and McGee and Abby and Officer David and Jethro and Ducky, which is my normal routine. I think it assuages some sort of guilt stemming from the notion that watching TV simply for the sake of watching TV is nothing but a waste of time. Doing something *constructive* like simultaneously surfing the web makes me feel better. So, having just the day before met with a most interesting lady about what it takes to join the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution), I was looking at their website when Flyboy announced he was calling it a night. "Right behind you," I said.

I was getting ready to sign off, but then, right there in the library section of the DAR website, I found it.

I found the ancestor search database. And the descendant search database. I knew about my patriot ancestor - Ebenezer Bartlett, who had fought in the Revolutionary War - but after meeting my new friend from the local chapter of the DAR, and seeing that she had SEVEN patriot ancestors, I had a thought. Doesn't it make sense that if you have one patriot ancestor, chances are you might have more? There are many people in my line who were here in the 1700s and before, so I decided to start typing names into the ancestor search database.

You won't believe what I found.

I don't even believe what I found.

When a woman joins the DAR, she must provide evidence of her lineage all the way back to the patriot ancestor. The first couple of generations are not that hard to document. We live in a country and in a time where good record keeping is the norm. We can order copies of birth, marriage, and death certificates. We can locate records proving land ownership. But the farther back you go, the harder it gets. People were often born at home. Records were lost in fires, or were not stored in manners conducive to preservation. The beauty of the ancestor database is that if a DAR member has already proven lineage in the past, their verified research can be used if you come from the same line. I found that Ebenezer's son James, and James' son Ebenezer had already been documented by someone else, so I won't have to prove those links. Score!

Then, feeling lucky, I decided to check on some of my other ancestors and try to determine if any of them had been documented here.

You won't believe what I found.

I don't even believe what I found.

Are you sitting down? I found 14 - yes, you read that right - FOURTEEN patriot ancestors who fought in the Revolutionary War. I was riveted to my keyboard, racing through page after page, finding person after person - and detailed information about where they served, with which company, and so forth.

Before I knew it, it was 2:00 a.m. Not normally being a night owl, I was in a state of disbelief all the way around when I glanced at my watch and realized I never made it to bed. But I was wide awake and electrified with energy as I clicked and read.

Then I had an idea. My DAR friend replied to my comment that we had family that had been here since before the 1700s with this: "If you have family that far back, someone was most likely on the Mayflower." Remembering that I have had this one little nagging doubt regarding one family line that could lead to the Mayflower (Rachel Butterfield - Jonas Butterfield - Timothy Butterfield), I decided to look them up on the descendant database to see if any research had been done on this line. My problem in this line has been that there were more than one Rachel and Jonas Butterfield, born around the same time and in nearby proximity to one another. Finding THE Jonas who was THE son of THE Timothy and THE father of THE Rachel has been alluding me for some time. If my Rachel really was the granddaughter of Timothy, then a connection going back from there to the Mayflower could be claimed.

You're not going to believe this.

I still struggle to believe it.

But right there on the DAR database was the link I have been looking for - my Rachel really is the granddaughter of Timothy, whose line leads back to John Alden and Priscilla Mullins of the Mayflower.

Unbelievable.

I was giddy, and it took all I had to not run into the bedroom and shake Flyboy awake to share the news. And once I finally did silently sneak into bed, I thought I'd never get to sleep. About the time I was about to drive myself crazy counting backwards from one million, I finally fell asleep.

And then the phone rang. At about 5:15 a.m. With news. It's interesting that calls at 5:15 are usually connected with the beginning of life or the end of life. This time, is was the end. Flyboy's sister had passed. Mercifully, she was able to celebrate one last Christmas with her family and had actually rallied a bit that day. We shed some tears and tried to get a little more sleep. The report of my findings would have to wait a little longer.

Gigi and Peanut

When Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm got back from a trip to Florida last weekend, Peanut was quite sick...double ear infection, cold, cough...poor little thing. And her poor sleep deprived parents parents had been up with her multiple nights in a row, so I went over for a couple of hours on Sunday to give them a chance to nap.

Peanut was miserable, and after walking the floor with her and singing softly into her ear, she finally went to sleep. We settled into the rocking chair and her mommy came in later and snapped this picture.

I'm happy to report that she is feeling much better.

One Little Click

It's amazing what you can do with one little click of the mouse. You can send an email in an instant and spend a lifetime regretting words spoken in haste. You can connect with friends and family all over the world. You can learn something new. You can win (or lose) a game of Solitaire.

Guess what I did with just one click of the mouse?

I secured tickets to London! We are heading to the UK over spring break to hug our daughter and her family and see where they live and see what they see and eat what they eat and meet who they know. Flyboy lived in Germany for awhile as a boy but I've never been out of North America. I can't wait.

For all the things I'm looking forward to, I'm mildly terrified at the thought of riding on the left side of the road. There are certain things that just don't work in my brain. Transposing music on an electronic keyboard or playing the guitar with a capo does not work for me because I simply cannot hear a D in my head while I'm playing a C. In the same way, I'm not sure I can convince my brain that riding (forget driving!) on the left side is okay. The cognitive dissonance may just prove too great.

But aside from that, I'm looking forward to the pastoral countrysides, the ancient architecture, talking to little boys with ever increasing British accents, seeing ministry in England firsthand, and all the things I can't even begin to imagine.

We are flying non-stop out of Chicago. After our last fiasco (taking the long way to Jacksonville), I am thankful we don't have to worry about making any connecting flights.

And while we've been able to connect with our kids on Skype even though they are so far away, it will be better yet to be there in person. I can't wait to hear Dash pray and JackJack read and see Elasti-girl's creations (from curtains to pillows) and watch Mr. Incredible in action, being the hands and feet of Jesus to those around him. Before we know it, ten weeks will have passed and we'll be there. Just like that.

Welcome!

It's a new year, and I feel like a change. I've been blogging for the past two years at Empty Nest Full Heart, but am starting over here for several reasons. First, I'm cheap. I'm tired of paying the big bucks "over there" for a site that I'll never be smart enough to customize anyway. Second, I think I want to move past the empty nest persona and spend a little more time exploring my other interests. For example, I'm in the process of joining the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution) and am busily gathering documentation to prove my connection to 14 patriot ancestors. So, rather than write an empty nest blog (with other things thrown in every now and then), I think I'll just embrace the freedom to write whatever I want to. And, whenever I want to. At Empty Nest Full Heart, I committed to writing every day, but now, I think I'd like to step away from that pressure. Who knows - I may still wind up writing a lot anyway, but having given myself permission to not write until I have something to say feels quite liberating.

Some things never change, though, and there will still be plenty of talk about the grandkids, and I'll still be tracking Flyboy's ongoing health issues. I've had the most readers when he's been in the middle of a crisis, so I told him he's going to have to step it up a little more often (just kidding).

And finally, just like at Empty Nest Full Heart, your comments and thoughts are always welcomed. I wish I could offer contests and cool prizes, but I hope that community and friendship will bring you back.

Love,

Half Success = Half Failure

I had high hopes. For a couple of minutes, anyway. I found that I was able to import posts from the first blog I wrote several years ago into this new one. That was easy - it was FROM a blogger.com platform TO a blogger.com platform. Feeling brave and empowered, I decided to try to import Empty Nest Full Heart as well, having found instructions that seemed easy enough to follow. Having all three blogs together in one place? Divine!

Did it work? Unfortunately, no...I followed the instructions to the letter, but keep getting a server error with a code that might as well be in hieroglyphics for as much sense as it makes to me.

A little more research, and it would appear that Empty Nest Full Heart is just too big to import. I am still going to look for another way, because it seems just a sad shame that two years of writing should just go up in smoke.

Here's hoping...

A Backward Story

Since I started blogging, I don't think I've ever gone this long without posting. But, in my defense - and not that I feel the need to defend myself, except, well, maybe to myself, because I can, like most other women I know, tend to be my own worst enemy - it has been an unusual set of circumstances. I even broke my own rule...never leave home without your laptop...and as we have spent the last three days away from home, I wasn't even able to record what's been going on. It's been so long since I posted that I got an email from my mother wondering if I'd moved to a new blog site without leaving a forwarding address. Nope. It's just not been a normal week.

So...in the interest of playing a little catch-up, while also recording some of what has happened for posterity and for the sake of the memory that I will undoubtedly soon begin to lose, and to make the whole thing (hopefully) a little more interesting, I'm going to start with today and work my way backwards. I've never written a story backwards before, but it just sort of seems the thing to do. I am going to try to not give away details - and you have to promise to try not to read ahead to put the pieces together. I am just going to write it chronologically moving from the present to the past.

We'll see how this works out. And it you get so frustrated you decide to never read anything I write again, I'll understand.

Wednesday, Jan. 5, 2011

The house had a chill in the air when we arrived home a few minutes ago. And not surprisingly so...it is, after all, 22 degrees outside and we've been away from home for three days, and in the interest of conservation of resources, we left the thermostat turned down. Flyboy likes to unpack right away, while I prefer to hit the keyboard while stuff is still fresh in my mind. We're thankful for good friends, who took us to the airport on Monday and picked us up today and got our mail in the meantime. Today we had breakfast in Valdosta, GA, drove to Jacksonville, FL, had lunch in Atlanta, and are home in time for supper. It was a blessedly easy day of travel, with ample time between flights but not too much.

As we were walking to our connecting gate in Atlanta, my phone rang and it was Elasti-girl calling from England. What a treat!!! She wanted to make sure we were okay, but we couldn't talk for long as we were headed for the underground train to ride two terminals down. She asked if I had time for a funny story, which, of course, I did. She and Mr. Incredible just got a new table for their kitchen that has to be assembled. JackJack asked Mommy who would be putting the new table together, and she replied that Daddy would be taking care of it. JackJack (age 4) said, very manner of factly, "Well, not many people know this about me, but I am actually a very good builder. I think it would be a good idea if Daddy were to wait for me to get home to help him." I laughed out loud, and boy, did it feel good. I hung up the phone and told Flyboy the story, to which he responded, "That is just plain scary." I knew exactly what he meant - that JackJack's intellect continues to surprise us all. He can say the funniest, most interesting things.

It was 60 degrees when we left Florida. Apparently an airport-closing-blizzard in Wisconsin was too much to hope for. We both could have used another day to recuperate. Yesterday was a very hard day.

Tuesday, Jan. 4, 2011

Flyboy's niece said it well: "This has to be hitting Flyboy hard today...we've all had a couple of days to process everything, but for him, it's all at once." Yes, she was quite insightful. We arrived at the church just after the hearse had pulled up. The men in suits were carrying in flowers when we got out of the car, and we met grown up kids we've hardly known in the lobby. We shared hugs and tears, and got out of the way so the men from the funeral home could bring in the casket. We all followed them into the sanctuary as they opened the casket for "the viewing", as they call it in the south. At the same time, a video presentation was playing, and all of a sudden, photos of Flyboy and his sister as children, pictures of their mom and dad, his sister's children throughout their growing up years and beyond were flashing on the screen one after another with music in the background. And Flyboy began to silently weep. He and his sister were not close growing up, and had not lived anywhere near one another for many years. Since their mother died in 2002, though, they had connected more on the phone than ever before, and this, along with the fact that he was now the only person left in his family of birth, his sister laying there before him, hit him like a ton of bricks.

Although she had a hard life, Flyboy's sister raised four children who have each, in their own ways, grown up to be amazing people. There was an hour before the service started and each of them took their turns, sometimes alone, sometimes with one another, saying goodbye to their mother. They grieved well, laughter and tears mixing together as they remembered something funny she had said, or something they had done together.

One thing Flyboy was unprepared for was the flood of memories of his own childhood, including trips to Georgia to see his grandparents and the two times he saved his sister's life when they were kids, and then the last trip we had made to Georgia to bury his mother. This is the fourth time he's gone to Georgia to bury a family member...first his mother's husband, then his grandmother, his mother, and now his sister. And all four are now buried in the little cemetery next to his grandma's beloved church.

The pastor spoke of Flyboy's sister's love of life and pointed out that the majority of photos displayed in the video of her showed her in some animated pose, completely comfortable with who she was, not trying to "look good", but just having fun. That opened the floodgate for later conversations and telling of stories and imagining what she would have said had she been there.

You forget some things, especially when you live in the north where there seems to be a general lack of respect for humankind. People in the south know how to honor death, and I was yet again struck by the five car police escort to the cemetery, the many cars on both sides of the road - even on a divided highway - pulled over at a complete stop as our caravan passed by. Two police officers would speed ahead to intersections to stop the traffic, and by the time we got there, they would be standing outside their vehicles at attention, with their hats over their hearts as we drove on. It felt as if the whole state of Georgia was mourning with us.

Back to the church we went, following the committal, for a southern potluck complete with deviled eggs, macaroni and cheese, lima beans, lentils and black eyed peas, and southern fried chicken. The kids lingered after everyone else had gone home, and we sat and shared stories for several more hours before heading back to the hotel, thoroughly spent.

Monday, Jan. 3, 2011

By the time we arrived in Jacksonville we had been traveling for ten hours. It should not have taken that long, and at the end of the day, we were thankful it didn't take longer, but it was a day to remember. When you're sitting at the computer making flight/car arrangements, it all seems so easy. Just one little mouse click, and you're there. You're supposed to get on the plane, make the connecting flight, rent the car and be there.

Our woes began before we even got on the first plane. It was slated to be a half an hour late, and with a short turn-around time in Chicago, we feared we'd be in trouble. Trying to be proactive, we spoke with the ticket agent here, but were assured we'd still have enough time. We even tried to map out the trek between terminals at O'Hare (nothing can be easy there) ahead of time. The plane was even later than expected, and by the time we got to O'Hare, there was only 15 minutes before our next plane was scheduled to leave. We tried to enlist the help of an unhelpful ticket agent, but were told we should just try to make the plane. Alternately running, walking, and gasping for breath, we found the shuttle between terminals, then started over again, running to the gate. It was ugly. I am 54 and flabby. Flyboy is 59 and not even five weeks out of heart surgery. We are entirely too old to be running for planes. We saw it still at the gate, but were told by yet another unhelpful agent that it was too late, the door had been shut, the plane was in communication with the tower, and we'd have to take the next flight to Jacksonville, which did not leave until 7:30 p.m. Do we have any other options? Take that concourse past the McDonalds to the customer service counter. Ask them what your options are.

I had to sit down and cry.

The customer counter of disappointment confirmed that the only other flight to Jacksonville for the whole day was not until 7:30 p.m., a six hour wait. Thankfully, Flyboy had the presence of mind to ask if we could take another airline, an option that would have not been otherwise offered. Yes, US Air had a flight leaving in 45 minutes, and if we hurried, we could get back to the other terminal - yes, you guessed it - the terminal we had just run FROM, in time to make it. We hurried back, again, and made it to the gate just in the knick of time. This plane, however, was not going to Jacksonville...it was going to Charlotte, and we'd get a connecting flight from there. It was the only way to get to Georgia before midnight. Our boarding passes were printed at the gate, and we fell into our seats, taking off for Charlotte.

Having missed lunch, we sought out an early supper at the airport in Charlotte while we waited for our connection to Jacksonville. Dinner at a nice seafood restaurant had just been delivered and we had an hour and ten minutes to relax. I had taken two bites of my crab soup when, out of nowhere, a panicked thought entered my head - WHAT TIME ZONE ARE WE IN??? Our hour and ten minutes was suddenly, without warning, reduced to ten minutes til take-off. We had not, until that moment, when the voice of God shouted in my ear, realized it was NOT 4:50, but in fact 5:50, Flyboy quickly paid the bill as I ran AGAIN for the gate, begging for mercy to be able to board.

We fell into our seats, being glared at by an entire planeload of people who knew we were the reason their plane had not yet taken off. Wild-eyed and exhausted, we looked at each other, shook our heads, and simply could not believe what a day it had been. And we still had a two hour drive ahead once we arrived in Jacksonville. Could it get any worse? Stop right now - don't ask that question. We all know it can get worse.

Thankfully, it did not, and we finally arrived at our hotel, feeling in no way, shape or form ready to face the next day.

--to be continued...