Check, Please!

This is probably going to be the most politically-incorrect, begging-for-nasty-comments post I'll ever write. Unless my readers can forgive it because the prompt that I was told to write about was...

SOMETHING I ATE.

We were in China adopting our 15-month-old daughter. These trips are very, very organized with a new activity, tour, and dining opp every day. Or several times IN a day.  This would be okay IF you hadn't just added a new little person to your family. But by Day 10 (of 14 plus trans-world travel) you have lost interest in another Temple of The Divine Priesthood of Holy Sunshine.  Especially when you are sharing this experience with ten other families who are also losing interest because their babies, like yours, are keeping them up at night in hotels where nobody understands you need stain remover for the diarrhea on your white pants.

At long last, there was a night where we didn't have to experience tasting another animal body part we didn't know could be eaten (speaking of What I Ate,...). And WE were the fortunate ones who happened to have brought along a babysitter in the form of our 14-year-old, now-no-longer-only daughter. At long last, my husband and I could eat out ALONE.

Now the China Center for Adoption Affairs wants to make the best impression on you of your child's birth country, so one thing you can always count on is a top-rate hotel. We were in a 5-star Ramada while in Guangzhou. It was adorned with boutiques devoted to one Parisian designer after another. There were several top-notch restaurants. If Trip Advisor had existed a decade ago, we would have racked up tons of rating points without even stepping outside.

One of these dine-ins offered sushi of the highest caliber. (My WWII-vet dad was astounded that the Chinese would welcome a Japanese establishment on their shores. :-)  ) My hubbie, being a huge fan, lined us up for reservations there, having anticipated the chance the moment we checked in as much (or more?) than receiving his long-awaited daughter.

So to say we were ready to kick back, relax, and let down our hair was like saying Hitler was ready to stroll the borders of Germany. We entered the golden-lit room and were escorted to the sushi bar, noting the large tank of beautifully-colored fish. We chose to dine at the bar in order to be entertained by the chef preparing his consumable artistry before our eyes. Overwhelmed by the menu, as usual I let my expert order. Among the various sushis and sashimis, he chose some red snapper, ordered wine for me and a sake for himself.

The wine tasted so good. We weren't usually ordering drinks at these communal "new family" dinners. The rolls started arriving and we dove in with both chopsticks. We had another round of drinks. Then the red snapper was served.

It was presented on a skewer standing up like a single blooming rose. We watched fascinated as the chef sliced off nearly transparent pieces of its side with a knife whose sharpness would make a samurai proud.
My husband, the epicurean, made moaning noises of approval at the freshness. The chef was very pleased. He sliced more. We ate more. We drank more.

We became very attached to our snapper. We were the only English-speaking people in the room and could say whatever we wanted. We decided to name our fish. We named him Sam the Snapper. We smiled at our cleverness.

Then a strange thing occurred. I thought at first it was all the drinks. The fish moved. A gill or fin did a little flap. Alcohol clouding a normal reaction of shock, we stared in wonder. The chef proffered a new slice. My husband, knowing Sushi Chef Protocol, pronounced it "Very fresh!" Yeah, no duh.
 
Then another glance. This time it was the mouth and it was gulping! (Vegans and card-carrying members of PETA are now excused from reading.) But did I shriek in horror? NO! I was so plastered. I even thought I should decorate Sam the Snapper. Deftly with my chopsticks, I inserted a marigold garnish into its mouth. I laughed so hard I almost fell off my barstool.

We ate a lot of new stuff in our daughter's country of origin--fried chicken feet, Peking duck served with the head on, and everywhere greens that smelled like sweaty socks--all selected by the tour guides. But none of those could hold a chopstick to dining with Sam the Snapper. He sacrificed himself that we might have a few good, uninhibited, crass, adult, American laughs before we went back to our room where the "babysitter" was coming down with tourista and room service was rocking our inconsolable little one.

Thanks, Sam. Play it again.

OHC: We Like Lichens and Most Mosses!

Dead?...or alive?

It's so nice to see that there really is something alive in the woods during this endlessly gray time of year. I can't remember the last time I posted any pics on this blog that had a blue sky in it. In a Mid-Atlantic winter, we get mid-tones and almost nothing else.

So you can understand our delight to be directed by the Outdoor Hour Challenge to go find the little guys that are doing their work no matter the weather: lichens and mosses.

The March Challenge newsletter informed us that there are three groups of lichens: foliose, fruticose, and crustose. It's really pretty easy to remember what they mean. Foliose looks like foliage, specifically funky lettuce.Crustose are found encrusting rocks  Fruticose looks like fine threads, which doesn't look like the word fruit, but whatever.

Cool lichen facts:

Lichens can delay global warming by consuming significant amounts of CO2, can prevent soil from drying out, help release important nutrients into the soil, and even provide food and, in some cases nesting material, for animals.

I gave an incentive.  For every example  found there would be a prize (Hershey Kisses always work). There would be a bonus if all three types were identified.

Lacking in natural formations in our area, for crustose we needed to expand our definition of rock. The neighbor's cement gatepost had some discoloration. Before, I would have assumed that to be some mold or dirt. But with our new knowledge, we could see that in fact it was the early stage of some crustose  lichen growth. Yeah! One down!

Trusting in the handy, dandy Magi-scope to confirm a lichen sighting

 
Into the woods, we went for more!

Beautiful array of lichens on gneiss

A lone rock peeking from under the dense layer of decomposing leaves revealed  crustose lichen on a more natural host.

Foliose was easy. Our mixed hardwood forest has taken a lot of hits in recent years from severe winds and storms, so there were stacks of fallen timber succumbing to decay. Even up and down dying trunks, we saw ample samples. :-)

(left) Foliose, like lettuce leaves, on branch; (right) fruticose found growing from leaf matter

Only one more to go, fruticose.  The day before I had scouted the area for quarry and nearly stepped on a tiny patch of this, the only one I saw in the entire walk. Maybe ever. I hoped Mei might be eagle-eyed enough to find it herself, but--my bad--I didn't make enough mental note to narrow the search. I did bring home a bit of my personal find so at least she could see it.

On the way back we opened our eyes to the only green in the monochromatic landscape: moss.

Cool Moss info:

Mosses play their part by holding back moisture and preventing erosion, and by being a "pioneer" species, breaking down acidic soil at the base of trees and paving the way for other plants to take root. But I bet you didn't know this:

"The value of Sphagnum [moss] for covering wounds has been known for centuries.  But it was not until the early 20th century that there was widespread commercial production, reaching its peak in the First World War, when some one million Sphagnum dressings per month [emphasis mine] were used by the British forces.  Sphagnum was harvested, cleaned and dried and sent off in bales to factories where it was sewn up in fine muslin and sterilised. " Uses of Mosses and Liverworts

(left) Moss with sporophytes, red spore-baring spikes;  (right top): moss and lichens together; (middle) spores on my finger; (bottom) a bit of sphagnum

 
Paying closer attention than usual, we realized how many different types surrounded us. I gave Mei the camera and she shot these. We took some bits home to draw in our nature journals, but the one with the fascinating spores wasn't happy in the baggie with its mates, and died before we could get around to the illustrations. At least, Mei could see the black spot on my finger where I had brushed against the moss capsules that held the spores.

In all it was a new way for us to enjoy a well-trod path, especially in what we once thought was a dead landscape. 
And yes, she earned her Kisses. 

Got Moss? Got Anything Green? Tell Mother All About It!

Then hop over to The Handbook of Nature Study Blog Carnival to see what other nature nerdies found! 

Black Limo

Limos.

For most, the word conjures happy times. Times to celebrate, to party, to top off  great memories of weddings and proms. Isn't one of the most exciting things that a senior high-schooler looks forward to on the Big Night is The Limo? ("Yeah, we crammed, like, 20 of us into the Limo! And Shawn snuck some whiskey from his 'rents bar, and it was , like, Freakin' AWESOME!")

My first limo ride was a little more sober. It was 1964 or so. The limo was headed to a funeral.

I was about four or five, no more than six. I don't have many vivid memories of my childhood despite the fact that my parents still live in the suburban WWII starter home I was born in. So I only know I was very young. My paternal grandfather, a "colorful character" as his son would say,  had died before I was born, the tragic and expected early end to a life of hard drinking and fast living. I've seen three pictures of him in my entire life. In each one, he had booze in one hand and a cigar in the other.

His wife, my grandmother, had been a delightful hostess at their sizable summer "cottage" in the mountains of Pennsylvania. There was always a stream of weekend friends, as the decaying guest book attests. She was slim and rather frail from the few pictures I've seen, but always looked very happy, surrounded by her family and friends. Then, her storybook world of parties and summer homes and socialites and household names fell apart when the government seized all their assets.Her husband died sometime after that from the stress of it all.

My father was the oldest of the three and the closest geographically and so the responsibility of her care fell on him. He and my mom moved her into a one-bedroom apartment in a fine neighborhood on the edge of the city, a handful of minutes from our home.We would visit her frequently. I remember my amazement at the large formal, above-ground, brick goldfish pond that reigned over the private grounds. Inside, I was fixated on a pair of purple glass salt and pepper shakers that looked like clusters of grapes lying life-like on their sides. If I ever find them in the family estate, I'm putting in a claim. And she always had these mysteriously- created lollipops with mille-fiori flowers embedded in them. She is handing one to me now as I write this.

Soon she developed ALS, or as it was called back then, Lou Gehrig's Disease. This was always mentioned to well-meaning inquirers as if it was a badge of honor to be thus diagnosed, to be related in some way to someone famous, even if it was through terminal illness. Eventually she became too weak to care for herself and moved in with us. It was strange and comforting at the same time to have this frail, failing old woman who was also our grandmother stepping falteringly around in our growing house of tumbling, crying, Boomer Babies.

Then one day, I was in a limo. It was going to a big, big yard full of rows and rows of white crosses. It was sunny. My mother, dressed all in black with a big skirt like I Love Lucy, faced me in the back seat. She was distracted and unhappy and I knew something must be wrong because she was smoking a cigarette. She had told me she only smoked when she was upset about something, so I knew this must be one of those times. And though there would be plenty of reasons after that, I never saw her smoke again.

And that was my first ride in a limo.


Hooking up with Mama's Losin' It.

Menu Plan: March 18-24

It's another week. Yeah, you knew that because you are reading Menu Plan Monday and you figured, "Hey! It's another week! I'll let someone ELSE plan my menu! "

Good for you. That's the idea. 

Around here, we are glad that Monday means last week is OVER. However, even if this week turns out to be as stress-filled as last week, we thank God that he will be in the midst of it. 

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
    for his compassions never fail.
²³ They are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22-23 NIV

  

Now let's cook!

Most menu ideas courtesy of 5Dinners-in-1Hour. Without which last week, we'd have starved on top of everything else.

Monday

Mini Honey-Mustard Meat Loaves
Oven-baked potatoes
*Stir-fried Kale. So misunderstood. See recipe below.
   

Tuesday

Roasted Shrimp
Wild Rice blend  (Uncle Ben's)
Sugar snap peas

Wednesday

Pork Barbeque on 
*Homemade Buns (click on pic for link to recipe)
Cole slaw
Applesauce

 Kick Butt Buns (Get it? Butt? Buns? )P.S. This is not BBQ, okay?

Source: food.com via Leslie "Mother Robin" on Pinterest

Thursday

Beef Fajitas on Whole Wheat Tortillas
Black beans
Sliced tomatoes and avocadoes

Friday

Date Night/Youth Club Night!

Saturday

Spinach-Artichoke Bow Ties
Green Salad

Sunday

Chicken Lettuce Wraps
Asian Rice

 Quickie Kale:

  Pour a couple of tablespoons of olive oil in a very large saute pan along with about a cup of chicken or veg broth. Season with a hefty spoonful of minced garlic.Maybe some dried minced onion too. Salt and pepper to taste.  Heat to steaming , then add a mountain of chopped kale (I bought Nature's Way pre-washed, pre-chopped). Saute until kale has become soft and edible. Serve hot. I like it with a splash of balsamic vinegar, just the way I  like steamed spinach.

This half a big bag....

...cooked down to this 4-portion serving.

Got Greens? Got Spring? Got Spring Greens or Green Springs?  Tell Mother All About It! especially the "green springs" part. We're getting impatient around here.
Linking up with Menu Plan Monday at Organizing Junkie. Thanks, Laura!

Bird's-Eye View of the Week: Blessings From Chaos

Some days have more hours in them than others. 

I don't mean that we get more hours in our day to accomplish things by being super-organized or having uber-reponsible, self-motivated kids. I'm talking about when life seems to throw more at you in ONE day than 24 hours should hold.

Well, this was a WEEK that had more DAYS in it than it should. Boy, am I ready to "wrap it up!"

Let's start with:
Monday

Just as I was finishing a devotional at Proverbs 31 Ministries and feeling refreshed and in control (God's so funny), Father R, who is on his way to a job interview, calls. 

He's wrecked the car. 

He is almost an hour away and needs to be rescued. At least we are organized enough (today) that we can grab the school books, we have a full tank of gas (today), and we have  nothing on the calendar like, oh.. I don't know...a three hour ortho appointment.

Pick him up. Drive to the repair shop. Woah! Looked like a car ER ward. And some were pronounced DOA!

Then he says, non-chalantly, "I found a message from your Dad. Probably has a tax question. I'll call him while you entertain yourself in the only Container Store in the state of Maryland." (I guess the company has found an inordinate number of hopeless hoarders here and pretty much given up. )

Loaded down with new plastic stuff, I return to the car. My mom must Go Directly to the Emergency Room, Do Not Pass Through The Doctor's Office. We are not exactly comforted that they need to keep her overnight. 

Tuesday. Still no satisfaction for the doctors, but it's looking like the prelude to a heart attack. Another night in the hospital.

At dinner, Father R gets the anticipated insurance call to tell him how much they'll cover for the repairs. "Surprise! Your car is totaled!"

Mom gets the green light and we, rather than my dad,  have chosen to be the taxi home tomorrow. 

It is my sweet, thoughtful little girl with the light-bulb moment that suggests making some meals for her. (I've only been making meals for the needy at my church for twenty years, but I didn't think of it myself.) 

Wednesday
So we pull some off the freezer shelf and create some more with less than 24 hours notice, thanks to the wonderful pre-planning  provided by 5Dinners-in-1Hour.com. We make three fresh loaves of bread in the machine. We get them together just in time to pick her up at discharge time.  We spend the rest of that afternoon cleaning out her frig and settling her down. Then the hour-and-a-half drive through rush hour home.  

Thursday
My hubster quits his job.

Friday
TGIF 


It is at this point that I want to say: Hooray for a few textbooks, and some co-op classes (did I mention that I teach two days?)  to keep the week from being a total loss school-wise. 

But I also want to say, in the middle of all the chaos, that God--not me--WAS in control. Father R wasn't hurt, Mom didn't die, we'll get enough value for the car to go a long way toward a replacement, and Father got the job.  Most importantly, we were blessed to be a blessing, and Mei was a part of that.  

You can always find something to be thankful for even if you have to be thankful for an awful lot in one day. Or week. 

Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way. 

James 1:1-3. The Message

Got a TGIF story? Tell Mother All About It!

Linking up with Weird, Unsocialized Homeschoolers, The Homeschool Mother's Journal, Hammock Tracks, Collage Friday, and Beautiful Family Friday. Bless you, gals!