In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now in my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
For Thursday 13 , I’m saying Hope in 13 languages that are significant in some way to me. In my parents’ language, Ilokano, it is Namnama . In Tagalog, the national language of the Philippines, hope is Pag-asa . In Welsh, of which Ancestry.com says I am one percent, it is Gobaith . Besides English, these languages figured among the foreign traders, missionaries, immigrants, and colonizers who lived and worked in the Philippines during centuries past. Here’s how to say hope in these five lenguas: Harapan in Malay Amal’an in Arabic Hi-bāng in Hokkien Esperanza in Spanish Itxaropena in Basque In Gaelic, hope is Dóchas . This language, both in Ireland and Scotland, was spoken by some of the Husband’s ancestors. The First Husband was of Korean ancestry; in his parents’ tongue, hope is Huimang . Mana’olana is hope in Hawaiian and Speranza in Italian, which are two languages I simply like. And, lastly, hope in Ukranian is Spodivatysya ! For more Thursday 13 , click here .
I’ve always wanted to grow jasmine, and now I have two pots of the sweet scented plant. Did you know it’s part of the olive family? I just learned that. You’ll never know when that fact comes in handy, such as in a game of Jeopardy.
Yesterday’s post was about our lack of napkins for our lunch with friends later that day. I had written the post the day before (on Friday) with the problem resolved because I thought it was. Well… Come Saturday morning, I went to the closet to fetch a roll of paper towels. From the back of the closet, I pulled out the package of towels. So, I thought. Hello, toilet paper! Ugh. I could still sew seven napkins in time. Sure, you’re right, either the Husband or I could have driven to the store. Quite simple solution. Good fortune rang. It was good friend Missus H on the phone to see how things were and if I needed anything. “Do you have any napkins to spare?” She didn’t. They were using paper towels. “Could you please bring a roll?” She would, but if I liked she had purple and green napkins that she used for guest bath towels. The green napkins were perfect with the feast of Fijian fritters, cilantro chutney curry chicken, coconut-creamed spinach, grilled shrimp, jasmine rice, boiled
We have no napkins. And, friends are coming over this afternoon for a Fijian themed meal. The Husband suggested we use paper towels. No, I said, besides we don’t have any. I have time to sew napkins. That was yesterday morning. By the time evening came, my body was too beat to do anything more. I’d spent the day prepping and cooking most of the dishes and cleaning up after myself. It was a satisfying day. The Fijian curry chicken reminded me of Mama’s adobo chicken in her later years. She said she used tomato sauce. I didn’t believe her until today when I saw how two huge juicy tomatoes combined with onions, garlic, and spices created a rich red gravy. This, I apologize, only makes sense to me. Back to the napkins. Last night I brought up the subject again to the Husband. I could call one of the friends to bring napkins. Do that, said the Husband. Then I thought if she doesn’t have napkins she’d have to stop at the store. How inconvenient. “We can use paper towels,” I said.
Here’s another collage card I made during my meanwhile, aka the covid19 lockdown, for a friend. I may not ever buy greeting cards again. :-) I’m linking up with a new meme today, Art for Fun Friday hosted by poet Gillena Cox.
Last August, I was trying to keep tabs on what I was eating so I dedicated a notebook for my food log. That lasted a week or so before the notebook became a place to note recipes I liked in books and on food sites and blogs. I actually wrote the recipes, the ingredient list precisely, the instructions in my own words. And, what do you know: I really made the dishes. Here are 13 dishes that I’ll definitely make again, modifying as I go. “Quick-Fridge Pickles” from The Pickled Pantry by Andrea Chesman “Pan-fried Pork Chops” from Amusing Foodie “Homemade Tomato Sauce” from Cook with Me by Alex Guarnaschelli “Easy Freeze Salsa” from Dogwoods and Dandelions “Seriously Fudgy Homemade Brownies” from Sally’s Baking Addiction “Beef and Mushroom Stroganoff” from Gimme Some Oven “Cheesy Tomato Mozzarella Caprese Dip” from The Cookie Rookie “Easy Paleo Lemon Curd” from Real Foods with Jessica “English Onion Soup with Sage and Cheddar”, a James Oliver recipe at Food Network “Jasha Maroo
This morning I read a news article about Governor Braun of Indiana who expressed yesterday (Tuesday) that interracial marriage laws ought to be made at the state level. So, if a state decides to ban interracial marriages, well, okey-dokey with that. Of course, he didn’t say it precisely in those words. Several hours later, I read in another article, after much pushback and horror, from fellow Republicans (after all why would he care what non GOPs say ), Braun said his answer was taken out of context and he wanted to assure everyone, he was not a racist. Did you know that interracial marriage bans became a no-no nationwide in 1967 when the Supreme Court decided in the Loving vs. Virginia case that interracial marriage bans were unconstitutional? To some people, such as that Indiana governor, the Supreme Court was overstepping its role and legislating rather interpreting the laws for the common good. Tomatoe/tomahto. Missy Molly by Golly says the Husband and I are quite fortunate that
Yay, the headboard is done! And, it’s only been over a week since I first wrote about starting the fabric decopauged headboard. Earlier last week the top and bottom foam boards warped and partly curled away from the wall. Was I bummed out! The Husband suggested thin nails and went searching for some in the garage. Nice guy. Alas, the heads were too skinny which meant fun time at the hardware store. I came home with wire nails, along with yellow pansies and a jasmine plant. The nails are working. So far.
The ornamental pear tree in the front yard is more than 20 years old. The Husband planted it for Mama a few years before we moved in with her. Come this summer, we’ll have lived here 19 years. Wow. Here’s what the tree looks like today when you stand beneath it and look up. Amazing!
I am partial to the color orange these days. According to some people, orange represents joy, enthusiasm, creativity, and all sorts of things positive. Sounds good to me. When nephew was four or so, he liked to take his stuffed cat with him everywhere. I sometimes frustrated him because I couldn’t understand what he said his friend’s name was. “Owen’s Cat” was what I heard. “No,” he replied. “Owen’s Cat.” Back and forth we went. I couldn’t get it. One day I happened to look closely at nephew’s stuffed cat as he said, “Owen’s Cat.” Oh. The cat was orange. Orange Cat! Auntie Susie was such a duh! These orange and yellow flowers have begun to multiply in the front yard. I like that. I think they’re called pot marigold also known as calendula.
Yesterday, I went grocery shopping and was rather surprised how prices have soared since the last time I visited the store. It couldn’t be more than 10 days. Did I really see $12-something for aluminum foil? Ouch. I’m participating in Thursday 13 . Check it out. My 13 things today are the foods I like to keep on hand to create mish-mash dishes quickly. garlic—fresh, dried, powder, and spring onions fresh or frozen tomatoes miso gochujang, a Korean chili paste rice pasta beans, especially garbanzos and black beans eggs kippers linguisa frozen green peas cheeses, particularly sharp cheddar, mozzarella, and Monterey Jack
Petite. Resilient, strong, assured. Loving, generous, kind. Beautiful. Heart-felt chuckles and smiles. Lilac and grey plaids. Soft, colorful scarves. Biko , a sweet rice dessert baked in lots of brown sugar and fresh coconut milk. That’s how I remember my godmother Magdalena Hafalia Sagun. Ninang Deling is what I called her. Ninang means godmother in Ilocano. I had several godmothers growing up. I’ve always thought of Ninang Deling as number one godmother. She was part of my life for 36 years, from the moment I was lifted out of Mama’s womb. (I was a Caesarean birth, thank goodness for both Mama and me, a story for another day.) Ninang Deling taught me to count in Ilocano. Four year old me recited, happily bouncing on the couch beside her, maysa, dua, tallo, uppat, lima, innem, pito, walo, siam, sangapulo . One to ten. After which, she’d point to the parts of her body, eye, ear, mouth, arm, and so on as I identified them in Ilocano. Bounce, bounce, bounce. Magdelena Hafalia was
State of Terror by Hillary Clinton and Louise Penney. Wowza, what a tale! The authors are sure good storytellers. I wanted to keep reading at the same time put the brakes on because I didn’t want the story to end. Dilemma, lol. The main characters are kick-ass women with their hearts in the right place, the kind I hope I am. Sometimes I wonder that I may not be when I am among people who do not/cannot/will not/shall not equate liberal policies with the love thy neighbor principle. Probably the conservatives in my family think of me as a black heart. I have wandered. State of Terror. There’s so much I like about this novel. The plot is, unfortunately, believable. If you’re curious for more detail, check out Maureen Corrigan’s review, “ In this new political thriller, a familiar pantsuited figure saves democracy ”, at NPR.org. I was never much of a book reviewer. I didn’t like writing book reports way back when either.
I need a keyboard! Pecking at letters on this iPad keyboard is becoming more annoying, but still not enough to seriously research what’s the best move, purchase a keyboard, a laptop, or a desktop. How lucky am I? This is what I whine about and these are the possibilities, all attainable, I can do to satisfy my gripe. I am very fortunate. This is the American dream that Daddy and Mama wanted for their children. I shall always be thankful they had the vision, the courage, and the love to leave their familiar world for a black hole because they had the faith their children’s lives would fare better than theirs. This is my life, I don’t know anything else. That line of thinking is to be continued another day, sooner than you think, I’m back to growling at this keyboard. Is it even called a keyboard? How can it be a keyboard if you can’t spread your fingers out into typing mode? Bah, humbug. That reminds me of my piano teacher long ago telling me that I was playing a piano, not a typewr
Just because we sprung forward with the clocks today, I stuck a brush in decopauge goo and finally begun the fabric headboard for the bed in L Studio. It was about time. I stuck the foam boards, the base of the headboard, on the wall in January. This year, so that isn’t bad in terms of procrastination.
My first crafted greeting cards were made of fabric scraps and costume jewelry. Bzzz, bzzz went the sewing machine. Ouch! went I as I stitched by hand. See the red hearts in this card. They’re cut from my once-upon-a-dress Mama made for me in grammar school. Fun!
Greeting cards galore—birthday cards, Christmas cards, Valentine cards, sympathy cards, and more. All vintage (1930 to whenever vintage stops), all used. All ours. Most of the cards are inherited from either Mama’s or the Husband’s parents’ collection of sentiments. We found the greeting cards, individually and in clumps, in envelopes, file folders, shoeboxes, and what-nots. What do you do with your parents’ memorabilia? Our first reaction. Ignore them for years and years. Then came the COVID-19 lockdown. A lot of the cards got sorted. Some saved, others thrown out, and some cut up to make into our own greeting cards. We actually made Christmas cards last year, but I forgot to take photos. Lucky you! lol
Please tell me the story again, Charlie. So, he did. First, let me set up the story. The time: Fifth grade, the year President Kennedy was assassinated. The scene: Outside on a school blacktop. Lunch time is over. We, fifth graders, are dragging and carrying the green wooden lunch benches back to their rest place, about 30 feet or so. The quicker we finish, the more time we have to play before the bell rang. Said Charlie (I’m paraphrasing, of course): Usually a friend and me take one end of a bench, but this day I thought I could carry it alone. I did! All the way. No dropping, no stopping. I was happy, so proud of myself. I turned around to get another bench. What did I see? You, heading over with one bench under each arm. hahahahahah. Charlie first told me this story at our 10 year high school reunion. I love it! I have no memory of carrying two benches, moving benches, yes. I’ve no doubt that I could’ve carried one bench. I was strong for a girl, thanks to Daddy having no problem of
Crayons, colored pencils, and water paints were my pleasure. Only a little bit with the crayons. I didn’t like the way they felt in my hand. The Husband assured me he and his brother didn’t get boogers on them. The crayons were from his childhood, so many moons ago. Ha! Little boys have cooties, I told him. Maybe I’ll melt all the crayons to make candles.
The other day on Facebook my curiosity got the better of me, so I clicked on one of those silly name games to find out what it had to say about me. I like knowing I’m 457% weird according to the game. hahahaha. The other stuff—there’s some truth. Until tomorrow, Silent Storm Sue :-)
Nine pounds. That’s how much I’ve gained in three months. So said the doctor’s scale this morning. Bummer. I knew I was putting on weight, after all, I’ve been eating fudge, potato chips, and other yummy fattening snacks regularly the last month or so, but I didn’t think it would be that much. Maybe 5 pounds, I thought. It’s a good thing I had a doctor’s appointment today. The good news is that Doc was fine with my blood pressure, and he saw nothing problematic in my electrogram. Hurrah! The nine pounds? Time to sweat.
That’s what I’m doing this year, experimenting with plants, cooking, crafts, painting, sewing, writing, so forth and so on. Some may say I do it anyway, experiment. Perhaps. This year I’m making a point of doing so. As my wise Mama, the mad horticulturist, liked to say (paraphrasing I am) about the idea of doing something new, “Try it. If it doesn’t work, oh well. Try again.” The other day, I cooked up a sauce made of olive oil, red onion, fresh garlic, frozen organic tomatoes, kippers, and martini olives stuffed with red pepper. Oh my gosh! My first taste reminded me of the fresh American mackerel that Daddy grilled on the rocks at Asilomar Beach in Pacific Grove once upon a time . Magic!
Meet Roy Rogers. So called because of the dresser’s western motif. This was Mama’s. Originally, she and Daddy bought the dresser for my brother when he was a child. He must’ve liked cowboy stuff. There are photos of him wearing a cowboy hat and shooting a cap gun. Brother didn’t want his dresser when he left home, so Mama kept it. Now, I have it. I went five years, last year, before I painted the drawers and decopauged the edges. I figure 70+ year old Roy Rogers would appreciate a new look. What do you think?
Some scientists investigated why certain persons do not get infected with covid no matter how often they are exposed to the virus. One conclusion (the only one I recall, so please don’t ask) was that when a person has a cold, the cold bug neutralizes any coronavirus it meets. Zap! Hmmm, could the main purpose of cold cooties is to protect us from viruses. Anyone ever have the cold and the flu simultaneously?
“Stupid is as stupid does,” said Forrest Gump. I read that phrase was a take-off on the cliche “Handsome is as handsome does.” Was someone saying that folks who relish in being handsome are dull-minded, superficial, not to be trusted nor believed? It’s simply dumbfounding that bullies think the best way to make allies is to overwhelm them with their stupidity.
“I went to the Sanchez Nursery yesterday, but I drove right by. I didn’t see any store, only a huge lot with people walking around rows of plants, so I just drove by. It looked dangerous,” said the young woman to her companion. Standing behind them, I almost butted in. I thought about saying, “I shop at that Nursery. You have nothing to worry about. The owners are sweet and they offer quality pieces for cheap.” Instead, I checked myself and studied the young woman with her thick, crusty fake eyelashes and her bra straps lighter than the spaghetti straps of her tank top. Nope. She doesn’t deserve the lovingly cared for plants at Sanchez Nursery. Not at all. Yep, I can be quite judgmental, too. Me-ow.