Blue to the Bone

Photo Source: https://pixabay.com/en/two-hearts-red-heart-love-symbol-631344/

When Chelsea was born 21 years ago today, I knew the second she came into the world she would be a force to be reckoned with.  She didn't cry.  She had to be tapped on the bottom with the doctor’s first two fingers before she started to sound like a sweet little lamb.  (It wasn't the last time she would be tapped on the bottom for her rebellious nature!)  But that cry had a certain tone to it – it was different and I knew it right away.

Every night when Chelsea was little, she and I had a ritual after her night-time bath.  I would blow dry her hair and sing a song I knew from when I was a kid called Blue to the Bone.  I have no idea where I learned it or how I knew it – just seemed like it had always been there.  When the blow dryer would go, I would sing it to Chelsea and by the time the song was done, her hair would be dry.  One night, she started to sing it first.  Her voice sounded just so pretty – and she was so stinkin’ cute!  So I started to sing with her, only I added harmony.  Much to my surprise she held her own and a beautiful sound emerged from the lovely acoustics of the bathroom!  (oxy-moronic statement much?)

For my birthday one year, Adrian got a friend of ours, Vic Mignona, to record us singing this song.  He had a recording studio in his home and he does a lot of professional production work, among other things.  Vic added some music and even had Adrian add some bass to the end chorus!  (Picture “Daddy Sang Bass” a la Johnny Cash!)

It was a wonderful gift, as was Chelsea being born.  I still listen to it and when I do, I can’t believe my Little Lamb is all grown up.  She has been through very hard times with grace, and it has pushed her faith to the limit.  But that little rebel never let those times make her blue to the bone.  Instead she created her own song in life, realizing that the decisions she made would create her legacy – understanding life is not always beautiful harmony, but to make the most for every bit of it and be thankful for the opportunity to have a purpose here in this life.

Happy Birthday, Chelsea Dane.  I love you.  Thank you for making my life better.

Here is the recording of Chelsea and I singing Blue to the Bone (featuring Adrian singing bass at the end): 

Sam, I Am

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As a young girl, I, like many other young girls, would dream up my prince charming.  Mine was tall with dark hair and smoldering eyes, smart, and funny.  He would be the guy that would do anything for his wife.  He would ride in (on a white horse, of course) just in time and save the day.  As an (ahem) older, (much) wiser woman, I now realize that dream came true (minus the horse, of course).  But I’m not just talking about my Prince Charming of a husband.  I've been blessed enough to have the very same dream come true for my daughter.  Little did I know when I was praying for that perfect guy for me, I was asking for the very same for my then not-yet-a-twinkle-in-my-eye daughter.

Sam is what I always refer to as “proof of the power of a praying parent.”  (Say THAT five times fast!)  To say that he is a good husband to our daughter is an understatement.  There is no doubt in our minds that if there was a bullet coming toward her, he would jump in front of it (though we believe it would bounce off his chest).  Yes.  He is definitely a superhero.  The gentle, sweet, and lovely kind  - with the inner strength and moxie of ten men.

But being Chelsea’s husband is not Sam’s entire identity to us.  Sam is someone we've watched go through the horrific loss of his older brother with grace and mourn his loss with full-force.  Sam is that same man that stood with his shoulders taut so that his family could rest on them during that tragedy.  Sam is the man that stands for what’s right at the risk of losing to what’s wrong.  He is the same man that trembled a little when he proposed to Chelsea, but stood tall and strong to look her in the eye on her wedding day.  Sam is the man that took us to lunch to ask for our daughter’s hand in marriage with the promise to protect her, and the man who has followed through on that promise thus far.  He is the man that looks at me with a softness that makes me forget he’s not my own child.  Sam is the man that can look at Chelsea like she is the most beautiful woman that ever existed and yet, like she’s a steak and he’s starving all at the same time.  He is Sam.  Not Sam who tries too hard or pretends to be someone he isn't.  If you were to ask him why he is this way and how did he get here, he would humbly shrug his shoulders, and say with that serious tone-of-voice and a wry little half-smile, “That’s just who I am.”

Sam, I am.

I don’t know that I can extend to you how grateful I am to have that for Chelsea – and for this family.  In this world, and in this life, you never know what you’re going to get.   But I prayed for him – and he came.  God sent him.  Yes.  Sam is a God-send.

Our family goes through the ups and the downs.   And Sam is part of both every step of the way.  But his faith remains strong.  His belief system is part of his make-up – and he won’t let his own burdens weigh on you.  I sometimes stand in amazement at how this is true of our son-in-law.  I watch him with his wife (our daughter) and how he loves her without condition.  I watch him with his younger brother and two younger brothers-in-law, and how he tries so hard to be a leader.  I watch him with his parents and how he loves them enough to be his own man, but thankful for the man they've helped him become.  I watch him silently allow people to be themselves while he slyly watches in the background, careful never to steal any thunder.  I watch him and wish I could say I was Sam.  Sam, I am.

These images are © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used. 

Finger Prints on My Heart

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Fingerprints are unique.  There are no two sets of fingerprints alike.  It’s amazing to me how precise they are, too.  Sometimes I forget how intricate God is.  That’s how I feel about fingerprints in a spiritual way.

Then there’s the practical, everyday way I feel about fingerprints.  They stick in my craw.  They also stick to everything in the house!  From windows to a stainless steel refrigerator, I spend much of my time trying to remove fingerprints from surfaces in an effort to clean my home. 

I have a 19-year-old young man still living at home.  Though I don’t really see him that often, I know he’s been there – ESPECIALLY in the fridge.  Fingerprints all over it.  I’m not mad at the fingerprints I find on the fridge; in fact, I feel a little lump rise in my throat because I know he will be leaving soon and I will not get to see those fingerprints as often.  But what’s baffling to me is it almost seems as though he doesn’t even BOTHER to use the handle that is connected to the refrigerator…it’s as though he paws at it with both hands until it opens.

It’s no secret I try not to use chemicals for cleaning.  But my trusty vinegar, lemon, and water just doesn’t cut it when it comes to the fridge fingerprints.  It leaves streaks and makes the stainless steel pretty dull.

So I did my research.  You will never guess what I found!!  Extra virgin olive oil!  (Talk about “elbow grease’!)  It removes the fingerprints AND shines it up for quite some time!  I know this sounds strange and almost opposite to the point, but I now swear by it because it truly works! 

So here’s what ya do:

Paper towel or soft cloth in one hand.  Extra virgin olive oil in the other.  Pour a small amount (maybe a quarter size at a time – remember: you can always add, but it’s much harder to take (rub) away) in small, circular motions, start from the top (in case you happen to have too much on the cloth and it drips, it drips downward for you to rub it in!)  and massage oil in, working your way down the door of the fridge, rubbing the oil in fully.  If you put too much oil, it can turn rancid and start to stink…found THAT out the hard way!   Then use other side or cleaner, drier side of towel or cloth and work your way back up the door of the fridge.  BAM!!  Clean, shiny and au naturale! 

These images are © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used. 

What do the fingerprints you find around your house remind you of?  Don’t take them for granted as you clean them away……know they are unique and fleeting.  Allow them to massage your heart with the oil of their reminiscence and as you rub them away from the surface, make sure to keep them locked away in your memories.   They’re intricate and the person they came from is VERY special......especially if they’re yours.

It's Greek to Me

Photo Source: http://www.aveleyman.com/FilmCredit.aspx?FilmID=13443 John Belushi John "Bluto" Blutarsky Copyright 1978

It's no secret I love a good leftover.  I mean, there are certain foods that just taste better after you've put them in the fridge and the flavors have married and set.  Fried chicken; pizza; spaghetti??  Oh, man.  SO GOOD.  Hot OR cold!  But who wants to eat spaghetti or fried chicken the same way over and over?  In our house, I will make it for dinner, and then again for Adrian's lunch.  So if we ate the same thing as a leftover, he would have it for dinner, for lunch, and for dinner again.  Not the most favorite thing in the world. 

On the other hand, it is also no secret I am extremely frugal.  I cannot stand to throw away anything - ESPECIALLY food.  I grew up with meager means and I know how many hungry people there are in the world.  It's just not okay to throw food away simply because you don't want to eat the same thing too many times in a row.

Sometimes, I will freeze the leftovers if there are a ton.  If I make chili or soup or some kind of pasta meal that goes a long way, I will make Adrian's lunch and then freeze the rest.  We will defrost it and warm it up to eat a week or two later when the shelves are becoming bare and there is no time for a grocery store run.

But a lot of times - I reclaim it.  I know that's not a proper culinary term, but it works for furniture.  When you say you have "reclaimed" wood or furniture, it means it was originally used for one purpose,  but was re-used for another.  And when you use that term, you're using a word that makes hand-me-downs or leftovers sound trendy and relevant.  So in order to make my food that is leftover at home sound trendy and relevant, I call it reclaimed food.

The kids have always teased me about it...although now that they are older, the teasing is more light ribbing with a side of respect and awe at the reclaimed culinary abilities I have honed as a skill in my home.  They've always said, "Mom, you take Italian one night and turn it into Chinese the next!"

Well this time, I made Mexican and turned it into Greek!  SO YUM. 

Our friends, Micah and Ben Hester, came and had dinner with us.  It was a nice little dinner of chicken and cheese quesadillas (made from leftover smoked chicken, by the way!) and Mexican rice.  It was delicious and we followed it by a great game of Cranium (we're pretty sure the guys cheated, but the girls won), a sleepover, and an awesome breakfast.  Lovely time and can't wait to do it again.

But there was quite a bit of chicken and rice leftover.  So I froze it.  A week later, I had no idea what to make for dinner and had no time to run by the grocery store.  I was searching my freezer for something to defrost before I walked out the door for work.  I took out the chicken and rice and noticed I had some phyllo dough in there I had forgotten about, too.  So I thought about that all day, and here's what I came up with:

Mexi-Greek Burrito-kopita

Leftover Mexican rice

Leftover chicken

Pistachios (I had a half uneaten bag so they were leftovers, too!), shelled and chopped coursely

One container feta cheese

Oregano, fresh or dried

Frozen spinach (organic, of course!)

1/2 cup wine

Organic grape or cherry tomatoes

Salt, pepper to taste

Chop the chicken up finely and add to leftover rice.  Add pistachios, oregano, and feta (in this case, I had tomato basil feta in the fridge but any feta will do).  At this point, you can add olives or mushrooms if you like!  Mix together well.  Defrost phyllo dough and gently lay out on counter.  Pull one sheet out at a time, covering the rest until you need each sheet.  Spray the phyllo sheet with cooking spray (I use organic extra virgin olive oil spray) and fold in half length-wise.  Place 1/2 cup of the mixture at the bottom, fold a triangle of phyllo over the mixture and then continue to fold up over and over until the triangle completely uses up the phyllo.  Place your traingles on a baking sheet and spray tops with cooking spray lightly.  I sprinkled a tiny bit of kosher salt and cracked black pepper on top and baked for fifteen minutes until it was a beautiful, golden brown.

Put two tablespoons extra virgin olive oil in pan over medium heat.  Meanwhile, sqeeze as much liquid out of the spinach as possible and place in heated pan.  Half the tomatoes and toss into pan and add the wine and cook until absorbed by the spinach, about two minutes.  Add salt and pepper to taste.  When heated through, place on plate and top with Mexi-Greek Burrito-kopita.  Top with a dollup of Greek yogurt, if desired.  I did. 

What is sitting on your shelves that you put away and forgot about?  Is it one thing that you can re-purpose for another?  What about the shelves in your heart, full of memories?  What can you re-purpose or reclaim that you can turn into part of the legacy you leave for your kids or the people you love so that in the face of it, they can respect and stand in awe of your ability to do so?  Look around for inspiration and serve it with a nice glass of wine......whether it's your leftover food or your leftover life, it makes a great recipe for success.

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used. 

Mommy, Will You Marry Me?

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used. 

They're the words most girls dream of......the proposal that takes you into exciting nuptials and wedded bliss true love stories are made of; unless of course, they come from your six-year-old son.

When Cameron was about that age, we were in our usual bedtime ritual of bath, brush the teeth, put on pajamas, read a book, say our prayers, tuck that little chubby boy with his curly locks into the sheets and coverlet like he was a sausage-in-a-biscuit, kiss his forehead and say "good night".  Just as I reached the door and my hand felt for the light switch, I heard, "Mommy?"  "Here comes the excuse train to avoid sleepy-time.", I thought.  But instead when I answered, "Yes?" I received this response: "Mommy, when I get older, will you marry me?"  Well, if that doesn't just make you melt, you've no heart in your chest. I know some of you are thinking I sat down on the bed and cautiously explained all the reasons that didn't make sense or how in real life, that would never happen - and if that's what you're thinking, then you're wrong.   "Of course I will" was my response.  He smiled with heavy eyelids, nodded slowly, and faded off into slumber.

You don't forget those moments.  Not ever.  Cameron is 19 now and even as I type this, it is vivid in my mind, food for my soul, and brings tears to my eyes.  Since that moment, I've seen Cameron grow into a man any girl would love to marry.  He has heard devastating diagnoses and taken them with grace, come close to death a few times and testified accordingly, has such a strong faith and is not ashamed to say so, and climbed more mountains than any thrill seeker - and made it to the top every time.  He's so handsome (he's ROCKED both a 'fro AND a faux-hawk), strong like an ox, and his heart is just the right amount of tender.  And this is not the biased writing of the mother of a Momma's Boy, either.

Well......yes, it is.

Now Cameron and I have a very special relationship.  We've stood by each other through thick and thin.  But a few years ago, we were in the car together and I was feeling nostalgic and taking a stroll down memory lane.  "Awww, Cam.  Do you remember when you were little and you asked me to marry you?"  He smiled wryly, and put his hand on top of mine on the middle console of the car.  "Yyyyyeeaa...about that, Mom......I don't think it's gonna work out."  (Not exactly left at the altar, but dumped just the same!)

It is a cute follow-up to an adorable story, I know.  But the story doesn't end there at all.  Cameron continues to do whatever he feels he must to take care of me, protect me, and truly love me.  He is proud I'm his mom, though my mistakes have been many; and I am proud of him as my son, though the frustrations have been, too.

I pray for him daily.  I pray protection from evil and all wicked intent, and I pray he continues to grow in strength in his faith.  I pray he finds the RIGHT woman to marry, one whose faith mirrors his, so that their union is strong and clean.  I pray I can hold those special memories in my heart and mind for as long as I'm alive.  And I pray my legacy is great in his heart and mind as long as he's alive....and I pray he rises up, and calls me blessed.

And of course, I pray he's Mr. Right for the girl of his dreams - that he does whatever he feels he must to take care of her, protect her, and truly love her......and that his proposal leads them into exciting nuptials and wedded bliss true love stories are made of.

Don't take one trial or test of faith for granted.  Even the worst of days are meant to raise you with moxie and help you learn to relish the good ones.  And when a proposal is presented to you, be sure to carefully consider it before saying no.  It could be the transfer of some of your journey to someone else's path, all while building the legacy you leave behind.

Fire in the Hole

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This is the time of year I watch my roses bloom bigger than my FACE, I smell my gigantic honeysuckle every time I step out my back door, and I get to plant all my seasonal veggies from seed.  

So a few weeks ago I went out to the garden to till and get those seeds planted.  I noticed a TON of fire ants along the entire line of the above ground garden Adrian built for me last year.  They were in between the soil and the wood that surrounds the garden itself...and they were just about as 'happy' to see me as I was to see them.  As I was crouched down trying to assess the damage, I felt a far-too familiar burn on the top of my foot.  I looked down and saw three ants curled up and chowing down.  OUCH!!  So then I end up standing there (five feet away) for ten minutes scratching the spots that were stinging, rubbing the top of my foot on the back of the opposite leg, smacking the whelps, and cursing the ants straight to the fiery pits from whence they came.

Of course, I wanted to run straight to the garage and grab the chemical-ridden ant killer that Adrian purchased last Spring.  As I stood there scratching, I started to day dream about coming out of the garage in the style of the movie 300 - in slow motion, of course - wielding and waving the open bag of fire ant killer over my head, it spilling all over the place, and every ant coughing, gasping for their last breath, falling on their backs and dramatically dying.  I then drop the empty bag to the ground - still in slow motion because that's awesome - put my hands on my (much smaller) hips (it's MY day dream, I can have little hips if I want!), and let out a scream of honor and satisfaction, knowing I had saved my garden - and the world, obviously - from the diabolical evil of the Fire Ant Kingdom.

Back home on earth, I came to and realized I had to do something ELSE.  I pride myself on a total organic garden; that includes soil, seeds...everything.  I peruse every soil I buy, checking for metals, chemicals, or anything that doesn't match the organic label.  (Yes, believe it or not, America, the FDA allows the label even if it's not completely and entirely organic...GASP!)  The last thing I wanted to do was sprinkle chemical ant killer on the plants and seeds, and then feed them to my family or ingest them myself!  So what the heck was I supposed to do??

(You guessed it.  I put it in the "Googla") I Googled for a while, really wanting to compare notes, websites, and suggestions.  "Kill the ants in my garden naturally."   I decided to try a few of them out.  So I put another ant mound I found out back to the test.  On it, I put sugar.  (I used organic, of course, for testing-purposes).  This was supposed to kill them AND make your fruits and vegetables sweeter as they grew.  Sounded like a fine side effect to me.  They ATTACKED the sugar.  Oh, yes, My Pretties...eat, EAT!!  This was to take three days.  I patiently checked every day, fully expecting the mound to be inactive.  It was three times bigger by the third day.  Apparently, organic sugar is like steroids for those little boogers.  

Next - grits.  This was supposed to be carried by the ants down below (to the evil lair that holds the wicked queen) and then literally blow them up because the grits cannot be digested.  Sounds like another day dream waiting to happen.  So I searched for organic grits.  If I purchased regular and any of the grits were left on the soil, then it would be processed yuk growing into my cherished organics.  Finally, I found some.  Way too expensive to purchase just to sprinkle on ants.  So even though I wanted to hang out and watch them blow up, I couldn't justify the pricey purchase.

Third time's a charm!  COFFEE GROUNDS.  This is the easiest, best, and least expensive way to get rid of those vile creatures - especially if you already drink coffee!  I buy the store-brand organic coffee for us to drink so as soon as was done making coffee (we don't have a fancy-schmancy kuerig coffee maker), I let the grounds cool and took them out to the garden.  I sprinkled them around the entire perimeter of the garden and then throughout with whatever was left.  It didn't even take a lot.  Not only did it kill the fire ants (death by caffeine, perhaps?) it acted as a natural growth agent for the veggies!  (New compost item!!)  

When you have something biting you over and over again - slowly destroying the things that nurture you, and you're tired of the pain and heartache, you must ask yourself what its worth to you.  If quick fixes are only addressing the symptoms, it could be poison.  Stay at it - naturally, organically.  In the end, you'll overcome...and the best part is, you will see the growth in you because of it.

Please and Thank You

© Wisky | Dreamstime.com - Smiling Elegant Girl Making Curtsy At Camera Photo

My husband said something to me the other day that really surprised me.  Apparently, I've never noticed that I say 'thank you' when someone tells me they love me...nearly every time.
Now that he has pointed this out, I've noticed he is absolutely correct.  "Why do you think that is?" I asked him.  And I wonder why it was so subconscious that I never realized I do it.  And it happens no matter who it is that says it, and whether or not I say it first - if someone says it to me first I apparently say, "Thank you.  I love you, too."  Or I can say, "I love you", get an "I love you" in return, and I close with, "Thank you."   I've even gone as far as to say, "...and thank you for that."  It can be my husband, my children, a good friend, family member, and even (and most especially), God.
 

So I started to ponder why this could be.  I've had some pretty cruddy relationships of all kinds in my life - and I've been taken advantage of - and I've been hurt.  I realize that when there is someone I love that loves me, too, I'M GRATEFUL...really, really grateful.
I don't know when this started. I don't even have a memory of ever doing it before, so I have no idea how long I've been doing it.  But I can say I'm glad he brought it to my attention, because I like being very aware of how grateful I am that I'm loved.
 

I know I'm not the easiest person in the world (or even the same house!) to love.  I am obnoxious, talkative, sometimes a little insecure, and somewhat of a control freak.  I have obsessive compulsive disorder, I'm a germaphobe, and I cry about the silliest things.  There are so many more reasons why I'm hard to love, but I ask that you please try...and if you're one of the people that already do......thank you.  I love you, too.
 

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged-Cupid painted blind" ~A Midsummer Night's Dream
 

"Yo, Adrian!!  I loves ya!" ~Rocky Balboa, Sheila Garcia
 

"As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you.  Now remain in my love." ~Jesus

My Funny Valentine

© Julos | Dreamstime.com - Fun Chef Photo

Chelsea and I were told to wait upstairs as the preparation began.  We were in our loungy clothes and relaxing as we had been told to do, but we still heard banging and clanking and had no idea what was going on; however, we knew at the end of it a surprise awaited us.  Finally, Cameron came up the stairs dressed in black slacks, a crisp black button-down, and a tie, with a towel draped over his arm.  He said (very formally) "Ladies, I am here to accompany you both to your Valentine."  Chelsea and I looked at each other like he was crazy, and obliged.  He steered us down the stairs and we never could have imagined what our Valentine truly was.

The furniture had been moved out of the living room.  In the center of the room was a bistro table that was set beautifully, with two chairs and candles everywhere.  There was soft music playing and a maroon-sheet-turned-curtain put up to add to the ambiance and make the kitchen separate and a secret to us as to what was going on in there.

Cameron sat us down, welcomed us to Café Adriano, and informed us he was our waiter - the head waiter at that -  for the evening.  He handed us each a menu and told us he would return in a moment with our beverages, one of which (for me, in particular) was wine labeled 'Adriano'.  Uh!!  He was SO STINKIN' CUTE!  We looked at our "menus".  Are you kidding?!?  There are no words to do it justice...the only thing I can do to describe it is show it to you:

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used. 

So in and out of the kitchen came Cameron, bringing us our drinks, appetizers, one of the most delicious and thoughtful menu items we've ever had, and beautiful dessert.

Just a few weeks before, Adrian and I had been at a garage sale and saw a chef's coat for 50 cents.  We both thought it would be a cute idea to get it and figure out something to do with it later.  I washed and dried it and hung it in the Laundry Room, thinking we would make that some sort of project later.  The reason I tell you this is because at the end of this wonderful dinner, our "waiter" informed us that we were the meet the master chef who had prepared this amazing meal for us.

Out walks my husband - beautiful man he is with a matching heart -  wearing the chef's coat we had purchased at the garage sale.  He held a white tulip in each hand, and presented one to each of us, telling both Chelsea and I all the reasons he loved us as he gave us each a tulip.  Needless to say, we were bawling our faces off, all in the name of love.

FUNNY how we are conditioned to think Valentine's Day always has to be  about romantic love...it's an opportunity to express true love in any fashion to those around you when we may sometimes forget to during the busyness of our lives.  Knowing Valentine's Day is tomorrow, the first thing that came to my mind for my post today was the selfless way both Adrian and Cameron shared their love for Chelsea and I - as  husband and wife, brother and sister, mother and son, father and daughter.  

Be sure to celebrate all of those you truly love EVERY day of the year - but take Valentine's Day just as a simple reminder of who those people are.

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.