"Enough is Enough"

Even the natives are restless in Wisconsin. Sure, the home folks know a thing or two about an old-fashioned  winter, but the last few have been teasingly mild. We are having the longest, drawn-out winter since the 1950's, statistics say. Except for the die-hard ice fisher-people and the snow-mobilers, I don't think it's a stretch to say the rest of us are aching for spring.

In fact, the calendar SAYS it's spring. Last year this time, the calendar held up its end of the bargain and gave us plentiful days in the seventies and even eighties. Budding and blossoming occurred early and bumper crops of everything seemed likely.

Oh, what a feeling to rise and shine on mornings like those.....every bird delirious with song, every hour filled with the promise of something to do, something to see, a mountain to climb, a day to seize.

THIS March I am looking out my front room window to a trio of yard-long icicles, and not even dripping ones at that. They are frigid and non-yielding, jagged and brutal looking, having long lost their early season charm.

You can only amuse the grandchildren a few times per season with an icicle. Your own fascination at the daggers faded with your own childhood, along with sledding, igloo and snow family building. Winter is a fact of life here; partake of whatever outdoor activities you still enjoy in the cold, but face the fact that much of what you can REALLY enjoy is going to flat-out have to take place inside.

Flat-out being inside doesn't bother me the way it bothers a lot of people, but it's a tough sell to sound convincing about this. When most of your Facebook family resides in California and their posts include repeated images of living life to the fullest at beaches, desert resorts (like Palm Springs) and all manner of sidewalk cafe, it's kind of hard to make repeated images of a cozy night by the fireside seem preferable.

There's a sled buried in here

This life is just another kind of planet life, and they're just not going to buy it.

The California lifestyle is in my rear-view mirror, and I gotta admit a year-round warmer climate would be nice about this st(age)of life. But there's a thing or two this Wisconsin kind of climate has over a West Coast kind of climate: you can't possibly appreciate the change of seasons until you experience the extremes, and these extremes really do bring the seasons in four clear distinctions. There's no blurring (well, maybe this year there is, in a not-good way) between the seasons. When you're in summer you know it and when you're in winter you know it, no doubts and no wardrobe-waffling. Each season is fleeting, and you gotta live in the moment. If you feel like doing something that depends on the weather you don't just hope the weather will hold--it won't for long and you better just get a move on it.

I'll have my opportunity to post enviable outdoor activity pictures soon, scenes that don't just revolve around a wood-fired stove. It'll be awhile, especially around our house, where the woods and a valley fight the sun all day. But when spring finally hits her stride, the colors, sounds and smells will seem more vivid and vibrant than they ever have, all because we know: we gotta appreciate each season fully in its turn. And you can bet that proverbial bottom dollar we do.

So take your turn, Spring! Just a couple of weeks ago I made my best effort to stack up against the likes of gorgeous sunsets over the ocean and tropical happy-hours on sandy beaches. For weeks I'd been thinking that where awesome images were concerned, "I got nuthin'. "  I'd just entered the realm of Facebook after my family and friends have been on it for years, and I had NOTHING. Lamely I offered shots of pretty snow showers, home decorating ideas, the beautiful grandchildren (not so lame) and the new elliptical machine I had to buy after too many lazy days by the cozy fireside.

Not walking in these woods anytime soon!

Then one morning I was presented with a gift. A truly amazing gift--right outside my computer window. Through the glass and across our rural field, a picturesque collection of deer were waking from their sleep in a snow-covered hill-swell of our woods. They had settled in the night there, because after all, what can any natural creature do but curl up and try to be toasty in this too-long lingering snow and cold?

They're staying with us, waiting it out...

The picture speaks for itself, and it brings us all another day closer to spring. So will a hot mocha and an hour at a fireside cafe with my good pal in town...so will holding cooking classes for the locals at (my) little neighborhood shop, so will crafting stitcheries for my Etsy store.........all this kind of stuff will get ME there, I hope, just as anyone's hopeful ventures will get THEM out of these snowy woods and full-tilt into SPRING.

Mmmm--Can't you just about smell the apple blossoms?

Last year this time, nearly

Note: After a break, I'm now building on my Etsy store, "Sterbuck Farm." Check it out!

Life, Simply

Is it cynical to be a fatalist?

I hear a lot of  "if it's meant to be, it will be." Or, "It didn't go as I hoped; it wasn't meant to be."  There isn't usually negativity in these statements. Resignation yes, but not resignation tantamount to defeat so much as healthy acceptance--a rolling with the punches kind of acceptance.

Many times and by many sources we are told to get up and try again, to not be bitter or hold resentment, to try a new approach or even turn towards a new direction. Adversity is known not just to be a good teacher; the handling of it will always bring a lasting result, for good or for bad.

I've always admired people of humble expectations--people who truly find that less (than what some others have) is plenty; they don't just "settle" but relish what they have with gusto.  Are you familiar with the portrait "Grace" by Eric Enstrom? The old gentleman in this image is in a pose of thankfulness over a simple bowl of soup and a loaf of bread, and one gets the feeling that a five course meal would just be too much for this guy. He would be appalled by the excess, he'd turn it down flat and consider the bearer of the offer just plain greedy.

Bread and Soup--it's plenty in the eye of the beholder

                                                           
I love the earnestness of this kind of contentment. I think that it's real, and that despite our material world there are still many on this planet who live happily with modest expectations that are yet very fulfilling.

Think about it. In many a remote island or other corner of this earth, people still call a hut home. They don't worry about a mortgage or a fire policy because if anything happens to the hut it's cheaper to throw another one together than it is to pay an insurance policy on it until kingdom comes. They forage and fish and barter, and their appreciation for simple native foods means that gourmand hankerings are few if any. Fashion in home decor and clothing is minimalist, and translates to more equality in the neighborhood.

Things that we in the more material world can't imagine life without cannot in their world be imagined WITH.
And although it is probably too simplistic to say that what one doesn't know one can't miss, it does seem a curious twist of fate that we who live in developed countries at times suffer real angst because of things we know we NEED but cannot afford to have.

A hut dweller, I'm pretty sure, doesn't worry about the high cost of healthcare. I'm sure hut dwellers have anxiety about health issues (as do all people) but their options on how much they can do about it are few. OUR options appear to be many, but really?? Of every person that I know, "losing everything" over a health crisis is a big concern in day-to-day stresses.

A strange thing happened as I began writing this entry, all the way to the end of the previous sentence. I wrote from my own musings, honestly, and then a sister's recent comment on Facebook about a Sidney Poitier film festival reminded me of how much I enjoyed reading his memoir some years ago. I pulled it off my bookshelf and started rereading it, and as often happens, knew immediately why I loved it so much but was equally impressed by how many of the details I had forgotten.

My musings mirrored Poitier's own take on the benefits of a (primitive) island life, and in actuality occurred years prior to my reading his memoir, in a column for a regional newspaper. The truth stands though, that if you want to hear from a source who knows firsthand, you must read "The Measure of a Man." Poitier lived as a child on a tiny, remote island of the Bahamas,"Cat" island, and his first chapter so fondly recalls life there he named the whole entry, "The Idyll."

Poitier describes his growing-up years as void of worldly (modern) conveniences, even for that time. No one on Cat Island had electricity or inside plumbing, owned a television or a car, and it was really only family, community members and the natural world that provided influences for growing children.

Nurturing occurred without distraction from outside forces, and all the small diversions Poitier enjoyed added up to some pretty joyful memories, because, as he observed in his writings, poverty on this island was not all-depressing or soul-destroying as it can be under other conditions.

The man (as a boy) truly lived in a thatch-roofed dwelling, a hut, if you will. It wasn't until years later when Poitier hit the streets of New York City that he saw firsthand the "other" conditions that "other" people lived in. He experienced the rudest of awakenings about race, but forged ahead to make a grand name for himself in the higher echelons of the acting community.

And what a name it is. The amazing thing (to me) about the iconic, vastly successful life of Sidney Poitier is that he didn't ask or pray for it. From his own words, it seems true that he had limitless expectations, but although he discourses beautifully from his spiritual side, it is clear he does not credit his introspective insights to a leaning on any traditional religion or belief system.

In other words, he didn't (apparently) appeal as many of us do to the distinct God so many of us believe in. He did seem to feel a destiny, and told a story of how this destiny was predicted through the visions of an island woman at the very questionable start (premature birth) of his life. Reading about his fulfilled destiny brought forth another conundrum for me: does God answer prayers that are not consciously asked for, by persons who are not seeking favor from Him?

Fate, according to the dictionary, refers to events prescribed by an ultimate power--and depending on  the believer in fate, the description of that ultimate power can vary. I know what it means for ME, you know what it means for YOU. Is it cynical or is it spiritually uplifting to believe that a prescribed fate we would rather not experience is still in need of acceptance?

And this brings us (or maybe just me) to the final conundrum of this entry: if I believe in one God, the Almighty Father, Creator of heaven and earth, do I believe His decisions are all-wise, all-planned, and all destined to be carried out according to His will--the seemingly good and the seemingly bad alike? Or do I believe that prayer and attitude can change everything?

According to Pastor Joel Osteen, we need to think bigger in order to "get" bigger (returns) in life. Osteen recently told a story I loved, of his teenage son, whenever in a steakhouse with his dad, confidently and happily ordering the bigger steak on the menu. The son doesn't ask permission from his dad; he just knows who is father is and that his father wants him to enjoy the bigger steak.

Osteen likens this to our Father the Creator, who wants to bestow upon His children bigger and better. Osteen is big on encouraging us to have expectations that bigger and better is around the corner, just waiting for our faith to kick things in gear.

At times I hang onto every word of Osteen's encouragements, most often in the throes of his very vital sermons, if you will. At other times I believe in "Thy will be done." That whatever our wishes, it is HIS will that takes precedence.Can these two seemingly contrasting thought trains about our fate be one and the same?

Easily I could end this the way I began and still voice wonder whether it is cynical to be a fatalist. I suspect though, that the real wonder of it all is that in the end, all of God's will WILL feel like the prayers we SHOULD have prayed all along were the ones He ultimately answered.

"Waste not, Want not"

On a recent Facebook posting a cousin shared a photo she liked--the nostalgic image of a console T.V. unit, boxy and big and not at all programmable.

The question was asked: "Do you remember having a television like this growing up?" I nearly posted, "I still do," but that snippet of a comment sounded too "poor me" to leave at that.

Besides, our television set isn't really THAT old. But we bought it in the nineties, so its rear end pokes back about 12 inches into a corner and has to sit on something huge to hold it properly. There's no high definition anything to it, and it shouts "outdated" from the get-go.

The thing is, the television WORKS, and I just don't do do-overs the way I used to. I don't get excited over newer and improved versions of everything because newer and improved happens all the time, and trying to keep up with it all is self-defeating in more ways than one.

I also have a dinosaur for a computer, and a white refrigerator that doesn't match my stainless steel stove, but both perform their tasks and both are tucked off in corners, so who cares?

Waiting things out till they're actually not useful anymore reeks of that old saying "waste not, want not," but in a world laden with trash piles and junkyards, it's not a bad saying to renew a mindset with.

Every spot of trashed earth is a blight on God's creation. I've often wondered how disappointed God must be every time He sees a pristine piece of land used as a "holding tank" or dumping ground. Using things up and wearing them out at least lessens the blight and makes a household's money go further, too.

I figure my stainless steel stove will have its match when the white fridge dies, but by then I will probably once again long for a retro stove of white enamel. I am not a perfect person for never having erred on buying "stuff" without a maximum of consideration (See the "Beauty and Purpose" entry of this blog.)

In the years since the microwave oven became indispensable in the kitchen, I've owned a few. One at a time, each has developed an issue whereby it was cheaper to buy another than to fix one. About this we certainly came to feel that many things nowadays are built as "throw-aways," but each unit either involved a fee to be disposed of or meant another useless item to store in space we couldn't spare.

The upshot here was that we began to give more thought to new purchases. We found that it isn't the end of the world to live with things longer, it may even help the WORLD last longer not to junk it up in God's eye--again in more ways than one.

A funny thing happened on the way to this thoughtful forum about using things up. Through the years we have also purchased and thrown away a number of radio-CD players. Of course we had to have these in order to
hear the music we love in the "new-fashioned" way. With long-playing records, 8-tracks and smaller cassettes becoming obsolete, like many people we eventually replaced many of our LP albums with their modern counterpart.

I remember wondering, "What's so great about the compact disc?" "Well," I was told, "It's COMPACT. It doesn't take up much space, it 'plays better' and it doesn't scratch easily. It's just a whole lot better."

Come to find out, compact discs DO scratch and skip, and it's the system that makes a CD better--the only thing I'll grant is that discs do take up less room.

But neatly stacked, albums were not atrocious for storing, and we never could bear to part with ours. We kept them for over two decades in one sturdy box in the garage, even after we tossed the faulty record player we used to play them on.

Just recently, in the garage of a house our daughter moved into, we found a turntable of this sort--evidently something someone else couldn't bear to throw away either. We were encouraged to bring it home, where we dusted it off and pulled out the old albums and voila! We were in stereo heaven again.

In all our years of riffling through CDs here, there and everywhere, we had forgotten totally some of this music. Just hearing the songs made us feel like 17 again, and any "scratching" in-between only added to the charm. We think we'll keep the thing!

Maybe my favorite story about rescuing something from the trash (or long-term storage) took place in a setting literally meant for "trash."

It was in the days prior to recycling bins, when landfills were predominantly one-pile-catches-all. When the pile got big enough it was bull-dozed into the farther-reaches of the landscape, if you can call such a sight a landscape after all.

My trash had just joined one such pile when another pick-up sidled up near mine. A woman exited the cab, lowered her rear gate and hopped up to the bed, then proceeded to heave her contributions toward everyone else's garbage. I quickly noted, as I rarely had cause to do, that this lady's trash was my treasure.

What was she throwing? In earnest she was shoving off dozens of aqua-blue glass canning jars, complete with their classic zinc lids and in varying sizes, in some cases with their preserved foods still in them. She was tossing away her grandma's (or mama's) hard work. In ridding herself of something she really didn't want, she was adding to a landfill something that would be welcome to someone else in their home--if only they knew about it.

I didn't know the woman, but I was pretty sure if she knew of someone who would take those jars off her hands, she would gladly have handed them over. And so I spoke up. I always kind of liked those jars, I said, and as long as she was throwing them away, would she mind if I took a few?

With a generous wave of her hand, she stepped aside and let me have my pick. I took those jars home and washed them to a shining. They wore their years beautifully, retained their soft tint as well as the day they were born, and even boasted here and there a teensy bubble--a signature of their time in manufacturing history.

Topped with their flawless lids, these jars have always held a prominent place in my kitchen. I keep them in the open, where they can be easily seen and accessed and where they make a most natural fit for my farmhouse kitchen. To realize I rescued them from crushed and broken to purposeful and beautiful is a satisfying, happy feeling.

This, I think, is the gift of not wasting. Certainly we all find ourselves at times dismayed over purchases we shouldn't have made or that didn't work out. But we can work harder to find better homes for our unwanted things......and we can look harder for things that are still very good but not necessarily new. I can tell you for sure that you can find new glass canning jars in almost any store, but you will not find any more beautiful or useful than these old ones I just told you about.

There are people who truly walk the walk in a "green" minded world. Like you, I know many and I know OF many more. I used to think their monumental in-house efforts were like swatting one mosquito after the mosquito had time and opportunity to lay a gazillion eggs. But now I think that BECAUSE of this uphill battle, these efforts should be admired all the more.

I have much to improve upon in leaving less "footprint." My last blog about not wanting to waste a whole building--the pondering over it--inspired me to try operating "Corner Cupboard" as a specialty resale store.  I've seen many a Main Street building left empty and unused, and one would think it might be the easier thing to do.  For me it's not, and I hope my story about the beautiful blue jars gives you an idea why.

For "inside" pictures and details, check out Corner Cupboard-Darlene Ramos on Facebook.

"Corner Cupboard"

If you had a pile of lemons, you would make the proverbial lemonade, or a lemon meringue pie, or anything else lemon-y, right? If you didn't have time or energy, I'm guessing you'd find a good home for the fruit. The thing is, you wouldn't let a good thing go to waste.

For some time I've had a good building, funny enough a building wherein I sold many a lemon meringue pie. It was our specialty, but "Corner Cupboard" was not a lemon. At times it was a challenge, yes, but it had very good moments and overall was a great place from where to serve the frothy, tartly sweet slices.

I still don't know whether Corner Cupboard was gaining or slowing when I decided to stop serving food. People were losing jobs and homes left and right of us in 2011, but even as we noticed some customers weren't coming in as they used to, new traffic was flowing too.

What I do know for certain was that my expenses were always rising, especially so at a time I knew for certain I could not raise prices. In my location especially that would be pushing the boundaries. As well, in my personal life, I was anticipating entering a new territory that had nothing to do with selling food for money.

Grand-babies were coming, and I was ready to help. The best excuse had arrived to stop serving food, because if most of why I did the Corner Cupboard was really "for the love," I now had something I would love even more.

It IS so easy to love the babies, even if they are a new piece of very hard work. As you know, babies change everything. For awhile they take all precedence and you wonder if you'll ever have a moment to do anything for yourself again. When grandparents volunteer to help, it sometimes feels like parenting all over again.

But they do go home in the evenings, and you get weekends off and sometimes you even get bonus days--days to ponder and not squander.

Lately I have been pondering a lot about not squandering the historic building that housed Corner Cupboard. It's a great place with loads of potential, but the fearless entrepreneur has yet to come along to take it on. This will take time, and better times, I think, but it occurs to me that I can re-invent Corner Cupboard to suit my life TODAY if I just use my imagination.

I can have this good building NOT go to waste. Who's to say I can't break all the rules of what has been traditionally expected of small businesses for decades on end? An era is an era, and eventually they do come to an end.

Merchant or consumer, we are being advised at every turn to cut back, stop wasting, trim costs. It's the mantra of the new day, even as it remains ingrained within us that "it takes money to make money" and that to boost the economy people have to spend more.

A conundrum of the times, with a predictable conclusion: We all gotta do what we all gotta do. Being both a merchant AND a consumer, I really get this as well one end as the other. It is the platform from which I will "change up" Corner Cupboard. It'll be a shop for the people, formulated by me, so that it works for me and it works for the people. Like any business, it will have its range of appeal. It will make some people really happy and for others, not so much.

It will have its limitations, but within its limitations it's going to be as good as my enthusiasm urges me. I am thankful for the enthusiasm God gives me and my prayer is: "Keep it coming, keep it coming." I know enough to know if you get things right, the people then will also keep coming.

At this time and place in my life it feels better than ever when I don't waste a good thing. Re-homing, re-purposing and donating things to worthy causes are all great ways to not waste and not add more footprint. But who of us doesn't often self-chastise with thoughts like "I should have never bought this," or "If I could have even half the money back I spent on all this 'stuff" I don't want, I would start all over and be so much smarter." And who of us wouldn't rather see our sons and daughters learn from our mistakes than from commission of their own?

I don't know why I ever had to have this historic building that isn't easy to find a new taker for, but I have it now. I have it still. If I don't myself care for the impersonal way of selling online, it remains a wonderful tool for lots of people, a great way to recoup or profit. But most people don't have a historic building that SHOULD be playing a part in a well-meaning venture to recoup, re-purpose, regain some assurance that not all has been wasted.

This is a new day!

A favorite story of mine about something good not going to waste is in "Home to Where We've Never Been Before," a little compilation I once did mostly for family history. It seems to me now to be the perfect anecdotal true tale for my next entry..........in the meantime please look Corner Cupboard Darlene Ramos up on Facebook for details about the place NOW. Be sure to enter Corner Cupboard before my name and to scroll until you find the Corner Cupboard site (there are tons of them) that is related to me, is most current and shows new photos and info.

                                               Displays like this abound at Corner Cupboard

The Year Without a Christmas Tree

This is the Christmas without a Christmas tree--but it's a good, good thing.

For several years I haven't wanted a big ol' honking Christmas tree in our very small living-room. All year long, it is all I can do to fit our necessary furniture into this space. About six times a year I try shifting everything around in hopes of a more functional, attractive look, and nothing ever helps.  Each piece of furniture seems too big for the room, because each piece IS.

The room is well-loved and well-used, but is the most challenging for workability. It's an old farmhouse, but a modest one, built by humble immigrants long ago who needed to throw together a dwelling before the snow flew.

To throw a big ol' honking Christmas tree in there each December has always driven me crazy-nuts. Despite my admiration for beautifully decorated houses at the holidays, for our own home I have been Scrooge-like in the embellishment department.

It is only for my grown daughter that I have even messed with this "problem." If not for her it would long ago have been a sweet little tabletop tree--and an artificial one at that. It would have been some greenery and some pine cones, and red cardinal birds, of the resin sort and just a few.

This modest extent of decorating I could embrace with the utmost cheer and enthusiasm, but instead each year I wrestle with a "big one." I dress it up and there it towers the room further and blatantly into impossibly small.

My daughter has persistently asked this of me, and why don't I just say NO?

How could I? If my living-room has seemed impossibly small, hers trumps mine for that. Hers is half the size of mine, but this didn't matter when it was just she and her little girl. The two found their little two-bedroom bungalow cozy and delightful and perfectly sensible in size for an up-to-the-ceiling Christmas tree plus all the trimmings.

For some years they trudged through the woods of a "cut-your-own" farm and dressed their living-room to the nines in holiday paraphernalia.

Then one year my daughter "found someone"  and got married. Soon, a recliner for the masculine persuasion was plopped right smack dab where the Christmas tree should go. When December arrived and there wasn't room for both the tree AND the man, she decided not to bump the man. Later, when babies (and baby paraphernalia) added to the congestion she sadly (but also happily) concluded her Christmas tree days were over in that house.

The thing to do then, for the children's sake (it's always for the children's sake) was to beg Mom to keep the tradition of a big Christmas in HER living-room--a place where the little ones spend a lot of time and even open (some of) their Christmas presents in on the big day.

Again--how could I say no?

I couldn't and I didn't, although each year I touched on it and each year she un-touched me on it.

It isn't that my daughter hasn't wanted or tried to get a bigger living-room. For over two years she and her spouse have done all they feel capable of to change things up for space in the house she bought several years ago as a single mom with one child. With a hubby and toddlers now (as well as our older granddaughter), and only two bedrooms to split between them all, well, you can imagine.

"Upside-down" in a mortgage often means "upside-down" in the home life, too. This new reality for lots of families presents lots of challenges much more serious than where to put a Christmas tree at Christmas time.

Where to put the babies might be one, or where to put grown kids who need to "come home" might be another.  Another one might be where to put Mom or Dad or both, when everyone is pooling together resources to manage expenses and keep a comfortable roof overhead.

A recent NBC news segment addressed the growing numbers of multi-generational families living under one roof, "much the way it used to be."

Not all good and not all bad--but the reasons for it seem to be usually from not-the-best circumstances. In general, choices are limited and everyone struggles to find the best answers within their means.

Some years ago my daughter's grandmother (my mother-in-law) lived in "not-the-best" circumstances. She had plenty by way of real estate house value (before the bubble burst) but not enough money to meet her daily needs. Nothing any of us said could make her sell while the selling was good and she was alive to enjoy it. When she passed, the money that could have bettered her life went instead to her children.

She meant for this to happen, and her "children" also meant her grandchildren, we are sure. She threw the ball into our court, and when that happens, you gotta play ball.

Also for sure "playing ball" wears down a safety net. But life is all about the kids and the grand-kids, so this year it looks like (God willing) the grand-kids are having their own "big ol' honking" Christmas tree in their own bigger living room. (And I am finally doing my tabletop tree!) There is a fireplace to hang their stockings from, and a mantle to display a lighted Christmas village across. The family is over-the-moon happy, and they're not counting their lucky stars.

They are counting their blessings.

The Cake Time Never Forgot

'Tis the season for gorging, and how hard are you trying not to?

Because I've set the bar low, I'm doing pretty well. The thing is, after my January blog of this year (when I boldly proclaimed the onset of my determination to lose weight) I thereafter gained three more pounds.

Shocked, I was. It was a total confirmation to me that menopause is a much more powerful foe than my mindset can conquer, at least for this stage in my life.

I could blame it on the grand-babies this time. (And I think I will.) Sure they require alot of chasing after, but their naps are really only of any length when they are in the arms, and this means Grandpa and I take a nap now, too. When we attempt to wriggle away, they waken too soon and are cranky at that.

So we snooze when we don't need to, and finish the snacks they abandon. Grandpa, however, shows no evidence of any of this, even though he eats more of the snacks than I do. Despite everything, I recently got BACK to my January weight and that weirdly felt like an achievement. And THAT gives you a picture of how low my bar is.

When I was a teenager and weighed (probably like you) 103 pounds, eating too much or too often held few consequences. But I did always pay attention to my mom and older aunts who warned me it wouldn't always be this way.

My first memorable battle with reining in portion-control saw me badly defeated; the remorse afterward was such that I've never since failed so completely again.

The smells in my kitchen today (Thanksgiving) have spurred me into into blogging the tale of that experience, but please don't think I'm a crazy person who can blog and cook a big Thanksgiving dinner all at once--I did much of the work yesterday.

This particular drives-you-crazy aroma is from a cake, and a nondescript-looking one even. Decades ago in the home I grew up in, my sister, Cris, brought this cake home from a holiday work party. It was nearly a whole cake, untried by many probably because of its basic and plain look, yellow and unfrosted. The only thing special about its appearance was its form (bundt-pan molded, still a novelty in the late 60's) and a generous dusting of confectioner's sugar.

So un-special did this cake seem, when the left-overs of that work party were divvied up, my sister accepted it with the attitude that "with so many people in our house, it will eventually get eaten."

Cris laid the cake on the counter with no expectations that anyone would gush over it. In fact no one did, but as I remember it, the house was pretty empty then. My dad was at work, and either my mom and the younger kids were out and about or in their rooms, with another older sister, Cindy, living away from home at the time.

Cris left the cake with a comment that it was excess from the party and that the family was welcome to it, and off she went for a nap. It seemed the kitchen was mine--and too the cake, at the worst possible time of day--me in the throes of my after-school appetite.

But I had just finished something to take the edge off things, and with the humble look of the thing, I regarded it as "filler." A just-as-humble slice would help me call snack-time good, so I thought.

Not to be. The innocent cake's not-so-innocent secret ingredient (sherry wine) injected WOW into my taste buds, and I immediately lopped off another slice. And another. It was crazy tender and flavorful and my control panel went berserk with malfunction. With no one around to raise their eyebrows at me I just kept going--kept going straight into eventual horror at myself and the drastically dwindling circle of bundt.

Too quickly it was over. I didn't eat the whole thing, but I may as well have, for all the good any explaining might have done. In a family of ten, (nine living at home) one didn't just eat almost a whole cake. (Or in ANY family, I am sure.)  I never did anything like that before, and I couldn't even begin to think of how I might regain my standing in our household.

With wheels spinning in my mind as to what I might say, I was unfathomably graced with non-discovery. Cris's nap was not a long one, and when she re-emerged into the kitchen for all she knew other family members had also enjoyed the cake. I didn't say otherwise, except that I did confess "I almost couldn't stop eating the thing, it was so good." She polished off the rest, and before the family starting filing back into the kitchen I discreetly shoved the disposable plate into the garbage. They never missed what they didn't know.

Whew. I was SO grateful not to be caught with my cake-pants down. The feeling of what might have come to pass (for embarrassment) has probably helped me rein in on portion control ever since--but it never stopped me from tracking down the recipe for that cake. I make it every year at the holidays, and I'm happy to say I can take one wedge and call it good for the day. (I'm also happy to be in a place in my life where I feel fine about telling the story!

Orange you glad? (You don't HAVE to eat an orange)

Since when did an orange become a delicacy?

Like you, I was brought up with fruit readily available, cheap enough it never seemed "forbidden." If anything, it quickly became boring and not properly appreciated. (Except for in-season and local--that never seems to get old.)

For many decades fruit has been commonly freighted or trucked across America. We are way past the times when an apple and an orange in a Christmas stocking elicited a thrill the way Laura Ingalls Wilder described for her pioneer Christmases.

I admire my friend Mary, who (in her seventies) still considers an apple or an orange a treat, and chooses either regularly for her evening snack. You should hear her go on about a "Clementine" orange--you would think she's enjoying a See's candy.

Sadly I admit I would any day of the week choose a See's dark chocolate and a cup of coffee over an orange for a treat. I just believe in quality per calorie and that's QUALITY in the eye of THIS beholder.

To this beholder, most transported veggies fare better than fruits. I would also rather have a nice green salad over fruit most any time and I do, even if quite honestly a lettuce leaf is more (for me) a vehicle with which to transport a creamy dressing than a tasty thing in itself.(My dad used to say that the truth hurts, and it does.)

If I don't properly appreciate fruits, I know that many people do. They don't just eat fruit for the health of it, they love it. Fruit is both a staple and a pleasure in their households, not something they can easily imagine life without.

When not on sale, our local Wisconsin markets have priced oranges lately at 1.79 a pound. (Are prices similar nationwide?). The "huge" chain (at time of this writing) doesn't even sell oranges individually, it's a bag of pre-picked or nothing.

Recently I wanted one sizable one for a cake, and at the dollar I paid for it I was happy the recipe called for the juice AND the rind, and I even threw in a little pulp to feel I was getting that whole dollar's worth. The cake would last for days and serve several times over, but what about when people just want to eat the orange? For people with modest incomes, a couple of pieces of fruit per day per family member starts to look like a real luxury. Especially when half the weight of the thing (rind, skin, pits, seeds) goes into the garbage.

Avocados lately here have also been approaching 2.00, and just for one, not one pound.  Once every few weeks a sale brings them down to .99 ea and that's when they sell. The rest of the time they sit and pucker, sit until they're worthless and have to be thrown out. Then a new batch changes them out, and the whole waste thing starts over again.

It seems crazy, and what is this about? No economist am I, but I have always heard that "prices will reflect what the market will bear." We're not talking organic food consumption here, which is so specialized and regulated at least there is some level of understanding about pricing. (But really? I don't know one family, outside of couples only, who can afford to eat largely organic---and there's something wrong with that picture, too.)

Another thing I've always heard is that pricing is of course related to supply and demand. Whatever a shortage is attributed to, if whatever's there is flying off the shelf at high pricing, that price is justified.

I definitely believe that supplies of produce are often affected by climate, but if people can't afford fruit in a good season, what happens then in a poor season?  More good fruit goes unsold, wasted.

I don't get this kind of marketing. One would think history makes a good teacher, but it rarely does. Human nature always seems willing to push the boundaries. Get the most one can while giving the least one can get away with. Risk the bottom falling out or the bubble bursting up top--and most of the while here call it the "American" way of enterprise.

I remember as a young child walking with my cousins alongside the orange groves that bordered my Grandma Rosa's property in Placentia, California. Distinct signs were plentiful in these orchards--warnings that anyone (aside from employees) caught picking an orange would be subject to prosecution with penalty of a $500.00 fine. We assumed this meant it didn't have to be off the tree, off the ground would apply too.

Even that scary penalty didn't make the fruit exciting and a challenge to partake of. That I know of, we cousins never risked those warnings. Why would we? Any one of us could go into our respective kitchens and always find good fruit. Some of us even had orange trees in our backyards.

In the marketplace, the penalty for the consumption of good fruit has evolved into a different kind of punishment. If you don't get much of anything out of something you've paid highly for, you feel taken.  The new "temptation" with this kind of "forbidden fruit" is a strange one. You WANT to resist it--pass it by,
don't pay the price. It isn't about the taste of it anymore, it's about making a statement. If bananas, grown out of this country and imported in, can be the generally most affordable fruit in the produce section, why can't other fruits grown here come close in everyday affordability? Is it really the cost of doing business "here" versus the cost of doing business "there"?

A conspiracy seems to be saying "Let them eat cake....." and maybe we should.