Keeping our cool...

 A couple of weeks ago, not long after we returned from vacation, our refrigerator developed the nasty habit of leaking water on the floor every night while we were sleeping.  We would walk into the kitchen each morning to find a puddle of water, the width of the refrigerator and extending out about four inches from its front.  We would wipe it up - we started to keep an old towel handy for just that purpose - and wonder what the problem was.  Obviously something was wrong with our fridge.  We began to shop for a new one.  We found several that looked pretty good.  

As we were trying to decide which model to buy, my spouse dug out the service manual for our current one, wanting to double check sizes, etc.  We were surprised when we realized that our current fridge is only nine years old.  I've lived in this house for less than three years so I really had no idea about its age.  I knew we hadn't replaced it when we had the kitchen remodeled because it was working just fine, and, since it was black, it matched our other appliances. 

Anyway, when we realized it was only nine years old, we started thinking seriously about having it repaired, rather than replacing it.  The refrigerator repairman came today.  He discovered that we were right in our guess that the water puddle had something to do with the automatic defrosting that modern refrigerators go through every night to prevent frost build up in the freezer.  

It turned out that while we were on our month long vacation, various elements inside the freezer had frozen and not thawed, I don't know why.  But the result was water on the floor instead of contained and evaporated inside the fridge.  

The repairman came today, spent an hour making all necessary repairs, and charged us $175.00.  Soooo much cheaper than a new refrigerator.  

The moral of this story is that you don't always have to buy new.

An Abundance of Cookies

 My west coast brother has informed me that today is "National Sugar Cookie Day."  I didn't know that there was a special day for sugar cookies but they certainly deserve it.  While not as renowned as chocolate chip cookies, they deserve to be celebrated because they do have a deliciousness all their own.

I learned this through a diligent investment of time and energy one summer when I was 12 years old.  A girlfriend, Sandy, who live 'down the road' and I were both in 4H, and we decided to try for a ribbon that year in "demonstrations." I can't remember if that was the actual name of the catagory but the challenge was to demonstrate to the judges some aspect of food preparation.  We decided to bake sugar cookies. 

I suspect that our mothers may have guided this choice because the ingredients were relatively inexpensive.  Except fot the vanilla which my mother bought from the "Jewel T Man."  All summer long we praticed baking sugar cookies.  We would alternated homes.  We each had a ten year old brother, and they were absolutely delighted to test taste our cookies. Over and over again. 

If they had been the judges I think we would have won purple ribbons and gone on to the regional competition.  As it was, we won red ribbons.  Ah well, wisely I think, neither of us went on to become professional bakers.  We did remain friends though, all our lives.

This blog is in memory of my baking buddy Sandy, who died last week.  I hope you're enjoying sugar cookies in heaven.

a blog book??

 You may wonder at this and I'm not quite sure what made me do it, but I have just finished printing out all of the blogs that I wrote during our recent cruise.  The blogs are, of course, all saved on my computer, but e-things have a way of disappearing, or at least becoming 'lost' to me.

Also, the third grader who I tutored for the last two years gave me a lovely journal as a parting gift and I have decided that it will make a very good scrapbook. This is the cover of the journal.

It makes me smile every time I read it, so what better place to preserve my trip memories?  I hope that sometime later this summer I'll be able to share this with my young friend.  He loves maps so I will try to print out a few to include. Scotch tape and scissors, here I come.

it just seems right...

 Today, according to my west coast brother, is "World Chocolate Day." I can certainly understand why this would be a world wide day to celebrate rather than just a national or even international event.  Chocolate is universal after all.  I personally celebrated with an entirely chocolate supper - a chocolate soda made with chocolate ice cream.  Soooo good!

Some weeks ago, my wonder spouse and I decided that ice cream treats (or in his case a yogurt treat) from Zesto's would make an excellent occasional supper.  Especially on days like today whe we had had a fairly substantial lunch.  We feel it is our civic duty to support Zesto's as much as possible during the summer months, since their income is so seasonal.

Evidently there are many other civic minded people out there because the line at the drive through is always quite lengthy, especially around supper time.

I do find it interesting that, after only a chocolate ice cream soda for supper, I don't feel hungry until breakfast.  Evidently chocolate really is a wonder food.  Sweet dreams everyone.

What? Again?

 Well here we are at the beginning of another FIFA soccer game involving the US team.  This one finds the US team in what I expect will be a tough contest with Belgium.  We shall see.  At least my spouse and I will see as we settle into comfortable seats to watch tonight's game.  We have never considered ourselves particularly interested in sports be we are finding soccer oddly interesting, especially when the USA team is involved.  

Personally, I have always enjoyed sports more when I feel strongly on the side of one team.  I was never a cheerleader in highschool but I was part of the Pep Squad.  We would cheer our team on at home games and (after long bus rides) at away games.  These were always basketball games by the way.  We didn't have a football team until my senior year and girls sports, aside from cheer leading, were simply not a thing in our small rural school. 

My brother John (see yesterday's blog) played football his freshman year.  He was 6'6" tall and broad shouldered and the coach was very happy to have him on the team.  However, after one year John decided that football was not for him - too much chance of getting hurt, so he contented himself with being in the band.  He played trombone. 

The coach understood John's decision but complained that he couldn't find anyone to fill John's size 16 shoes.  I guess they were part of the uniform and belonged to the school.  But that's enough about high school sports, I have a soccer game to watch. 

Remembering John

Today would have been my brother John's 79th birthday.  He died in January 2020 of Covid, before we even knew what that was.  He is not to be confused with my west coast brother who is my baby brother.  

My brother John was two and a half years younger than I was and for many of our childhood years we lived in the country and were each others only playmates most days, unless we were in school.  Because I was the oldest I got to write the "scripts" for most of our adventures. It was the Roy Rogers / Dale Evans era, so much of our play involved cowboys.  On his 8th birthday John got his dearest wish, a set of two cap pistols with a belt and holsters. 

Fast forward to high school.  I was the college bound nerd, while John was the popular one, with his friends at least. He got called to the principal's office for one infraction or another at least once a week.  The only time I got called to the office the whole classroom laughed because they we so used to hearing John's name called.  Turned out I had won a scholarship.  

John got married to his first wife for the first time right out of highschool.  He fathered a child, got divorced, got drafted and sent to Viet Nam.  That was a lot of growing up fast. When he came home he remarried his wife and they tried very hard to make a go of it, for their daughter's sake, but some marriages just don't work.  I did get a very dear niece out of it though.

John held many jobs over the years and discovered that he had a real gift for selling cars.  He worked his way up to managing a dealership.

He married again and he and his second wife were married for several years until that marriage also ended, although they stayed friends long after. 

During his ensuing bachelor days, which happened to coincide with my 18 years as a widow, we took a few long driving trips together and had a wonderful time rebuilding our childhood bonds. 

And then (God does work in mysterious ways.) John got involved in leading activities in his church and, with lots of ongoing study, ultimately became a Methodist minister.  He served two churches and was very popular with his parisioners.  Although when I went to his church one Sunday one of his flock, on finding out who I was, told me I had his "deepest sympathy."  John's great personality always came through.

Rest in peace dear brother. Happy birthday. I love you, I miss you and I always will.

The glorious 4th!!!

 Happy Independance Day everyone.  When my west coast brother texted me earlier today, he posed this question. "If, when Yankee Doodle went to town, a-ridin' on a pony, he did indeed stick a feather in his cap and call it macaroni, was he calling the cap, the feather or his pony macaroni? And why would he call any of those things macaroni?"

Of course this made me curious so I did a little research and here's what I found. 

Macaroni archaic definition:

Definition: (noun) a man whose principal interest in life is to be fashionable (archaic)

Example: Sir Edward Malfreney was a perfect macaroni, with sparkling shoe buckles and a powdered wig so high he could hardly walk upright through doorways.

Quote:

“Yankee Doodle went to town,
Riding on a pony,
He stuck a feather in his cap,
And called it macaroni.”

- Revolutionary War era song

As the definition states, a macaroni was a dandy. Rich, young, eighteenth-century Englishmen traveled to Europe and brought back continental fashions, often extreme ones. And they formed their own society, called the Macaroni Club, whose existence was first recorded in 1764. The Oxford English Dictionary suggests that the name of the people came from the name of the club, not the other way around. (And yes, they also brought back continental food, so the name of the club was related to the then “exotic” Italian pasta.)

So back to the holiday, the reference in Yankee Doodle is ironic. Such decadent clothing was both impractical and hard to come by during the War of Independence, and the British were ridiculing colonials for their provincial fashion sense. 

So now you know.  And now that the melody is no doubt firmly set in your mind, feel free to sing, whistle or hum it all day long.