Spring Sensitive

In the past couple weeks, 4 people have claimed that we're "Not going to have a spring this year." The first time I heard it, I smiled. The second time, no smile. The third time I felt resentful. The fourth time I argued, "We will have spring. It may be a wintry spring but there must be a spring between winter and summer." She smiled and said, "No, we're going right from winter into summer - no spring." This crazy talk is making me mad. Spring is my favorite season. We cannot skip any season, least of all my favorite season. Why does spring get no respect? Is spring the Rodney Dangerfield of seasons? I have never heard anyone talk that way about summer. "Oh, we're not having a summer this year, we're going right from spring to fall." Same thing for winter - no one in Minnesota discounts winter. Even fall gets more respect that spring. I look outside right now and it is snowing inches and inches. The snow is blowing down, right, left and even up - it's practically a blizzard. Even I have to admit it looks a lot like winter out there. Nevertheless, it is spring. This snow won't cover my driveway for weeks. This snow will soon be history. I think the problem is that I have not enjoyed winter this year. January and February and March have seemed so long. I believe my time in Africa thinned my blood. My office at work has been unusually cold. I had to wear long underwear for 6 weeks steady. So, I am insisting, despite the 7 inches of snow out there, it is spring.

It's Not Christmas but

It's not Christmas but my Christmas cactus is blooming. This cactus of an offshoot of the original cactus that I still have downstairs in a Red Wing Crock - the one my Grandparents helped me plant. And my Grandmother had hers for 50 years. This cactus has bloomed anywhere from Thanksgiving to Easter. And when it blooms I can feel the loving presence of my Grandmother in the house.

Pasty Pie

Here is my recipe for pasty pie, adapted from a recipe given to me by my MIL, Dorothy, who always said the secret to a good pasty pie is to cut the cubes all the same size.

Ingredients:

one two-layer pie crust

1 12 ounce package of Veggie breakfast patties, warmed and cubed

3 cups of cubed raw, peeled potatoes

1 1/2 cup of cubed, raw carrots

1/2 cup of diced onion

1 cup cubed, raw rutabaga (optional)

3 TB butter

salt and pepper to taste

Slap one pie crust in the pie plate. Mix the patties, potatoes, onions, carrots and rutabagas in a bowl. Move the mixture into the pie plate. Top with slices of butter. Add salt and pepper to taste. Slap the other crust on top and seal the edges together with a fork. Cut a cute design in the crust to vent the steam. Bake at 350 degrees for one hour.

You carnivores can substitute a pound or a pound and a half of flank steak for the veggie patties.

Enjoy!

Creek or Creek?

The man who teaches my Master Naturalist class is also the Parks Supervisor in my city. I asked him what the name of the creek is that runs near my house. He said the official name is Ditch 66 but he thinks Elmcrest Creek sounds better. He says creek with an I sound, not the long E sound. I think creek with an I sound rings more natural to the ear but Offspring #2 thinks it sounds like an Arkansonian. In any case, Ditch 66 is not, in my opinion, that pretty of a name for such a nice creek. The kids played in that creek when they were young. I used to take Ruby, my golden retriever, down there to let her off the leash and play in the water. As I went by on my many walks around the neighborhood I would admire that creek and pay attention to how the water level changed. One of my neighbors had constructed a garden next the creek with yellow flowers blooming all summer. She has a garden bench down there and some statues - it's absolutely gorgeous. I'm not sure where Ditch 66 starts but it flows along the south side of Elmcrest Park, under Hwy. 47 just north of the Boy Scout Camp, turns north again, flows under 160th heading northeast under Dysprosium and and then east until it joins the Rum between the Scout Camp and the doctor's house. I can see why they call it a ditch. Along Elmcrest Park the creek is artifically straight. No doubt the farmer who owned that land moved the creek to the edge of the property so he or she could get a few more rows of corn in. Offspring #2 disagrees. She thinks Ditch 66 has a nice ring to it. She says she can imagine an entire fashion line named Ditch 66. Ditch 66 jeans, Ditch 66 body spray, and Ditch 66 underwear.

Upset

In the past I would beat offspring #2 in Scrabble nearly all the time. But I was nice about it and we both enjoyed it. Then in the past couple years, we were about evenly skilled in Scrabble. But as was pounded into me in such a harsh fashion Tuesday night, I now suck at Scrabble compared to her. I lost by not 10, not 50, not 75, not even 100, but a miserable 129 points. Ouch, that hurt. I was humbled at Scrabble - scrumbled. Her best word was gazing (on a double word score, no less). But you gotta watch her because she tried to put gazingly and that was so not a word. She tried to put cess. I tell her it isn't a word. She says it is too, because there are pools of cess - cesspool. I challenge her. Cess in an Irish word, in the dictionary, and not capitalized that is short for success. How fitting. She's ruthless. She's rather ruin a spot for me than gain a few points. She's out to win. I comment on her Scrabbleocity (ferocity at winning Scrabble games) and question whether her attendance at St. Um Yah Yah, the private liberal arts college in Northfield, has improved her Scrabbleness. She says yes, because with her lap top and high speed Internet, she can play Scrabble on line in her dorm room. I am not daunted. My own Scrabbleocity will increase as I learn from my future mistakes.

Nightmare on 164th Lane Or You Don't Know What You've Got Till It's Gone

A nightmare woke me up before the sun rise this morning. I paid to have an outdoor swimming pool installed in my backyard. I came home to see that the contractors had removed the entire natural area on the northeast corner of my lot and butchered all the trees, including my favorite tree on my lot, the huge red oak. I have many trees in that corner and they were all felled and loaded up on a flatbed truck. The contractors had installed sod which I was expected to mow and to water. I was so upset. I got out of bed to look out my window to see if this disaster was true. It was too dark to see anything. Eventually my reasoning kicked in and I thought this was too bizarre to have really happened. I had never desired an in-ground swimming pool in the back yard anyway. I went back to sleep. But when I left for work, I looked to make sure those trees were still there. I believe there is a message in this dream for me. I had been toying with the idea of moving to a smaller place. I have a long driveway that needs shoveling or plowing and a big yard to mow. Sometimes it seems like too much for me. I question why I need such a large house and lot for one person. Why heat a huge house for myself? Shouldn't I reduce my carbon imprint on this earth by finding a smaller place closer to public transportation? I think the message in this dream is that if I get upset about my trees being felled in a dream, I'm not ready to give up this real estate yet.

When The Red Red Robin Goes Bob Bob Bobbing Along

A sign of spring was seen this morning. A tired, groggy and sluggish American robin, lacking in street safety skills, was seen and swerved around on my street this morning. I figure it was exhausted from migrating from Mexico, Florida, Texas or Louisiana. I read they can fly 200 miles in a day at a flight speed of 20-30 miles per hour. Their eggs are a strange color. Usually ground dwelling birds have camouflage colored eggs and cavity dwelling birds have white eggs. We Americans can only describe the color as robins egg blue. In Africa, that color would be called vervet monkey teste blue. In any case, what a welcome sight to my winter weary eyes.