"Nonnie, you broke your rule."

I am an accident going somewhere to happen.  I’ve had four concussions in life.  Makes you wonder how I ever survived to 61.

Have you ever hit the toe of your shoe in just the right way and it sends you flying forward?  I have and more than once.  This time I was in the garage talking with Stan, my youngest brother.  As I started to leave, I managed one of the nasty toe stops that causes you to go forward. 

I was wearing a specifically designed pair of shoes that day, with an upturned toe that somehow was supposed to promote toning.  I was hoping to lose weight by walking and the shoes aiding in my efforts.

As I tripped forward, I thought I could catch myself on the support post in the garage.  Unfortunately, I was not able to stop myself.

I regained conscious finding myself lying, face down on the garage floor.  I tried my best to sit up but was unable to do so without help.

My knee, throbbing like someone had hit it with a sledgehammer, made the effort near impossible.  My forehead must have been a real sight.  I split the skin on the left side from hairline to eyebrow.  Of course, no accident I am involved with would be complete without a concussion. 

Stan aided me in sitting upright.  Then he grabbed tissues off the shelf in the garage where we keep supplies.  He knew I needed ice for my head.  He did not want to leave me, so he got into the garage freezer and put a popsicles on my forehead.  Then he insisted I go to urgent care.  I asked him to just help me upstairs, and let me take a nap.  I hate going anywhere that involves medical attention.

He insisted that I go to urgent care but I continued to insist that I go upstairs and rest.  His final comment, “Either get in the truck, or I will call 911”. 

No way was I going by way of ambulance.  He had to help me to my feet.  That sledgehammer felt like it was still banging my knee, making it difficult to get me up into his truck.

As he drove me to the urgent care facility, he noticed my husband, Michael, pulling into a parking lot.  He followed him into the lot and explained what happened.  Now Michael is following us to the facility.

Did you know that they super glue wounds?  The glue effectively closed the wound, didn’t stop the headache, but at least I was not bleeding all over the place.

My knee was x-rayed, damage to soft tissue only.  That was a blessing.

To this day, I do not know what I hit.  As in my toboggan story, I closed my eyes.  Stan refuses to think back on the event.  Guess I will never know what I hit.  Apparently, it was something solid, possibly the concrete floor.  Your guess is as good as mine is in this case.

Among my young nieces and nephews, I have a rule.  It is a simple rule, “No more boo-boos.”  I guess Nonnie (as my great niece and nephew refer to me) does not follow the rule.  As Grace would say, “Nonnie, you broke your rule.” 
 

 

This is not a good look for anyone. 

Its Time for Pie

It’s time for pie!

Years ago, during my high school days, I took home economics.  I had always loved cooking and baking.  Sewing was not my strong point, and still is not, but I loved working in the kitchen.

Nikki, my sister, has so many abilities but domestic engineer is not at the top of her list.  Nonetheless, as she drew nearer to her wedding date she chose to venture into the kitchen.  She decided to begin her domestic adventure by baking a double-crusted apple pie.

Now I knew my sister had never attempted to bake anything before this, so I asked if she wanted me to help.  Forget that idea.  She said she was very capable of baking a pie without any help from me. 

I left my sister to her own devices.  She peeled her apples added the other ingredients and giving them the proper time to allow all the flavors to mingle as she prepared the crusts.

She rolled out the crusts and cut them to fit the pie dish.  Then she piled her apple mixture into a large mound in the pie shell.  She placed it all in the oven and set the timer.

The house filled with the pleasant aroma of apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg.  I had to admit, it certainly did smell like a wonderful pastry.  I started to believe I was wrong.  My sister had a domestic side to her that I had not seen before.

The timer alerted us to the end of her efforts.  She removed from the oven a large pie piled with the delicious smelling apples.

Nikki was very proud of her efforts and brought the pie to me remaking “See I didn’t need your help”.  Well, I will admit it certainly did smell wonderful.  I just had one question.  “I thought you said you were baking a double crusted pie?”  She said, “I did.”  So I asked the obvious question, “Where is the second crust?”  With a sharp tone, she replied.  “It’s on the bottom, where do you think I would have put it.”  I smiled and said “silly me, I would have put one crust on the bottom and one on the top.”

My response stunned her.  She hadn’t thought about one on top and one on the bottom.  I am not sure where she got her recipe, but either the crust placements were not included in the directions or she missed that detail.

Here we are over four decades later and Nikki still makes apple pies.  She learned from her early lesson, and I must say she makes one heck of a delectable apple pie.  She still mounds the apples high in the pan, but now the second crust is on top, and yes, her crusts are wonderfully flaky too.  Now at family gatherings she proudly brings her apple pies.

Last year when I told her I added one of her stories to my blog, she asked which one.  I told her it was the seven red dresses story.  She laughed and said I thought you would write the double-crusted pie story.  I laughed and said I hadn’t considered that story since I would not want to embarrass her by putting it out there on the Internet for all to read.  She said “Why not?  I tell everyone my double crusted pie story.”

I am telling you this so that you know I would never write a story where someone could be hurt.  However, Nikki takes the story as a fond memory of our early years. 

As for me, I just wonder where the saying “easy as pie” started. 

Jan

 

Toboggan vehicle of danger!

I am not an adventurous person.  My courageous spirit resides in my writings and reading, definitely not personal experience.  The people who know me understand this story is way out of character for me to be so daring.

It was January 1976.  Wheeling had enjoyed a snowfall and Michael, my husband of three years, and his brother Kevin, decided we should go out with a toboggan that night to a local park with a particular hill famous for snow activity.  Kevin would bring his girlfriend.

Now the boys had used a toboggan before.  I was use to the red rider sled, and the hill I was accustomed to was about four feet in height.  It was actually the small mound from the railroad track down to our back yard.  Dad would never allow us on the track so  we only ventured to the rise that held the track

Michael and Kevin worked all day to ready the toboggan.  It was not defective; they were just busy greasing the sled to reach a maximum speed.  If you’ve seen the movie A Christmas Vacation, where Clark greases the disk sled, then you know what the guys were trying to accomplish.

I need to return to the story. 

We had dinner with Michael’s parents and then the four of us headed for the park.  Michael would be in the front position, on the toboggan, then me, then Kevin’s girlfriend and at the back sat Kevin.   Of course, since I was not use to this particular implement used for sledding, I was unaware that the front man locks into position with his legs crossed under the curl of the toboggan.  Apparently, the guys thought ahead.  It was going to be dark.  So they brought along a flashlight to use as a headlight.  Hmmm, bright idea.  Don’t you think?

We were next in line for our downhill run when I, in the second position, buried my head into Michael’s back and prayed.  I don’t mind telling you I was terrified.  We pushed off and started downhill.  Moments into the ride, I could feel Michael trying to throw me with his shoulder.  Then Kevin was trying to pull me off from the back.  Okay, they have definitely planned to terrify me. 

The truth was more terrifying.  Kevin and his girlfriend could see that we were in trouble and headed into the trees.  I just kept holding on tight, and could not see what was ahead of us.  Result; Kevin and his girlfriend rolled off the toboggan while Michael, locked in place, and I remained on the sled. 

One moment we were flying on the snow, the next moment I woke to find Kevin, who was a paramedic, checking me for broken bones.  He told me, as he set me up, I would see a lot of blood, but Michael was okay.

Kevin gently helped me sit up and I asked what happened.  He explained that we hit a tree.  All I saw was a bush.  I asked if that is what we hit he said no and pointed downhill about 15 feet.  “That is what you hit.”  It was a large tree and we didn’t even disturb the snow on its branches.  As I came to an upright position, I saw Michael.  The skin on the right side of his face was scrapped away, and he was trying to inhale.  He sounded horrible and I thought he was dying.

Stunned by the impact, I had no idea what happened, but it appeared our short married life was about to be over. It was terrifying to think I was part of his death.  However, Kevin reassured me that he was going to be just fine.

He was right, and soon some others came to our aid.  People helped him onto what was left of the toboggan, and transported him back up the hill. At the top of the hill, Michael was back to his regular self; joking, as people asked what they could get for him, he would tell them a beer.  I think he was trying to keep me calm as we waited for the ambulance. 

Kevin called his parents and told them what happened and that Michael was going to the hospital.  As we arrived at the hospital, Mom and Dad O’Kane were waiting for us.  Mom immediately grabbed Michael’s arm and said “Your face!  Your face!”  Michael retorted with “My arm!  My arm”!

On his way to x-ray Michael complained of his toe.  After x-rays, he asked if his arm was broken.  The technician said she could not tell him about his arm, only a doctor could.  However, his toe was fine!  The attending physician gave Michael something for the pain and said to come back the next morning so his arm could be set and cast.

Now you understand why I am not the adventurous type.  This story should cement the reason to any one asking.

 

Michael after the accident, oh yes, that is me in my skinny days.

 

 

Christmas Anticipation!
 

I am sure we all have stories of our youth concerning the anticipation of Christmas. 

I remember my sister and me trying to hide under an end table in our living room so we could see Santa.  Of course, Mom came and told us Santa knew we were still awake and was not coming until we were asleep in our own beds.  Drat, we thought we had it figured out; but moms know their kids best.  Remembering our attempt to see Santa is probably why I enjoy the commercial with the children all sitting on the couch with their headlights illuminating the fireplace.  Did we not all want to catch Santa in the act?

The most exciting stories of anticipation and suspense come from my husband Michael.  His family had a wonderful tradition that made the expectancy almost too much to tolerate.

Two weeks before Christmas, Michael’s parents would close off their living room.  The house had wonderful sliding pocket doors separating the dining room from the living room, making it easy for them to block the access from the dining room.  The living room also had a glass panel door with a key lock separating it from the hall access.  The glass pane was covered on the inside to hide all the activity going on behind.

To hear my husband talk of the expectation it was almost more than a child could endure.  The days would slowly tick by as the boys lay on the floor trying to see under the door.  Who was in the room?  What were they doing?  Was it Santa?  Was it his helping elves?

Joey, Michael, and Kevin had a truly exciting Christmas morning.  Finally, the three boys would come down the steps, still in their PJs to find the hall door slightly ajar showing ever-changing reflections from the fully lit Christmas tree just beyond their vision.  The boys would enter the living room to see all the gifts displayed not wrapped.  It was like walking into a wonderland of toys.  Being boys, they would find such delights as forts with soldiers assembled and ready for enjoyment, or a farmland fully displayed.  On one Christmas morning, it took Kevin nearly 15 minutes to spot the 10-speed Schwinn bike behind the door the boys opened.

Marguerite, Michael’s mother was a master at decorating and displaying.  So naturally she would have the Nativity scene displayed, and the stockings were there filled with even more fascinating wonders.  She would also make exhibits of winter scenes.  Like ice skating figurines on a mirror with cotton laid out to look like snow on the hillsides around a frozen pond. 

I remember one display she gave me.  She took a large round inflated balloon and worked her magic.  She soaked string in a sugar and water solution, and then she would wrap the coated string around and around the balloon until it took on the appearance of a white globe of lattice string.  Once it was dry, she would pop the balloon, allowing the string to hold the form.  Michael’s dad then cut a circle entrance to the sphere and flattened one side to stop the sphere from rolling.  Again using cotton and miniature figurines Marguerite would build a display of a town square complete with a Christmas tree.  It was a delight and so fascinating.

Her cost effective displays added to the wonder of Christmas.  Not to mention the 144 gross of cookies she baked.  Yes, that is 144 X 144….do the math.  She would seal them in decorative tins with tape to deter the boys from getting into the cookies.  This world have worked if Michael and Kevin had not gone out and purchased their own roll of tape.

Michael and his brothers must have enjoyed those Christmases of their youth.  I know that I love hearing the stories of how their parents kept the wonder and spirit of Christmas for everyone to enjoy.

I hope the parents of today are creating such magnificent memories for their children.  It doesn’t have to cost a lot.  It just needs to be from the heart.

Merry Christmas to all and God Bless!

Jan

 

My Turkey Exploded!

Do you like the Thanksgiving celebration?  It is one of my favorite meals.  I love the dark meat, dressing, and gravy.  OOPS, almost forgot the cranberries.  I am not so much into the side dishes.

I have been cooking Thanksgiving dinner for a long time.  I remember the first time I made the dinner for Michael’s family.  We had not yet celebrated our first anniversary so I guess that is why my cooking may have surprised my beloved father-in-law.

I learned how to make the dressing from my Mom’s mom.  Her stuffing was more like a savory bread pudding.  Sunday dinners at her home always had the same things, chicken, mashed potatoes, noodles, and dressing I always looked forward to the dressing.

My first time cooking Thanksgiving dinner was rather exciting for me.  I did not do the triple starch, only the mashed potatoes and my favorite the dressing.  I used about six loaves of bread along with 14 eggs.  Yes, you read that correctly, 14 eggs.  I love sage, so my dressing had a green tint to it as well as being moist.  The turkeys we served were always 25 pounds plus.  For the cooking, I believed in tightly crimping aluminum foil around the roaster to keep the turkey moist and it cooks evenly and in less time. 

Michael and his dad pulled the roaster from the oven, and slowly carefully, peeled back the foil to lift the turkey out to carve.  To their surprise, the turkey had self-carved compliments of the egg rich dressing stuffed into the bird.  The legs had separated from the carcass and the breast had fallen off the bone.  Lifting it out of the roaster was the biggest problem of the day.  My turkey exploded!  However, it remained very moist since the foil sealed in all the liquids.  Dad O’Kane had never seen such a thing before, and to my delight, he enjoyed the dressing. 

As time went on, we enjoyed cooking the holiday meals and tried some of the strangest things in our cooking methods.  One year Michael read a recipe in a magazine that deboned the turkey before cooking it.  He carefully pulled the skin back, and carved the breast meat off the bone and removed the breastbone.  Then he stuffed layers of the sliced breast meat and dressing to fill the cavity.  To finish, he delicately laid the skin back over the redesigned main course, and stitched the skin back in place.  This certainly made for easy carving at the table and interesting conversations for the family. 

One year we did the side dishes the day before.  I had two very large electric roasters, which were set up as a steaming station.  The side dishes were ready when the bird was ready.  I guess, as we got older we developed stress saving methods.

Michael, who happens to make wonderful bread, now bakes about six loaves of sage bread for the dressing.  We control the ingredients in an effort to avoid preservatives and unnecessary fats.  Besides, it makes the house smell so luscious.    

Today, I still have the same results; my turkeys carve themselves.  Oh yes, our birds are still 25 pounds plus.  What do we do with all the leftovers?  The answer is simple; club sandwiches on Friday, turkey salad on Saturday, and the rest, “turkey pot pies” putting all the left over meat, gravy, and veggies, in frozen pie shells for quick meals down the road. 

Thanksgiving is a wonderful opportunity for us to express the many reasons why we give thanks.  We have love, family, friends, and freedom.  Remembering, the freedom of religion was a major reasons the pilgrims sought refuge in this land.  We should remember our troops fighting so that all of our freedoms remain.  So in this season of gratitude, let us remember our troops, home and abroad, as they stand ready to defend our land and liberties.

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

Jan

 

Halloween what a great holiday!

Many say it is their favorite holiday.  What better time to dress up and be someone or something you are not.

Now this no doubt will give away my age; but back in the day, we went trick or treating for three nights.  We had our pillowcases ready and we went as a group.  My sister and I went with our cousins.

In our little town there were two houses you had to go to as quickly as your legs could carry you.  One house gave out caramel apples while the second house a good distance away gave out cinnamon apples.  It was a duty to ourselves to get to those houses first, and then retrace our steps to the other house after we collected our apples.  The first night was all about the houses east of our house.

At the end of the first night, we would return home, and dump out our haul and sort it on the table.  We put the candy we wanted to share with the family in one bowl, and candy that did not impress  put into the distribution bowl for the following night’s callers.

We did not get to go to the “apple” houses the following night.  With that end of town completed, we would move from out house to the west end. 

It was a fun time of year.  People would try to guess who you were as you approached their houses.  The gas station next to us would allow us to get something from their candy display, as did my uncle in his bar.  The only bar in town we would venture into since it was family owned.

Sometimes we would change costumes over the three nights.  The rest of the ritual was pretty much the same.  After the allotted time we would return home and again sort the candy.

By the third night, we were running a bit tired.  However, there were treats to be had and we needed to collect our morsels.  We knew that by the third night we would be receiving someone else’s unwanted candies.  We all knew by the third day we would be collecting someone else’s hand offs.  But there was the possibility that one person’s dislike was another’s favorite.

I remember one Halloween when my sister and I both were down with one of those childhood things, chicken pox or the measles.  Our cousins stopped at the house to collect their treats, and to show us their costumes.  No fair!  We couldn’t go out with them.

Things were different back then.  As far as we knew cars did not take kids to the different neighborhoods.  Maybe it was just that our little town was not that impressive.  So glad too, or the “apple” houses would have been invaded before we could get to our treats.  No free x-rays offered by the local hospital for pins or needles, and  we were not destructive in our outings. 

Rarely did we encounter a house that did not participate.  We even had a few we were afraid to go to the door.  I would assume every child has had creepy feeling about a house. 

Today’s Halloweens are different, and in some cases, nonexistent.  Some communities prefer to do parties instead.  Others take their children to the various malls where the stores hand out treats and parents can be with their children.

All this being said, I think fondly on those memories of our candy collecting. I can’t pass a candied apple without remembering our mad dashes to the two special houses.

I think I will close here and go dip some apples, isn’t Fall great!

Trick or Treat!

 

Jan

 

Sisters

Here we go again, more family to introduce.  This time, I would like you all to meet my older sister, Nikki.  My sister happens to be a fashionable person.  You know the type; she can wear blue jeans and a t-shirt and look great.  Me….not so much!

Nikki has her favorite colors, although she looks good in just about any color.  Me….not so much!  I wear a lot of black and white, or navy and white.  Nikki does too.  Again, she looks great.  Me…..not so much!

Now, I don’t say these things because she always impressing me.  Big sisters often have their younger sisters look to them in awe.  Well, at least I did and still do.

Nikki could sing, and boy, could she dance…and still can.  Me….not so much.  I cannot keep a beat in my head so that ruins any chances of being able to dance.  Dancing for me is a spectator sport.  As for singing, just be glad you are not sitting near me in church.

I often think of the scene in the movie White Christmas where Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen do that song Sisters.  Since I don’t sing or dance we will never be doing that scene for anyone.  Nikki could pull off her side.  Me….not so much!

Nikki has never been one to have long conversations, and we have different interest.  I am the quiet sit in the corner and read type so unless she wants a book report from me we just talk family. 

I am sure you all are aware that family is extremely important to me.  We chat and I catch up on all sorts of happenings with Nikki, her husband, and her daughter and her family.  Then we talk about anything that is happening in our brother’s lives.  Well, if we have heard from them recently.

After we talk about each other, then we check on any news from our cousins.  Unfortunately, I don’t get to see my cousins very often living in Durham, almost “500 miles away from home”.  Hey, that sounds like a song I remember.

Okay, now that you know her a bit and about our relationship, I can tell you a story.  It’s her time to be in my blog instead of her suggesting what stories I should tell of other family members.

If you have kept up with my blogs, you know the person my Dad was during his life.  Dad had a soft spot for sales.  If he could find a good one, he would buy it, needed or not.  Mom was somewhat flabbergasted with the sale items he would find.  She told him, just because it is on sale, doesn’t make it a bargain.  If you don’t use the item, it is not a good sale.

Nikki was on the receiving end of one of Dad’s sale finds.  As a little girl, she liked the color red.  Well, Dad knew she loved the color red and he happened to come across a sale of dresses in her size.  Therefore, he bought her seven red dresses.  He bought every dress in her size that was in red.  There were some variations in style, but they were all red.

Who buys seven red dresses in the same size for a growing child?  I still wonder if Nikki ever had the chance to wear all seven before outgrowing the size.  We went to a parochial school, so that meant uniforms, no chance there to wear her newly acquired wardrobe.

To this day, this is one of our family gathering stories.  Of course, Nikki and I are the only ones who actually experienced this particular event.  We are the oldest of the siblings.  I still have an inward giggle when I see her in anything red.  I can’t help but think back to the seven red dresses.

I am not sure how she will appreciate me sharing this with you; but I figured since she likes to give me suggestions on stories for this blog, I thought it only fair that I share one about her.  I love it!  Nikki….probably not so much!