Petrified Pea Soup

A couple of days ago my mom called me to talk for awhile. We ended up talking for a couple of hours and it was wonderful to catch up on the news from home, and laugh and cry together. It's always been very easy for me to talk to my mom about pretty much anything. Sometimes she laughs with me, sometimes she cries with me, sometimes she scolds me a little, sometimes she praises me glowingly, but always, she tells me how much she loves me and how she's missed me over the years. It's been over thirty-seven years since I left home for college and although we've visited back and forth many times, it's still been a long distance relationship. I've truly missed my mom and dad during those years and only now that I have three of my five kids living out of state do I truly understand how much they've missed me and my family. Like I've said in previous posts, I loving going to visit my family members or having them come to visit me but no matter where I am, I'm missing someone else!
Anyway, just as we were wrapping up our conversation my mom said, "Let me tell you a quick story before we say good-bye." And then she told me about her ill-fated attempt to make some Quebec style split pea soup. She found the recipe in a magazine while she was waiting her turn at a doctor's office. By the time she finished her "split pea disaster story" I was laughing so hard that I was crying. I could picture the whole debacle. Like a scene out of "I Love Lucy". My mom is a wonderful cook (even though she doesn't think so anymore) and has made hundreds of pots of great soup, and other things over the years. I think the problem here is that the split peas she was using had been part of her food storage for way too many years and were truly petrified. I asked her to send me the recipe and to write down the story, which she did and I am now going to post. So this one's for you, Mom. You are my guest writer today. Thanks for giving me a much needed belly laugh. The following arrived in an email today:

Dear Sandra,
Here is the "QUEBEC STYLE PEA SOUP" Recipe.

1 ham hock

8 cups water

2 carrots

2 ribs celery

1 onion (diced)

2 cloves of garlic (minced)

1 3/4 cups dried yellow split peas (MAKE SURE THEY HAVEN'T BEEN IN YOUR FOOD STORAGE FOR 10 YEARS LIKE MINE)

2 Bay Leaves

1 tsp dried Savory or Thyme

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon pepper

Combine 8 cups water and ham hock and split peas and seasonings and boil for 1 1/2 to 2 hours (Maybe longer)

Cook onions, celery and garlic in 2 tsps of butter until soft and golden

Add all the vegetables to the cooked split peas during the last 3/4 of an hour of the cooking time.

It looks like a simple recipe but don't let it fool you. IT IS A KILLER.

Here's what happened to me: I sent your dad to the store to get me a ham hock. He came back with pork hocks so I used them.I boiled them for an hour and then I put the split peas in with the hocks. I boiled them and boiled them and the peas stayed hard. Now I really should have seen the warning sign that those peas were not going to soften up. However, being an eternal optimist, I carefully removed the port hocks (disgusting things to look at especially as I noticed a cluster of pig bristles still on the skin of one, and being raised on a farm, I know where their feet had been!) I skinned the hocks and cut the meat into bite size pieces and threw them back in with the peas. An hour later the peas still weren't done so I had to pick out all the meat pieces because the decision was made to puree the soup and then put the meat back in. BIG MISTAKE. All the soup wouldn't go in the blender at once SO I put SOME of the hot soup in the blender (before it cooled off . . . rookie mistake), I turned on the blender and the lid blew off the blender and split peas flew EVERYWHERE. Now the peas that wouldn't fit in the blender I had left on the stove with the burner still on. Needless to say they had burned to the bottom of the pan, which took some doing (two days and lots of elbow grease) to get that pan clean. Long story shortened: I spent the next two hours washing that puree from every imaginable crevice in the kitchen and the stove! The soup went in the slop bucket (note - my parents were friends of the earth and environmentalists long before it became trendy. The "slop bucket" mom refers to is an old plastic ice cream bucket into which they throw all of their peelings, leftovers and kitchen scraps. They used to compost it but the coyotes were wandering out of the rain forest and into the yard to feast on the compost pile so now they have curbside organic recycling pick-up). We tried to eat some of it but it all ended up in the slop bucket. I was so mad I couldn't even talk. Just went to bed and slept and was just happy I didn't have nightmares. I never want to to even hear about Pea Soup for the rest of my life. Love you, mom

Thanks for being my guest writer today, Mom. Feel free to contribute any time! Til next time.

How's the weather in Colorado?

If Erin was writing this post (which she has emphatically refused to do even though it has been, like 8 MONTHS) she would write something like this:

Dear Weatherman,

Chance of rain? Seriously? Based on your weather forecast I DIDN'T take the garbage to the curb last night when the driveway was perfectly dry and clear. Thanks, MORON!

Poisonously yours, Erin

Erin didn't find anything REMOTELY funny about this entire thing: not the unexpected snow, not the fact that she had to drag a fully loaded garbage can through eight inches of said snow, not the fact that there was a 90 minute delay for school to start(meaning that she drove Landon to Kindergarten for, like, 4 and a 1/2 minutes of class time), and especially not that I found the whole thing to be HILARIOUS, particularly Erin's constant muttering and spewing venom about the weatherman! Hilarious enough, in fact to write a post that she utterly refused to do!

Just sayin'. Til next time.

Seven great reasons to visit Colorado

Beautiful Abbie. I can't believe that my oldest grandchild is now nine years old. These photos were taken the day after Brent and I arrived in Colorado. Brent, Steve and Kalli took Abbie and Landon skiing for the day. Unfortunately, Brent left the camera in the car so the photo below is the only one from the ski day.I've been in Colorado for the past week, visiting with Mike, Erin, Abbie, Landon and Noah and Steve and Kalli. They are my seven great reasons to visit Colorado! Brent and I were here together for the first five days, but Brent had to head home yesterday. I'll be here for another few days. Landon, the monkey, on the monkey bars! There's nothing this boy can't climb on, over or under!I'm not sure when Brent snapped this photo, but it pretty much sums up how I feel about being with my kids and grandkids. Papa with Noah and Abbie. Abbie is playing with my ipod and Noah is playing with Brent's ipad. Angry Birds, anyone?This is such a familiar sight to me . . . Landon, on his knees on the coffe table playing with his favorite toys. This boy has such an imagination. Here, he and his dad are putting together his new Ninjago lego set.An afternoon at the Denver aquarium with Uncle Steve and Aunt Kalli. I love aquariums.Abbie managed to get to the aquarium without a coat (she left her coat at the birthday party her dad picked her up from, enroute to the aquarium) so she's wearing MY jacket. Kind of going for the bag lady look. If you look closely you'll see three different kinds of rock fish in this salt water tank. So odd looking. I guess they think the same thing about me.A "friendly" game of hearts. Hale, Hale the gang's all here! When I asked them to pose for a photo, I guess Steve took me VERY seriously. Sit down, Adonis.Papa with his boys, waiting to eat out at the Black-Eyed Pea restaurant. This was the night before Brent had to fly back to Utah.We whipped up a batch of primo sugar cookies and frosted them with cream cheese frosting. Mmmm. Gotta love sugar cookies with frosting and sprinkles! Who doesn't love sprinkles?Noah is excited to try the cookies. His amazing blue eyes are fairly sparkling with anticipation!Mike is multi-tasking here. He's mixing family scripture study with cookie decorating. A dad's gotta do what a dad's gotta do.Oh yeah . . . that's what I'm talkin' about.Landon skipped the cookie and ate his frosting straight. Maybe you're on to something, here, Landon! Til next time.

Exorcising the February from my soul

FEBRUARY . . . UGH! The above photo about sums up how I've been feeling. Pathetic, eh?
These two photos are here to illustrate the story I've written below. If I had any idea how to place the photos in the exact spot of the story that they refer to, I would do so!

I've sat down at this computer several times with the intention of posting something . . . anything! I even spent an hour or so composing a post that I'd titled "The Winds of Change". It spoke of all the sad and difficult changes that have taken place in my family and extended family in the past few weeks . . . and how the wind blew, whistled and roared through all of those changes . . . the Centerville shingle-ripping winds, the biting cold Atlanta winds and the Chinook winds of southern Alberta. I looked back over what I had written and decided that it sounded like something out of a Hemingway novel. Melancholy . . . lots of angst. And that just wouldn't do. Just because I have February in my soul doesn't mean that I have to inflict it on whoever stumbles onto my blog. People need to laugh in February. I need to laugh in February. So, I'll work on exorcising the February out of my soul on my own time and share a "life with Brent Hale" story with you.

When Brent sets his mind to a project, he generally likes to just hit it hard (sometimes literally) and get it done. If there's no one around to help him, he'll just proceed to do super human things on his own. For instance, I've seen him haul two heavy water heater tanks downstairs and install them on his own. I've also seen him put an entire hot tub up on jacks to do some repairs underneath. Those of you who know him, realize that he does this with a 5' 6" and, maybe, 140 lb. frame.
About ten years ago, not long after we'd moved into our present home, we were invited by our friends, the Mays, to spend some time up at their cabin near Heber City during UEA week-end. We owned a couple of ATV's at the time (we now have one . . . please refer to my blog post from October 2010) and we decided we would haul them to the cabin. I was in charge of a few of the meals for the week-end so I pulled some food together from my kitchen and then headed down to our garden boxes, on the south side of our home, to pick some late season tomatoes and peppers. Brent was busying himself pulling together our "gear" (a term that I don't believe I had used in my entire life until I married my mountain man) and hauling it out of the lower garage on the north side of our home. I don't think I was in the garden for more than five or ten minutes. When I walked into my house (from the back) with my harvest of early fall produce, I met Brent coming from the front of the house. He was obviously VERY upset and had that look on his face that always filled me with a feeling of dread. He said (loudly) "Didn't you hear me calling for you?! Where have you been?" to which I replied "Well, no, I didn't hear you calling. I've been over in the garden picking tomatoes. " Then, full well knowing the answer, I asked "Is something wrong?" "YES!" he replied, "I just wrecked my car!"

Sandra : Wrecked your car? You didn't go anywhere. How did you wreck your car?

Brent: Just come out here and look.

I walked out front with him and he stood on the front porch, looking at his feet and pointing across the street. I couldn't believe my eyes. His green Explorer was plowed headlong into a backhoe that was parked across the street. It was pretty crumpled up in front and the backhoe was looking pretty afflicted also. (The backhoe was parked there because our neighbors to the south were still in the process of building their home). Once again I asked Brent how he'd managed to run his green Explorer into the backhoe.

Brent: (petulantly) That's not all . . . there's more.

Sandra: Whaddaya mean there's more? An Explorer plowed into a backhoe isn't enough?

Brent: (Not patiently) Come over here and look at this.

I obediently followed Brent to the north side of our property where the main driveway overlooks the driveway that slopes down to our lower garage. It also overlooks our neighbor's backyard which, at the time, had a new turtle turf lawn which was growing from seed. It's called turtle turf because it grows EXCEEDINGLY slowly. Turtle turf has to be babied along when it's first planted i.e. it has to be HAND weeded when it's in the establishment phase. This I know because WE ALSO had made the mistake of planting turtle turf. Anyway, in the middle of the Smoot's new turtle turf lawn was our big ATV trailer (with both ATV's loaded on it). The grass between the edge of the driveway, all the way to the trailer had large clods pulled out at regular intervals. The tongue of the trailer was pointed in our direction.

Sandra: How in the world did you do THAT?

Brent: (Long sigh) I needed to hook the trailer up to my Explorer and I couldn't find you to help me (subtle communication here that this whole fiasco was probably MY fault) so I did it myself (please refer to paragraph two). I had the trailer parked on the driveway (the sloped one) with wood blocks behind the rear wheels to keep it from rolling back. I backed the Explorer down the driveway to hitch up the trailer. I managed to get the trailer tongue over the hitch but I couldn't get it to drop all the way in place because of the slope of the driveway (or something like that). I figured if I pulled forward just a little that it would drop down tight and I could lock it. So I did (pull forward just a little) but instead of dropping in place, the whole trailer tongue popped up in the air and the trailer started rolling backwards. I was feeling pretty relieved that I'd put those wooden blocks behind the wheels, until I saw the trailer go "bump bump" over the blocks and keep on rolling (towards our boat which was parked at the bottom of the sloped driveway). PANIC!!!

Now I'd like to mention, before I go on with this story, that if I HAD been there, Brent probably would have been yelling at me to throw my body between the boat and the trailer (medical bills cheaper than a new boat?) in the same fashion that, in a moment of panic in past instances, he had yelled at me to throw my body between the boat and the dock or the boat and the houseboat or whatever the "fiasco of the day" called for. Just sayin'. Moving along . . .

Brent: The trailer was heading straight for the boat so, in one herculean move (please refer again to paragraph two), I opened the door to the car, threw the Explorer into park (or not), ran back to the rolling trailer and CHICKEN KICKED (think Karate Kid) the tongue of the trailer to change it's course of direction. Which it did. It rolled across the Smoot's new grass with the tongue bobbing up and down and grabbing huge clods of the tender turtle turf each time it descended. It finally came to rest in the middle of the lawn. With my heart pounding out of my chest I took stock of the situation. The trailer had missed the boat and the big basket ball standard between our place and the Smoot's place. No small children had been run over and other than the grass, which I would offer to reseed, no serious harm had been done. I was walking back up the driveway, congratulating myself on saving the day with my quick thinking, when I realized that the Explorer was gone. When I crested the top of the drive-way, there it was plowed into the backhoe. I guess I didn't actually move it out of "drive"(Brent has always been an amazingly deductive thinker).

We stood together, looking out over the destruction that had all happened in, probably, less than two minutes. All of his bark gone, Brent was looking clearly defeated and I was working REALLY hard to stifle a serious bout of laughter! He lamented, "I'm starting to get really worried about myself as I'm getting older, honey. It seems like this kind of stuff is happening a lot, lately". I replied (in a not- well-thought-out attempt to comfort him) , "Oh honey. This isn't about getting older . . . you've been doing stupid stuff like this ever since I've known you". Okay, maybe not so sensitive but I did get a little grin out of him!

It, of course, fell to me to call our always helpful insurance agent (I'm serious about this. Ty Whelan has been VERY helpful to us through all of our property damage fiascoes over the years) and report this unfortunate incident. Back in those days, we chatted fairly regularly since I had several teen-aged drivers, ATV's and a husband who was always in a huge hurry to get some project done! Whatever. I explained the situation and asked him what the insurance would cover. He paused for a moment, sighed and said, "I don't know, Sandy (he always called me Sandy), there just isn't a precedent for this one. Let me get back to you." What? No precedent for an accident involving a Ford Explorer (which we actually called, the Exploder), a flatbed trailer, two ATV's, a backhoe, almost a boat and a new turtle turf lawn? Imagine that.

I've kicked myself many times, over the years, for not getting a single shred of photographic evidence of this whole incident. I am planning to include, in this post, a couple of photos that I just took today, to give you an idea of the terrain that I'm talking about (looking down driveway to Smoot's lawn, looking from top of driveway to the other side of the cul-de-sac. You'll just have to picture the trailer on the lawn and the Explorer plowed into the backhoe, all on your own.

Remind me some time to tell you the story about Brent wheel-barrowing a large load of broken cement to the side of our house or the ever popular "Brent relights the new water-heater" story! Happy Valentine's Day honey! My life would be so boring without you! Til next time.

Not loving my advent calendar this year

This is the advent calendar that I made 28 years ago, when I was still doing such things. Each of the ornaments is hand stitched and appliqued. It took me forever to make this calendar. The kids loved to take turns putting the ornaments on the tree as they counted the days until Christmas. Sometimes, after someone had taken their turn, someone else would sneak the ornament back into the little pocket and then put it back on the tree just so they could have an extra turn! We always used to start from the bottom of the Christmas tree and work our way backwards so that we would know how many more days there were until Christmas. In recent years there has been some amount of debate among my kids about this practice. Some of them feel that we should start at the top of the tree so that the first ornament is placed on the first day of December, the second on the second, etc. My kids thrive on these kinds of important controversial issues. Whatever.
I've always enjoyed my handmade advent calendar and felt a little tingle of anticipation, along with the kids, as the tree became filled with ornaments, heralding the approach of Christmas day. I'm not really loving my calendar this year, however. You see, on the very day after Christmas, Brent and I will be leaving with Laura, Jordan and Lucy on a three day drive to Atlanta, Georgia where they will begin their new life. We're going to help them drive their 16 foot rental moving truck (towing one of their vehicles) and their mini-van and we're going to take them hundred of miles away from here, help them get settled in their new home and then come back here to our new life of empty nesting. I feel like I'm an accessory to some sort of crime! So each day, as a new ornament goes up on the advent calendar tree, my heart squeezes a little bit tighter knowing that we're one day closer to these beloved kids going away. One more long-distance relationship. Missing out on these kinds of day to day things:
Blowing out the candles on a birthday cake together . . .
watching Dumbo (for the sixty-ninth time) together . . .

making a puzzle together . . .
Maybe if I just pack the calendar away in a box and hide it in the closet, the day after Christmas won't come. "The Grinch Grandma who stole the day after Christmas" or something like that.
My heart is imploding.

Mission Impossible

This was my disgusting upright freezer today at about eleven o'clock A.M. I wasn't sure what was underneath those ice pillows.
Today, I was a woman with a mission. A "do it or die trying" mission. The mission, if I chose to accept it, was to defrost and clean my frost encrusted, fleabag of an upright freezer. I had defrosted it at the beginning of the summer (possibly the summer of 2010?) and just after I defrosted it someone got something out of it and didn't close it tightly (grrrrr), thus it frosted over very quickly again. The situation was very grim. With the holidays almost upon me, I realized that I had to clear out space in the freezer. Had. To. Be. Done. I made sure that my last will and testament was all in order in case I didn't make it out alive and then . . . I went in.

This was my freezer today at about three o'clock P.M. Oh yeah, now that's what I'm talkin' about!
There were frozen peaches underneath the ice pillows. I'm none the worse for the wear except for some minor frostbite on my fingers.

Truthfully, I don't mind the defrosting and cleaning part of a job like this. It's the sorting through all the stuff and deciding what to throw away and what to keep that I hate to do. When I throw away food, I feel so not worthy. Whatever. Mission accomplished. Til next time . . .

Children grow older . . . and I'm gettin' older too

Andrea's blessing day. Surrounded by Mike (10), Steve (8), Scott (5) and Laura (almost 4)

Family photo taken in 1992.
The original "five". Taken this past summer after Andrea returned from her mission.
The whole family . . . parents, kids, kids-in-law and grandkids. I'm looking at this photo as I'm typing this and I've got a big smile on my face, as well as a few tears running down my cheeks. I'm so sappy . . . I know!

You may recognize the title of this post as part of the lyrics of a song called "Landslide". It was originally written and performed by Stevie Nicks, lead singer for Fleetwood Mac (one of my favorites from yester-year) and then remade by the Dixie Chicks. I can remember watching Stevie Nicks perform in her kind of dreamy, ethereal style . . . twirling around on the stage and absolutely lost in the music. She liked to wear long, billowy chiffon skirts that kind of floated around her as she performed and she almost always sported some sort gypsy like shawl and layers of lace. I loved the look and still do. As a matter of fact, when I look at my own style of dress I'm wondering if I haven't subliminally been trying to duplicate her style, all these years! The only one of her trademarks that I'm disinclined to wear are her six inch platform boots! An accident waiting to happen, I always thought.
Anyway . . . the song "Landslide" could have multiple meanings but there's a passage in the song that has great meaning to me, at this stage of my life. If you'll indulge me . . .

. . . Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides, Can I handle the seasons of my life? I don't know.
Well I've been afraid of changing 'cause I've built my life around you. But time makes you older, children get older and I'm gettin' older too.

The lyrics seem pretty simple, even trite, without the beautifully expressive music to go with it but they seem to really sum up the feelings that I've been wrestling with for the last few years.
Sometimes, I think to myself "Come on Sandra . . . time to get over it!" but the truth is that it's really hard to break a thirty year habit, thirty years being the time span between Mike's birth and Annie's leaving for college. Thirty years of being very involved with the comings and goings and growings of my children. I was fortunate enough to be able to be a "stay-at-home mom" while I was raising my kids so that WAS my career. I worked hard at it and for the most part loved it. With some notable exceptions, I think I was pretty good at my job. Good enough, that my kids don't really NEED me anymore. Not really. They're grown with careers, lives, spouses and children of their own. They have the problems and challenges that can't be avoided while living in mortality but, all in all, they're living life well. So . . . shouldn't there have been a retirement party for me, complete with presentation of a gold watch and a big frosted sheet cake that says "Congratulations on your Retirement!"? Some sort of closure, something that tells me to move on. Career ended . . . on to the next phase? Oh my, the absolute angst of it all! Because the truth is that I haven't given up MY need for my kids to need me in the ways that they used to. And I have to . . . absolutely have to.
Mike and Erin and family and Steve and Kalli are settled in the Denver, Colorado area and having completed their schooling, are beginning their careers. It's unlikely that any of them will ever live near us in Utah again. Laura and Jordan have received a wonderful job offer in Atlanta, Georgia and after Jordan wraps up his master's of tax degree next month, they will be moving. They say it's just for a few years and that they'll come back to Utah. We'll see. Andrea is going to graduate with her undergraduate degree in speech pathology next spring and will be going, who knows where, to graduate school. Never mind graduate school . . . she will, I assume, marry and end up who knows where! West coast, east coast, Canada (heaven forbid), Australia (maybe I should just kill myself now). Sigh. Scott and Rachel, at this writing, are my one great hope of having children and grandchildren who live near by. They have begun their careers here in the Salt Lake area and purchased a home in Bountiful, just a few blocks away. But we all know that life turns on a dime.
I can just hear my mother now . . . "well you poor thing, who would just up and leave home at the age of seventeen to attend college in a different country and then marry a guy from there, have five children and live a thousand miles from their parents forever more?!" Point taken mom. And never would I want my kids to stop following their dreams because I'm not quite ready for them to be far away from me. I know that I just need to move to a different phase of the career that I started in. Move from manager to consultant, if you will. And only act as consultant when requested! No one wants unsolicited advice from parents or parents-in-law. Not really. Also, since I consider my kids to be some of my dearest friends, there will always be that. Friendships can grow and deepen and go on and on. I can do this (oh yes I can). Rambling . . . I am.
If you're still reading this, thanks for the indulgence. I feel better for having written it although I may go to my bedroom and cry for a little while later on. No time now . . . things to do. Til next time . . .