The Saturday Post

April is National Poetry Month and I've been remiss in mentioning that, posting anything about it. So even though there's less than a week left in National Poetry Month, I want to give you this: an empowering poem for every woman, but one that I think will especially resonate with the older women, the grandmothers, the ones most likely to be considering where their journey has, is and will continue to take them. Let me know what you think.

The Journey by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

Today's question:

What is your favorite poem or line from a poem?

Every little bit

April 22 is Earth Day, and I have to admit that I'm not as conscientious as I should be about saving the planet. Especially considering that as a grandma, I hope the planet will always and forever be a good home for Bubby and all my other grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren and so on to come.

But there are a few things that I do. And it's my understanding -- or at least my justification -- that every little bit helps.

Here are some of the environmentally responsible things I do:

• I turn off the water while brushing my teeth.

• We have low-flow toilets in two of our three bathrooms (the third is a non-standard size and low-flow isn't an option there).

• We have low-flow shower heads in two of the three bathrooms (again, low-flow won't work in the third).

• I take showers instead of baths. FYI from the EPA: A full bathtub requires about 70 gallons of water, but taking a five-minute shower saves water by using 10 to 25 gallons.

• We have absolutely no grass that needs watering on our property. I could pretend we chose to xeriscape, but the home came that way. (Well, we did remove the smidgen that was in the back yard, so we did do our part. Yay!)

• Because we have no grass to water, we also have no grass in need of mowing, so we help out there by not using fuel and not contributing to air pollution.

• Another benefit of having no grass is that we don't fertilize it. EPA FYI: Fertilizer runoff can pollute rivers, lakes, and bays, and cause problems in recreational areas or fishing grounds.

• I don't use the car every day of the week. Okay, it's because I work from home for the most part, but it still counts in my book. EPA FYI: Leaving your car at home just two days a week will reduce greenhouse gas emissions by an average of 1,600 pounds per year.

• We use Energy Star appliances ... and take advantage of any e-cycles on any of them, such as for the dishwasher and clothes washer.

• We recycle electronics by sending old cell phones out for use by deployed military folks, bringing old computers to an electronics recycling center, etc.

• We poop scoop, disposing of the dog (and cat) doo in places that won't contaminate stormwater ... unless Mickey has an accident on our walk when he's not supposed to and I didn't bring scooping gear. EPA FYI: Leaving pet waste on the ground increases public health risks by allowing harmful bacteria or organic material to wash into the storm drain and eventually into local water bodies.

• When we travel, we opt out of daily linen changes. We hang our towels to reuse a second time and we don't have the sheets changed each day.

• We pay for a recycling service to pickup our recyclables instead of throwing them in the garbage.

• We unplug appliances and such (can opener, lamps, etc) that aren't in use as plugged-in appliances still use energy even when they're off.

• We're slowly but surely migrating from regular light bulbs to compact fluorescent lighting throughout the house. EPA FYI: If every American home replaced just one conventional light bulb with a compact fluorescent light bulb, we would save enough energy to light more than 3 million homes a year.

• Our thermostat is on a timer so less heat is used at night. (Unfortunately we no longer have A/C but when we did, it was also on a timer.)

• Although I don't use reusable market bags for grocery shopping, we do re-use all of our plastic grocery bags -- to line our wastebaskets, for holding the doo when poop-scooping is done, and more.

Now that I look at it, it seems like I do a lot, which just goes to show that it's not that difficult, costly or time-consuming to do your part. Like I said, every little bit helps -- and adds up.

Today's question:

What's one or two environmentally responsible things you do around your home?

The color purple ... and pink ... and yellow

Jim and the girls and I have attended the same church for many years, so it's the go-to place for Easter and other Christian holidays (as well as most Sundays in between). Easter Sunday usually means lots of pink, yellow and purple outfits will be in display, worn by little girls in frilly finery, moms and grandmas donning Easter bonnets. Even Dads and Grandpas sheepishly sport pastel shirts and ties, succumbing to threats subtle pressure from their wives.

That's what we usually see at Easter service.

At yesterday's Easter service, there was no sea of pastel, no Easter bonnets. It didn't seem that many of the outfits were even new. In fact, lots of folks were wearing worn jeans or khakis -- fairly typical of a regular Sunday, but not Easter, the Sunday of all Sundays.

It was odd. And a little sad. It underscored the fact that new Easter outfits weren't in the cards for anyone this year, not just my family. Despite the optimism sparked by recent unemployment numbers, it seems economic recovery has yet to become reality, at least to the degree that we all felt new outfits were a priority.

I know, I know. New Easter outfits aren't really all that important. We all still sang just as loudly, still exchanged customary Easter greetings, and appreciated the trumpets, Easter lillies and C & E crowd not typical of regular Sunday services.

But like so many other traditions of Easter that have fallen by the wayside, traditions I wrote about here, I missed the pastels, the bonnets, the little girls twirling in their fancy dresses and white patent leather shoes.

Easter just didn't seem as Easter-y as usual.

If nothing else, though, I keep telling myself -- and this is the optimist in me struggling to keep its head above water -- at least I didn't stick out like sore thumb this year. As I worshipped in my dark clothing, I fit right in, I looked much like everyone else. This year it didn't matter that I prefer basic black (dark gray this time, to be exact) to frilly fuschia, Pepto-Bismol pink or buttercup yellow.

Worthy of a hallelujah? Probably not. But the way things have been of late, I'm taking comfort where I can get it.

And I'm thinking that -- if our financial picture gets a little rosier in the next year -- I just might buy a rose-colored outfit to match, for next year's Easter service. In honor of things looking better, I think that maybe, I just might be able to do pastel.

And a bonnet? No bonnet for me, thank you very much. I truly cannot do that. Nope, no matter how sunny things get, you won't catch me in a bonnet -- for Easter or otherwise. Pink I can consider doing. A bonnet? No way!

And to that I can give a hearty "Hallelujah!"

Plus an adamant "Amen!"

Today's question:

If you could wear only one color of clothing for the rest of your days, what color would you choose?

My answer: Black. I'm not a depressed/depressing kind of person; I just prefer black.

Another one bites the dust

Coloring Easter eggs has always been a pretty big deal in our house. Each year after the Good Friday Tenebrae service at the Lutheran church we've attended for more than 20 years, we'd head home and color eggs as a family.

Like our Halloween pumpkin-carving rituals, the egg coloring involved everyone competing for the very best design. Also like our pumpkin-carving rituals, someone usually ended up in tears or -- during the teen years -- huffing off to their room for a host of hormonal reasons having nothing to do with the design competition.

But it was fun. Really. We have lots of happy pictures and warm fuzzies to prove it.

This year for the first time ever, we won't be coloring Easter eggs. All the girls live on their own and our only grandson lives too far away to come over for a dip in the dye with Grandma and Grandpa. And I really can't see egg coloring as a couple on the Good Friday agenda for me and Jim.

So we'll go eggless this year.

There's a domino effect to the decision to not color eggs. Having no colored eggs impacts our Easter morning breakfast, as we've always eaten our colored eggs on Easter morning, along with blueberry muffins and sausage links. It made for an easy holiday breakfast before the family dashed out the door for church service in our new Easter outfits.

Oh, that's another thing: We're not buying new Easter outfits this year. There's really no reason to as we have plenty of dressy duds and really shouldn't spend the money this year.

With the delivery of Easter Bunny baskets having ceased delivery last year (although the girls will always get SOMEthing from E.B. but don't tell them that), it seems the last vestiges of our old-time Easter celebrations have bit the dust. The children are grown; the traditions of childhood are no longer relevant.

I should be sad about the change, as I've always worked quite hard to create memorable holiday traditions for the girls. But that's the key and the reason I'm not too broken up about this Easter's empty nest: It's always been work ... a lot of work ... done mostly by Mom.

So  I'm kind of glad that this year I don't have to color eggs or go shopping for outfits (especially when the girls -- and I -- often preferred black to the pinks and yellows and greens typical of Easter finery) or stay up waiting for kids to fall asleep just so I can fill a few baskets or help three little girls crack and peel and wash their colored eggs for breakfast.

Nope, we're having an adult-only Easter celebration for the first time. First up: A breakfast menu of Lemon Ricotta Pancakes with Lemon Curd and Fresh Raspberries. Then Easter service, with our oldest and youngest daughters joining us.

After that, it's anyone's guess. We're all grown-ups now and I no longer need to set the day's agenda in advance.

Except for one thing, that is: I need to ensure time for a Skyping session with Bubby. I want to see my handsome grandson dressed in his new Easter outfit as he tells Grandma all about his basket of goodies from the Easter Bunny and the colored eggs Mommy peeled for him for breakfast, all before he, Mommy and Daddy dashed out the door for Easter service.

Knowing the beloved family traditions that once defined Easter in our house are continuing with the next generation make it much easier for this generation to bid them farewell and move on.

Today's question:

What's your favorite Easter tradition?

My answer: Breakfast as a family. Family dinners have always been a given in our house, but family breakfasts happened rarely ... usually only on Christmas and Easter.

Becoming Mama

On Sunday morning, Valentine's Day, the phone rang and it was Megan (I love caller ID!). Awww, I thought, she's calling to wish me Happy Valentine's Day.

I pick up the phone and here's what she says: "I'm just calling to let you know that I'm becoming my mother." All said with a slight smile ... and an obvious tinge of disdain.

"Oh, really?" I asked cautiously. Could it be that she's beating the hell out of Bubby with a hanger? Feeding him crushed glass for breakfast? Zipping up his tummy in his sleeper or dislocating his elbow as she put on his clothes? All things I did to the girls, of course, warranting the tinge of disdain in her voice.

(Okay, yeah, I really did do the last two but it was so totally by accident ... and left me horrified at the time, guilt-ridden for years ... and afraid of dressing my children during cold-weather months when the clothing is bulky, tight and zipper laden.)

"I'm making pink heart pancakes for Valentine's Day breakfast," Megan replied.

Oh, THAT horrible kind of thing that I did on a regular basis. It's crystal clear now and I can so understand her disdain and fear of becoming her mother.

Ha, ha, ha. We laughed about it. And we laughed about the ways we're both a little concerned about becoming our mothers.

Which is fairly common, of course. I remember my mom telling me and my sisters, "If I ever become like my mother, you better tell me." It's something I now say to my own girls after doing the spider hands gesture or the "If I Were A Rich Man" jig. (Not that I don't love ya, Mom! But you know how it is ... !)

Nothing new there. We've all read it, heard it, said it countless times before.

The thing that I find interesting about every woman's fear of becoming her mother, though, is that there's also the desire to do everything just like grandma. Books, blogs, newscasts and more mention doing this and that "just like Grandma" or following the sage advice that "Grandma used to always say ...".

Our grandmas are the wise women of the clan; our mothers are those wacky women rife with idiosyncricies that we'd rather die than imitate.

But I'm both. I'm a grandma ... and I'm a mother.

So which is it?

And at what point do our crazy mothers become our venerated sage-meisters, the women we want to cook like, clean like, love like? And not just on a personal level, but on a societal level, as a collective?

I don't get it. And I don't know whether to just bite my tongue and bide my time until I reach the sage-meister stage of life. This part of motherhood vs. grandmahood has me flummoxed.

You go ahead and ponder that and let me know your thoughts. In the meantime, the homemade heart-shaped muffin I was warming in the microwave just dinged and I'm ready to dig in to my leftover Valentine's Day breakfast.*

Today's question:

What's one way you're like your mother? And is that a good thing or a bad thing?

My answer: When I'm in a group of strangers or people I don't know very well, I talk ... way too much. And say stupid things. My mom is a talker, which is fine and good and ensures there are never any uncomfortable silences at any point ... ever. But I'm generally a much more introverted person who appreciates silence a whole lot more than I appreciate babbling just to fill conversational gaps, so I internally kick myself each and every time I do it. Which means, I guess, that, for me, it's a bad thing.

*I didn't really make heart-shaped muffins for Valentine's Day breakfast -- but only because I realized at the last minute that I didn't have any cupcake/muffin liners and the festive suggestion from Grandma Lizzie wouldn't work without liners. There's always next year!

The Saturday Post

The other night as I chopped vegies for a salad for dinner, the red onion was surprisingly sweet. Not in terms of taste, but in terms of what I found as I sliced the onion.

See for yourself:

 

Aren't those sweet? After one slice revealed a precious heart in the middle, I sliced ... and sliced ... and sliced. I sliced far more onion than Jim and I would ever eat on one salad, and every single slice had a heart (or two or three) embedded in the center.

I took pictures, of course, and wondered if anyone has created a website dedicated to food that looks like something else.

Sure enough. One quick google and there it is: MOFA: The Museum of Food Anomalies, "An online exhibition of the Art of Regular Food Gone Horribly Wrong."

Some of the MOFA wonders include a "happy-on-the-inside" pepper, a smiling calzone, an "Edvard Munch Honeycomb," the requisite Virgin Mary banana chip, and -- my favorite -- Happy Beer. Check it out.

Soon the museum will also include my sweet little red onion hearts -- perfect for Valentine's Day.

Eat your heart out!

In with the new!