Laura

It's been two years [edit: almost] to the day since daddy died, but it's not the anniversary that has me missing him; it's the weather. If it had been this bad two years ago, he wouldn't've tried to go out, I don't think. But more than that: he'd have taken photos. He'd have posted descriptions of what it was like up on the Ridge. At 700 feet, they likely have quite a bit more snow up there than we do down here, as I doubt they saw as much melting through the week.

The post would have been brief, I suspect, at least by my babbling standards. But the snow, the beauty, the cold...and the joy of being snug in a house with all the fuel and warmth and comfort, all the necessary things stockpiled...those would have all been there.

It's moments like this that make me realize how much his daughter - and mother's - I am. Oh, I don't have a woodstove. I have a larger and newer house, yes. I live near town, in a subdivision, and I prefer it that way even though I miss the quiet beauty of the countryside; it's more convenient, and the convenience is worth it to me as it was not to my parents. (Also, I lack the skills to maintain even a small "gentleman's" farm as they did - and the desire and time to learn those skills. I'd love to know how, but not to spend the time learning how.)

But: I am at home, in a warm house, with a pair of fluffy smug cats sprawled around, and my husband. I have a fireplace (admittedly gas, and admittedly not running because it's not needed, but I may turn it on later for the joy of it, for a little bit). I have plenty of food, including food we can eat if the power goes out. And I am watching the snow fall and admiring its beauty, taking photos (probably more than Dad would have, but still). I am as smug as the cats, nearly, because I am snug up in my house and have nowhere to go and nowhere to be but here. I've got laundry running and I put on today's clothing warm from the dryer - Mom's influence, that, if also one of the necessary tasks of day-to-day living.

I am so blessed. I wish I could have had my parents longer, but I am so blessed to have had them, and I am blessed to have the life I have now. I hope Drew will be as lucky - I can do my best, but I can only do what any parent can do (and I'm not sure my best will be as good as my parents' best was, though Scott's, I think, will; he has more patience and calm than I do).

Interestingly, I believe today is also the first day Drew could arrive and be, technically, a term baby. Mind you, he shows no signs of doing so and I don't expect or want him to; but he could. It seems oddly appropriate. Coming this early would be rare, though, especially for a first pregnancy. I'm glad, since the roads are likely not passable right now - and tomorrow, if the ice storm materializes, will be worse. He's better off right where he is for some weeks yet.

I've uploaded more of Mom's recipes, on pages 3 and 4 of my Scrapbook gallery for them.

There are a mix of recipes including fish, Mexican, souffle, and miscellaneous others. Among those I take note of:

Dinner in a Pumpkin - I don't remember ever having this, and I think I would. But it is seasonal, it amuses and interests me, and I wanted to be sure cadhla saw it just in case it sparks interesting ideas.

Meatloaf. I'm not sure this is the meatloaf I used to eat all the time growing up, because Mom usually made that without a recipe and I usually ignored the process. But...it's similar, at the very least. and that was good meatloaf.

Also in this set is the goulash I made before and loved. I know I posted the text of the recipe in a comment, but not everyone may have seen it, and anyway, here's the scan. It's good!

A couple of these are interesting because they have cost-saving notes on them too. I doubt the servings are quite as cheap now! ;)

I don't like my days to make good stories.

Today, I took my parents' Saturn over to the dealership to sell it back. Mom loved that car; Dad didn't. I'm with Dad on this one. It's perfectly functional but it is an older model, no AC, lots of road noise. I'll take a pass on it.

So, I had Scott come down after work to pick me up. He arrived, we pulled out of the lot, and we made it a couple three blocks and were sitting at a light for a left turn when I said "What's that smell?" He sniffed and said "I hope that's someone else." I sniffed a bit more, and I think about as we got the green and were turning (and it wasn't fading), I said, "That's coolant fluid."

We promptly pulled into the Toyota dealer which was the nearest driveway, and parked. There was steam coming from under the hood. We let it cool a bit until it wasn't steaming, popped the hood. No visible damage, cap still on the reservoir. Popped that cautiously and got some more steam, but thinner. Scott said there was still a fair amount of liquid in the reservoir, though of course we were judging when still hot. Under the circumstances, I took the presence of any liquid there as a good sign.

However, the heat had been pegged at the far right on hot; we didn't know for how long. And Scott indicated he'd lost the AC on the way over to pick me up - probably a warning sign and suggested the problem had been building over that drive, rather than just having started up. As a consequence we let it go all the way down before we started up again. And dormouse_in_tea got treated to a somewhat bored and whiny call from me, looking for Diversion. For lo, the number I had for LJ voice-posting was busy each time (the high-speed busy that suggests 'dead number' to me, rather than busy; I will need to check if I mis-entered it).

Headed from there to the Ford dealership, but their service center was already closed. Not really that disappointed as we'd been thinking maybe we should just run it over to Paciific Car Care (closer, we like them, and they have a night-drop for keys). So we stopped at a gas station, let it cool again, topped up the fluid (and brought the rest of that container with us), and Scott went to Subway and got dinner (while we were waiting for the car to cool).

Then we made the run to the car care place, for which it behaved very nicely, though I was sniffing the air quite a bit as well as both of us watching the heat gauge. We dropped the car off.

Then we called a friend who lives nearby for a ride. But he was out, so we did not reach him. Neither of us had any other numbers with us of people who lived near enough to bother, so I figured we'd take Trimet - take the 12 to the Tigard TC, then hop a bus (the 76, as it happens, would be the right one) down to Tualatin, and from there if we were lucky into Wilsonville (though I don't know off the top of my head when the Wilsonville leg stops running).

Instead, we had just missed a 12, and caught the next one. Those come 2-4 times an hour, I think 4 at that time, so it wasn't that bad. However, when we got to the TC, we'd just missed the 76 by 10 minutes. THOSE run every hour. I didn't really want to get into Tualatin at 9:05, I was pretty sure the bus down to Wilsonville doesn't run THAT late.

Scott called his boss to get the number of a coworker, whereupon we called her and she came and retrieved us. I offered her our transfers as fare, but she didn't want them. I can't imagine why! She plays in our WoW guild, so Scott told her our hearthstones weren't working, and could she perhaps spare a gryphon ride?

We are home, safe, sound, and none the worse for the wear. It was a nice enough night out overall though I borrowed Scott's coat toward the end of our wait in Tigard. So it could have been much worse. But I'd only intended to get rid of one car tonight, not two. :P Though presumably the second will be returning after its check-up. (Scott, figuring he might as well take advantage of the timing being near his oil change, wrote for them to change his oil as well as check the problem. I cracked up.)

Missing my parents tonight, I went back through my listing of memories to write about, which I had somehow not gotten back to (read: run away from and/or delayed).

Mom, around the time I was in school, drove a Jeep - a CJ-7, a real off-road sort. She contended it was appropriate for the road we lived on and actually, I can't entirely argue that, since that road vibrated a tail light out of its socket (push-in, not rotating, but still) in my Corolla, last year. It wasn't any better when I was in high school. The CJ-7 had a soft-top so it was cold in the winter, even with the heat on, and there tended to be a breeze. I felt much less safe in it than in an ordinary car, because it had a roll-bar. Of course, I'm not sure why this made me feel less safe, other than acknowledging the possibility of trouble, where I would have preferred to ignore it. It was cinnamon-orange and Mom was rather pleased with it, I think, especially since when chained up it could travel nicely even in icy conditions.

I tried to learn to drive it, once. I had learned on Dad's Volkswagen Rabbit and I wanted to master Mom's Jeep. The Jeep won. I didn't have the strength and finesse in my leg to control the clutch - I could push it in no problem, but when trying to let it out, I couldn't keep it slow and steady. It would kick my leg back up - I complained that I almost ended up with my knee in my face, though I doubt that was actually true. I remember saying it, though! It was definitely difficult. A few times I did manage to get the Jeep into reverse, and first gear, but nothing else was possible for me. I'm sure with enough time I could have mastered it, but it was mostly a challenge - I didn't need to drive the Jeep or even really want to drive it, other than to be able to. And in the end, I couldn't. Mom could, though.

They got rid of it later, and I don't remember why, if I knew. Not sure if she tired of it or there was some other reason. I know she really liked the Saturn. I'm also realizing that the Jeep is the only car I can recall that was "Mom's car" that was not red. The Maverick, the Escort, the Saturn - were all varying shades of red. Hmmm.

The dresser we have now was my parents' first. They wanted to get rid of it and get a dresser better-suited to their house - years ago, I think before we moved to this house, but I'm not sure of that timing - and asked if we wanted it. I said yes. Not because we needed a dresser (although we did), but because I love that dresser. It is wood, it is beautiful, it has a mirror. Yes, the drawers stick a little, but not bad. Now the mirror likes to tilt forward; we have a temporary fix in place, but I need to more properly fix it. But it is a lovely piece of furniture and a part of my childhood, also. And besides, Mom told me once or twice that they bought it cheap from someone who'd been storing it in a barn, and they had to clean goat shit off it, strip, and refinish it. You couldn't tell it by looking at it, let me put it that way. It's lovely.

Today, I was running the dishwasher while I did work-work. Normally I start the dishwasher and wander away, but the laptop was set up in the living room, not too far from the dishwasher, so I was listening to it. It was like going home to childhood: something swishing in the washer on the back-porch would sound very similar. The hum and the swoosh of water, the comforting sound that meant Mom was doing all the domestic things she normally did (and, if it was the clothes washer, that there would within a couple hours be something warm from the dryer - how I loved, in the cold months, to hug warm clothes to me!). Eventually, the laundry had to be taken into town, because the well was such that the washer couldn't handle it. I think the dishwasher had the same problem. But still, in my early childhood, they were all used and that's what the sounds mean to me. (And Mom and Dad had had a clothes washer since they got the new well, at least - and a dryer all along - I imagine being able to wash the clothes at home again was a real nice change, though.)

Heck, back when the washer still worked, I remember the old laundry line strung between the shop and the pasture, to the east of the shop. Dad put up two T-poles and the lines, all standard stuff, and we actually hung clothes out to dry. I remember playing with the clothespins, and wandering through the laundry as it dried, idly batting it aside. I don't remember if I got told not to, but it seems likely, since my hands were probably dirty from playing. Ah, childhood. One thing I miss is having a place to hang laundry. And I don't know why I miss it. Practically speaking it is no better than using a dryer and, with my allergies and the risk of weather, might be worse. But I miss it anyway, because it is part of my memory of caring for things. I suppose it's silly, but...

I posted, a while back, about the letter that Mom wrote to Ford about the Escort. That car really was a lemon. Which is a pity; I gather later models in the same line were nice. And I've been surprised how happy I've been with our Ford Taurus cars. Scott had to push me into getting the first one, I was so set against Ford. But really a lot of the problem was caused by then-Newberg-Ford, whose servicing of the car at that time caused probably half or more of its problems. I was extra not-thrilled with it since it had replaced the Maverick, which I loved. I think I loved the Maverick mostly because it was "our car" and older than I was - we'd never not had it until then. Things change, though. I didn't like that even as a child. I've learned to cope but I still want to cling to things-as-they-are, sometimes too much, and I know it.

I'm not sure, speaking of allergies as I did a moment ago, how old I was when this happened. I believe I was about six or eight, but my memory's not reliable on that fact. I went in to be tested for allergies, and some idiot at the clinic told my parents I could not take my theophyllin for three days before hand. They sword afterward they did not say that, so perhaps my parents misunderstood, but they said not. In any case, the theophyllin is not an antihistamine (which you really do need to avoid before such tests, of course!) but an asthma medication, a preventative that takes time to build in the bloodstream and should be kept at an even dose and not skipped. So I had a nasty asthma attack one night, presumably either the day of the appointmnet or very shortly after. Mom took me into their bed and I was coughing so hard that it shook. Finally they took me to the emergency room. (My memory says this was McMinnville. I can't think why: presumably it was Newberg. Unless Newberg Hospital had not been built yet, but I thought it had - not the current one, but the previous one, which used to be near the swimming pool. Anyway--)

I remember we had the blue and white striped blanket that someone (I believe Erma Orr) had knitted for me with us, and I remember that I coughed so hard that I was ill on it, and that I was horribly upset that I had damaged my precious blanket. Mom had to reassure me that it could be cleaned up okay. Anyway, Mom when she told the story remembered the intern, who asked, "Are her lips always this shade of blue?" Since he was laughing a bit, I think Mom found that reassuring, though only a little bit. They gave me a shot of adrenalin. It didn't stop the reaction. They gave me another shot of adrenalin. No dice: the net result was that they now had a hyper kid having an asthma attack. So they admitted me overnight and put me on an IV of theophyllin. The adrenalin had probably at least helped my reaction some. I clearly, vividly remember that the IV needle was put into the bottom of my foot for some reason, though I don't remember any pain, just the odd sensation of it after it had been in a while. My parents told me that no, that was not the case, it was put in the arm in the normal fashion. I have no idea where my mind dreamed up the foot bit! Interestingly, the place I remember it in is almost the place that many years later I would burn on the kerosene heater, so perhaps that played into it? I have no idea.

My memory of the allergy tests is also flawed. I was convinced they had been done on my back, to get a large enough section of skin, but I was told no, it was my arm. I have vivid memories of how uncomfortable the tests were - on my back. The odd thing is, while the placement may be wrong, the memories aren't far off - when I had the tests done recently for my allergy shots, on my arm, they were (other than location) about as uncomfortable as I remembered them.

The foot - that was during college. I came home one Christmas break and was lying in front of the kerosene heater (a shop-type kerosene heater, the long sort you plug in, not the squat round kind you take camping). I was swinging my foot back and forth and managed to stick it (the triangle area behind the ball) right on the heater. I yanked it away quick - I have good reflexes, so I "only" got second degree burns. Ow! It helps that I drew a bowl of cold water and jammed my foot in it before calling Dad to see if he could come home and take me in to get it looked at. Not my best moment, to put it mildly. At least I knew not to try driving with my right foot out of commission that way.... And no permanent damage or harm done.

I don't like hot weather. Which makes it funny that, during cool or cold weather, I love heat enough to be a hazard to myself. That was not my first run-in with heat (and of course, I've mentioned the 'fresh from the dryer' effect above). When I was little - too little to remember this, fortunately - I had another encounter. I think it was while we were still at Carlton, but I could be wrong; if I am, it was not long after we moved. I would have been between 3 and 5 for this. I was bare-naked after a bath, and trying to get warm or stay warm. I backed toward the woodstove. I backed right into the woodstove. Which, yes, was lit. My parents told me this one (in response to my burning my foot, actually). I couldn't sit for quite a while apparently. I'm amazed I don't have even dim memories of that, but I cannot say I am entirely sorry that I don't recall it first-hand.

The woodstove at the house on Ribbon Ridge has front doors you can open and set a screen over, to have a fireplace. How I loved to lie in front of it, basking and baking in the heat, watching the flames dance. The cats liked it, too. It was interesting to pet a cat who had been there so long that their fur was radiating heat into your hand. I wonder whether some of our ditzier cats simply baked their brains out. (Then again, the same question could be asked of me, I suppose.)

I'm doing okay. I didn't post about it then, but yesterday was Mother's birthday - her 62nd - and Dad died three months ago today. I felt worse in the week leading up to these dates than I do now. (The difference is largely, I think, that I had one final big piece of info to toss at the lawyer looming over me and now, I just need to look up one additional thing and send it to him. Plus my to-do list is not as long as it was, though still longer than I like. Making progress is good for my mood.)

I have started listening to audio books in the car. I used to be unwilling to give up my traffic reports, until I started paying attention and realized that I was lucky if one traffic report every couple weeks actually occurred at the proper time to allow me to avoid the traffic. The rest of them simply explain to me why I am sitting around and exactly how unpleasant it may be. Plus, I'm not sure avoiding the traffic actually helps in most cases; the slow freeway may in many instances still be faster than the clear route over the hill. So, the radio goes away.

I listened to most of five CDs of seven in Stephen King's On Writing (I think I mentioned in an earlier post), and then returned them to the library because there was nasty skipping in the remaining tracks of #5. I checked the paper book out and read the rest of it (not while driving, you may be pleased to know) and quite enjoyed it. I'm not sure if I will ever use anything in there, as I don't currently aspire to write fiction. But it was fun to listen to. (Even when I was reading the book, after the CD problems, I was still 'listening' - I could still hear it in his voice.) My current audio book (which is, alas, running down) is Thomas Ayres's That's Not In My American History Book. I'm assuming the stories are true; they are supposed to be; I've done no research and likely never will. But whether they are true or not, they are thought-provoking and also very funny to listen to. Jeff Riggenbach, who narrates, has a very pleasant voice and a very pleasant flow as he reads. I don't care how good a book is, a bad reader means it needs to be read on paper if at all.

Here's hoping I have luck as good with my next attempts...we'll see. (I'm picking titles sort of willy-nilly from what the library can give me, so it really is sort of a crap shoot anyway.)

Also, having read P. J. Tracy's Monkeewrench, I got Live Bait from the library and read it. It was fun, but I must admit ( Somewhat spoiler material here, though only general ). The tales are fairly well-told and the pacing is good, I'm just not sure I should like them. They're not, I think, re-readable books for me really. The funny moments are really well done, though, regardless of other thoughts. I have Dead Run, the third book, from the library, but am waiting to read it until the weekend as I have been warned (by a friend who beat me to it) that it is "intense" and maybe not a good one to sleep on.

And now I go to bed, so as to be functional tomorrow, for more useful past-times than reading of books. :) Well, okay, actually I type in the last data and send it off, THEN go to bed.

I've uploaded scans of some of Mom's recipes. There are still a great many to go, but here are a few, at least.

Cornish Pasty recipe - One of Dad's favorite recipes; we usually had this for his birthday or Thanksgiving or both, and sometimes at other times of the year. The crust is thick, chewy, flaky and greasy at once - some people love it, some don't. It is definitely not low-fat or low-carb.

Opal McGhie's Floating Pudding - This was a special treat when I was growing up, easy enough and good enough and cheap enough that I got it more often than some, but still rare enough to be a treat.

And it IS a treat. When cooked, it looks like a mistake if you're not used to it, a mixed-up mess of cake and berries that go together however they feel like, sometimes the cake on top, sometimes the berries. Don't worry about it. It tastes incredible. We most often had it with blueberries, as best as I can recall. It goes pretty well with Cool Whip or with vanilla (I recommend French Vanilla) ice cream, but it's great plain too.

Russian Tea - Not sure why it was called that! This is actually fairly tasty. It was also a common thing to get when I was sick, but either not sick to my stomach or not badly so. It was served hot, like a tea would be, every time that I can remember.

Caramel Candy - Served up every Christmas, made up, row on row of wax-twist-wrapped caramels. Most went out to friends and neighbors (and maybe relatives, but I suspect it wouldn't ship well), to my sorrow. VERY good candy.

The Best ****ed Fish ever - The "I" in this is my Mom, pheontoo. I don't recall ever trying this fish, but then, I avoided fish as a child, except for clam chowder.

( Some others, with no memories/comments attached )

Just a quick post. The entire set is here and dates from 1986, when we went to the World Expo in Vancouver, BC. There are some neat photographs in there (IMO) from a non-family perspective as well as a family perspective this time. Sadly, none of Dad - once again, I'm pretty sure he was the one with the camera.

My favorite from the set is either this photo of Mom or this photo of me with the world's largest (at the time, I assume) pewter tankard. No, I don't know why. :)

Some of the non-family ones: carving, a pretty sculpture, a silly UFO.

Now off to work!

More slides from the same era as the first set. They are here and include a few more of me with curly hair (sorry, but I wanted them up for completeness), but also some other stuff. I've included the ones I think are particularly interesting below:

Mom, Dad, and myself in a miniature train. This photo has been lightened to bring out the faces - the set includes it un-processed but I prefer this one for seeing detail, even though it's grainier.

Me, with Grandpa Mitchell (Mom's father).

Two photos of Mom in a dress that I think is just lovely (and she doesn't appear to mind having her photo taken this time).

And one of me finger-painting which amuses me greatly, because I used to be really excited to get to finger paint and enjoyed it - and I had no clue there was even one picture of me doing so. I think it may be the only one, but it's not like repeated ones would be any more interesting, probably. :)

I'll continue copying files to my desktop tomorrow from the CDs. The scans look pretty good so far - several have triggered memories that I haven't thought of in years and years, already. The slides will not require a lot of processing before I can put them up, mostly, but most of the negative scans will (because they were not 35 mm film, they need some cropping as adjacent photos are partly in the scan).

I've been crying occasionally, but laughing as well. There is photographic evidence of the time I took a brown felt-tip pen to myself. I think I meant to give myself "the measles," but it's possible that I was trying for freckles, since I envied my friends with freckles. Either way, I look completely absurd, as you can imagine. (Eventually I will upload so you can laugh at me and not have to imagine. But, not tonight.)

So glad I had this done. So many memories here.

I am not sure how many reading this will understand my glee - it's such a trivial thing - I think dormouse_in_tea and terram likely will, though. I've seen two photos of MY PINKS. Well, okay, of other things but you can see my pinks. I am not sure if they're good enough images to identify, but.... (They are taller than I remembered, so I would not have had much luck trying to go from memory, based on descriptions!)