Browsing Archives for June 2009

The Country Doctor has a real heart for taking in the downtrodden, the down on their luck, and the Debbie Downers. He likes to help them turn their lives around.  He gets a kick out of sprucing them up and giving them a new skill so that they can go out and make a real difference in the world.

 

Look!  I’ll even prove it!

 
Exhibit A…

Our old trampoline.  It is the behind the cake.  We had it for years.  We moved it from the old house to the new house.  To move it, the Country Doctor balanced it on top of our mini-van with it’s legs hanging down over the sides.  The highway patrolman who bought our old house helped the Country Doctor load it up and then he looked the other way when the Country Doctor drove off with it perched on the top of the van.

The trampoline was old when we moved it.  It had been patched, and re-patched, and patched again.  All the springs were sprung… except for the springs that were missing.  There came a point when every jump, by every child, seemed to be the rattling gasp of death.  We eventually had to stop using it.  The weeds grew up around it and we bought a new trampoline.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exhibit B.

The Country Doctor, a man who hates to throw anything away.

 

 

 

Exhibit C.

Our old tramp undergoing the conversion process.

Can you guess what it eventually became?

Well...

I have some autographed Sarah Susanka books, and some autographed Mary Carol Garrity books, and a few pieces of Polish Pottery that I picked up on sale this weekend.  Tell me what you think it is and two lucky correct guessers will be chosen randomly to pick the item of their choice.

Comments will be moderated so you can’t cheat, though no one would of course!  

Contest ends Tuesday night when I get home from my son’s triple… yes triple header.

I awoke at the crack of dawn yesterday (which is 8:00 am in my world) and after staring at my garden for a while (which is my new favorite hobby) I made a pot of coffee and set about the task of finding a place for my family to stay during our upcoming three day visit to Paris.  ”How hard can this be?”  I thought, “All I need is a small, charming hotel with a fabulous bakery and picturesque flower stall just next door… that has a room large enough for all six of us… within minutes of all the major sights… for less than eighty dollars a night.  Surely Paris has literally millions of hotels like that!”

Hwahhhhhh Hawarrrhhhhhh Hwahhrrhrhhrhhr Awahwhhwhwhahahwhehwhh. Hooo Heee Ha ha ha ha ha ha HO!

Twelve hours later, I had eliminated the flower stall, the bakery, the charm, the central location, the tidiness and I had certainly eliminated the eighty dollar room price.  

Instead I was looking at spending more like $500.oo a night for two tiny rooms where the six of us would have to share four twin beds, in a far flung arrondissement (or burrough) that is a twenty minute subway ride to the next subway which will finally get you to the Eiffel Tower.

I gave up on finding an affordable hotel and switched to looking at ‘family hostels’.  I found several on Trip Advisor that have incredible prices starting at around $60.00 a night!  Thank God I thought!  My family will be able to sight-see AND still eat!  Then I started reading the reviews of the hostels and I saw far too many comments that said things like…

Bed Bugs…

Smelly mattress…

I watched the janitor snap on a pair of gloves, clean the toilet and then move over to the beds without changing his gloves.

There were some positive reviews too, but my mind pretty much shut down after ‘bed bugs’ and ‘smelly mattress’.

So I moved over to the idea of renting an apartment for three days…

I had a lot more luck with apartments.  I found several that were in a good locations (the 5th and the 6th arrondissement as Marilyn so wisely instructed me), could sleep six, and were slightly cheaper than two tiny hotel rooms that could only sleep four.  We would be able to make a few of our own meals in the tiny apartment kitchen, and live like real Parisians for a few days!  I sent thousands of emails to the various apartment owners telling them that we were a party of six which included two adults and four of the most well-behaved boys ages seven to fourteen that you have ever laid eyes on.  My boys  would never even think about turning a tiny living room into an indoor soccer field and in fact, my boys spend most of their time sitting quietly, praying, and doing crossword puzzles.  

This morning I eagerly checked my e-mail as all of these apartment owners promise to reply within 24 hours.  So far, I have heard from NONE of them.

Do you think it has something to do with the whole ‘four boys’ thing?  

Should I have lied and said I had ‘four daughters’ instead?  

Finally, I did what I should have done in the first place.  I consulted my Fodor’s guide to Paris.  Fodor’s mentioned one hotel that was centrally located, a bit Bohemian, but a great value.  I don’t mind Bohemian!  I love Bohemian!  I am Bohemian!  I checked out their web site.  I could get two ‘triples’ which means a room that sleeps three, for about a hundred dollars less a night than any other hotel I had found.  Around midnight, I sent off a very polite e-mail to this ‘Bohemiaan hotel’  

Bonjour! We are looking for rooms for two adults and four children ages 7, 11, 12, and 14. 

Your hotel looks lovely and I hope you have room for us! 

This morning there was a hot and fresh email in my inbox that still smelled of Bohemian baguettes and Bohemian cafe au lait.

Dear Madam, Sir,

It is with great care that we have read your request. Please find 

herewith the information about our establishment. Our 

charming Hotel located in the Latin Quarter, in the very heart of Old 

Paris , within walking distance of all the major monuments of Paris 

like: Notre-Dame Cathedral, Louvre Museum, The Oldest Zoological and 

Botanical Gardens of the World and the Luxembourg Gardens…

The email went on to give a description of each room including the view from each balcony.  It is still outrageously expensive and I am sure our rooms will be microscopic, but it is in a great location and the actually replied to my email without flinching about the whole four boys thing. I didn’t flinch either.

I booked it.

Now to find a charming, spacious, centrally located, vine covered English cottage, with a luminous garden, free scones and all the tea I can drink, from which to do all of our English countryside exploring…

for less that fifty bucks a night of course.

That shouldn’t be too hard.

Should it?

My Tomato Step Children

June 28th, 2009

 

I have two patches of tomatoes growing in my garden.  One of these patches I grew from seeds.  I nurtured them through their colicky baby-hoods.  I rocked them all night long when they had fevers.  I comforted them after they skinned their knees and taught them how to ride a bike.  They are my babies and I am very proud of their voracious growth.  

 

 

 

 

 

On the other hand…

I also have a patch of tomato plants that came into my life half grown.  I purchased them from the Garden Center where I work.   I bought several different varieties so that I could compare one variety to another.  I was calling this patch my ‘tomato test patch’, but I have come to realize that they are really my tomato step-children.  

And I am a lousy step-parent.

 

 

 

 

For instance, I was very concerned about mulching my own ‘natural born’ tomatoes with newspapers and cotton burr compost.  I did not want their tender baby leaves to come in contact with the cold hard earth and I wanted their roots to stay cool and moist.

 

 

 

 

 

As to my tomato step-children…

I just threw them in the lettuce patch and let them fend for themselves.

 

 

 

 

 

For my own baby tomato plants, I hand-crafted  some bamboo supports.  I lovingly tied each plant up so that it’s tender leaves would not dangle on the soil.   I check them every day to see if they need more support and if so, then I carefully tie up a few more branches.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As to my tomato step-children… a cheap wire cage was good enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

For my ‘real’ tomato children, I surrounded their roots with specialized tomato spikes formulated especially for them.  

Sadly, my own baby tomato plants used up all the special fertilizer spikes before I could get over to my tomato step-children.

 

 

 

 

 

A few weeks later when my tomato step-children started to look especially anemic, I purchased some cheap generic fertilizer and haphazardly applied it to the plants.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

My ‘real’ tomato children are big, bushy and dark green.  They are full of blossoms and heavy with fruit.  I can’t stop looking at them!  I am so proud of them!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My tomato step- children are lime green, spindly, and weak.  

 

 

 

 

 

They are constantly trying to get my attention by producing big round fruit, but I hardly notice them.  

 

All I see are my own babies…

 

Growing so big and strong…

Look how gorgeous they are!

 

 

 

 

 

My beautiful babies!

 

Thank God they are only tomatoes!

Good Book Therapy

June 28th, 2009

It has been a rough couple of weeks here at My Sister’s Farmhouse.  I don’t even want to think about how many miles I’ve put on my car driving to and from Arkansas, to and from the Western end of my state, to and from Atchison and Kansas City.  I thoroughly enjoyed all these trips that I have taken in the past few weeks.  I met Sarah Susanka for crying out loud!  I met and toured the home of Mary Carol Garrity!  I went with nine teenagers (along with my friends Jenny and Dave) to Heifer Ranch!  I ate dinner in Appalachia, spent the night in Guatemala, and breakfasted in the urban slums!  I went to puppet camp!  I played a gig in Kansas City!  

I didn’t just visit a bunch of different places… I visited a bunch of different ideas too.  Ideas on how to build a good house.  Ideas on how to beautifully decorate your home… and then at the opposite end of the spectrum… ideas on how to sustain your family on two cups of rice and a stolen egg… ideas on how to stretch your meager food supplies through the monsoon season… ideas on which assets are more important to keep… your health… or your groceries…

These two opposing worlds forced me to take a hard look at my own life and determine if I am not possibly the most shallow person on the face of the earth.  Just when I was about to find a way to merge moving to a third world country to help the utterly destitute with which of these super cute designer platters should I purchase at Nell Hill’s?… an old songwriting buddy called me up and asked me to come to KC and sing with him at an honest to goodness gig.

Now in the midst of cataclysmic, life changing chaos, I am forced to deal with the ghosts of forgotten dreams.  

Then I start thinking about blogging.

And Oh Lord… here we go…

Why… Why… WHY???

Why do I do this?  

What am I doing?  

What am I going for here?  

What am I trying to achieve?

What is the point?

It can’t possibly be worth all the time and money I have spent on it.

Maybe it’s time to do something of real value… something that matters… something that means something.

Something that I could possibly even succeed at!

 

No wait…

 

That might be going too far…

 

 

But maybe something that comes with a real paycheck… and helps people… and gives back… and amounts to something…

 

 I was distraught.

I was sad.

I was overwhelmed by a feeling of uselessness and stupidity.

I felt empty and also…

like a total dumb-ass.

Then I remembered that my book club was meeting in just a few days.

I picked up the book that I was supposed to read and I started reading it.

Furiously reading it.

Reading  to distract myself from myself… 

To ignore myself…

To forget that I even existed.

And it worked!  

I didn’t put the book down until the last page.

And when it was over I still desperately needed to escape from my own miserable flesh…

So I fished around for another book.

And I found one!

And again I was swept away by a story.

And I didn’t put it down until the last page.

And then I looked up and saw four very hungry boys, one very messy house, a garden that needed tending, and a husband that kept calling from work every three hours because he knows that I have a tendency to fall deeper and deeper into a melancholy until I am nothing but inconsolable.

But I was consoled.

Two books consoled me.

My life still does not make any sense, but I feel better about it.

Reading a good book has always done that for me.

And these were two VERY GOOD BOOKS!

 

The first book was The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows.

 

Book cover

 

 

The second book was The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck.

 

 

I hope to have both of these books in an upcoming giveaway and I will give you a synopsis at that time.

Until then…

If you are in need of a good read, might I highly recommend either one?

The life you save might just be your own.

This is Hal Sears.  Hal and I used to work together at the Community Mercantile which is a cooperative grocery store in Lawrence, Kansas specializing in natural foods, organic produce, and a vast selection of bulk herbs.  

Hal was the herb buyer for the store and for a few years, I was the ‘herb stocker girl’.  This means that once or twice a week, during my shift at the store, I would go through all the glass herb jars, pour them out, add new herbs into the bottom of the jars and then put the old herb stock back in to fill the jar to the top.  The store easily carried fifty different herbs and herb blends as well as whole leaf teas, powdered broth, and some bulk baking agents like baking soda and baking powder.  I enjoyed the job, especially re-stocking the peppermint and the cinnamon, but I quickly learned that powdered Valerian is the most vile smell on the face of the earth, and that I must pour the chili powder and the cayenne slowly or my eyes would sting for hours.  

 

 

 

 

Hal is extremely knowledgeable about herbs and their various medicinal uses.  At one point he created and sold his own herbal tinctures under a brand called ‘Thunder Wind Apothecary’.

 

 

Here is a bottle of Hal’s Echinacea Purpurea.  

Echinacea is an herb that can help fight off upper respiratory infections and is purported to boost the overall immune system.  The Plains Indians used it for snake bites as well as a myriad of other illnesses.  They passed their knowledge of this herb onto a travelling salesman named Joseph Meyer who began to market a concoction of the herb from a covered wagon.  To sell his echinacea tincture, he would goad a live rattlesnake into biting him, take a swig of his medicine and he would never get sick… or die… or anything.  He called his miracle drug, ‘snake oil’ and became the first in a long line of snake oil salesmen.  

Now who wants some echinacea tincture?

Let’s make some with Hal! 

 

 

First, Hal digs up a purple cone flower in his yard.  The scientific name for purple cone flower is either echinacea purpurea or echinacea augustofolian.  Either variety is suitable for an herbal tincture, but the augustofolian variety can numb your lips and mouth.

 

 

 

 

Hal keep the entire plant in tact.  He is going to use every part of the cone flower, including the heart, the lungs, the eyeballs, the bladder and the bowels.  

 

 

 

 

There will be dirt.  

 

 

 

Hal removes as much of the dirt as he can, but it is insidious.  Just when you think the plant is clean, you will find more dirt.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After a thorough cleaning, Hal hangs his echinacea up to dry for a while.  He wants it to wilt a bit.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While the cone flower was wilting, Hal and I sat on his back porch and chewed the fat.  We rifled through all of the people that we both worked with at the ‘Merc’ and where they are now.  We talked about the changes over time in the co-op from it’s humble beginnings in a tiny store on Massachusetts street to the full service grocery store that it is now.  We also covered Buddhism, Catholicism, wild-crafting herbs, his adorable two year old granddaughter named Mercury, comfrey, ducks, my four boys, living in a small town, community life, peace, peach farming, baptism, the french horn, aloe vera, theocracy and the Latin mass.  

I love talking to Hal.  

 

 

 

 

I brought Hal a few varieties of cone flowers that we sell at the Garden Center.  

The orange one is called ‘Tiki Torch’ and the yellow one is called ‘Harvest Moon’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is what the echinacea looked like when Hal took it off the clothes line.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He brought it inside to his kitchen and chopped it into four inch pieces.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hal stuffed two glass jars with pieces of the plant.  He placed the roots in the bottom, then added the stems and leaves…

 

 

 

The flowers went on the top.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He filled the jars with vodka.

 

 

 

 

One jar was finished, but to the other Hal added a few other herbs.

 

 

 

 

 

He added some goldenseal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some licorice for sweetness…

 

 

 

 

And some cayenne to clear out the sinuses.

 

 

 

 

He topped it all off with just a tad more vodka.

 

 

 

 

Hal then demonstrated how he would filter the tincture after it had set in the jars for one month.  

He simply folded a paper towel inside of  a kitchen colander and set this on top of bowl.

He would pour the contents of the tincture through the colander and then bottle the resulting amber colored liquid.

 

 

 

 

 

Hal labeled the jars for me.

 

 

 

 

He showed me a few books that had shaped his own herbal knowledge.

 

 

 

And then he made me lunch!

Who got the best deal out of this little excursion?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thanks Hal!

 

 

Addendum…

Several commenters have been asking about dosage recommendations for this tincture.   I hesitate to put medical advice on my blog because I don’t actually know anything.  I will say that the only way I have ever used echinacea myself is to simply  steep the dried root  in a nice hot cup of water whenever I feel the first bit of a scratchy cold coming on in the back of my throat.  You can purchase dried echinacea in most stores that have a good herb section or any health food store.  Now that I have Hal’s tincture, I will try it out and I will probably follow the dosage advice in this article (scan down towards the end of the article for the dosage info.)

 

Happy Herbing!

Rechelle

Mary Carol Garrity's House

June 25th, 2009

A few weeks ago, I toured the home of Mary Carol Garrity during her summer open house.

 

 

 

 

Mary Carol Garrity is the owner of the fabulous Nell Hill’s and Garrity’s stores in Atchison, Kansas as well as the newly opened Nell Hill’s at Briarcliff in Kansas City.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She has also written several books on interior decorating as well as a syndicated column called “Style at Home”

 

 

 

 

I have to admit to not being very adept at decorating my own home.

With four boys in the house, it is enough to just keep a pathway clear from the front door to the bathrooms.

 

 

 

But that does not stop me from enjoying someone else’s beautifully decorated home.

 

 

 

 

A girl can dream can’t she?

 

 

 

 

I used to love to decorate and got a huge kick out of arranging things on walls and table tops and along the mantle piece.  

I made curtains.  I collected old plates and actually hung them on the wall.  I created floral arrangements and seasonal wreaths and I made throw pillows to lay my aching head on after all that woefully wearying flower arranging. 

 

 

 

Now I look at decorative items and I just see one more thing to dust…

 

 

 

 

 

One more thing that will get broken during an indoor soccer match…

 

 

 

 

One more thing that will get mistaken for a Frisbee, a basketball goal or a receptacle from which to feed the cats…

 

 

 

So instead I visit other people’s homes and I dream…

I dream  of having a beautifully decorated home with furniture that has not been mercilessly ripped to shreds by the world’s most beautiful show cats, where no corn chips are ever scattered in a trail of crumbs from the kitchen to the garage and back again nine hundred time, and where the dirty dishes actually get placed in the dishwasher and not left to die a slow and painful death under the dresser in the back bedroom. 

 

 

 

 

A home where the only sticky spots on the floor are those left by the mottled sunlight… and they aren’t even sticky!

A home where the toilets clean themselves, the mud room is the only room with any mud in it, and my children suddenly understand why it is so important to their mother that all the bath towels be folded the same way and they ACTUALLY FOLD THEM RIGHT!

But that is not going to happen anytime soon is it?

So I will just have to hang on until Mary Carol opens her home to the masses again.  

 

 

 

 

 

If I can last that long…

 

PS – Mrs. Mama fixed the above photo for me.  Ain’t it pretty?

I Had A Gig…

June 25th, 2009

Well… I sort of had a gig.  

My friend Forrest Whitlow really had a gig and he invited me to sing back-up for him.

I opened the evening with a few songs of my own.

 

 

 

 

It was kind of surreal.  

I don’t really play gigs anymore.  

I don’t really play anymore.  

 

 

 

 

 

So I did the only thing I knew how to do…

I bought a new dress.

 

 

 

 

And then I stumbled through four of my songs… barely remembering how to play them… how to sing them… how to do that whole set-up thing…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah, it wasn’t that great.

And these guys here… they weren’t playing chess while I was singing.  

They left long before that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still, it was the coolest thing I have done in a long time.

 

 

 

 

 

This is Forrest Whitlow.  

He rocks.

Literally.

 

 

 

 

And this is me.

I used to sing back-up for Forest when I lived in Kansas City.  We hauled out all the old tunes and sang them again.  

Then I sang back-up on a few of Forrest’s new tunes.

 

 

 

 

This is David Hakan. He is the founder of the Kansas City Songwriter’s Circle and a dear old friend of mine.

He recorded the new song set that Forrest did.  If any of the songs turn out well, there might be a record of the night’s performance.

 

 

 

 

All I know is that I used to have this in my life…

this songwriting thing…

And then it went away…

I don’t think about it very much because there are all these other things in my life instead.

And my life is very full and very good.

But when I was a songwriter…. I was in touch with something that was euphoric, ethereal and other-worldly.  

It can’t really be explained. 

I sometimes wonder where it went…

An Arranged Marriage

June 24th, 2009

Yet another blast from the past.  This post was originally published on August 9th, 2007.  

These are my dear friends Dave and Katie. They used to live in my town. When they moved away, they left a huge, hemorrhaging hole in my heart and I didn’t know if I would survive.   Fortunately, I am married to a doctor and he was able to apply the right sort of pressure to save my life. However, even with all sorts of medical interventions, I have only been a shadow of my former self since they left.  Seeking a more permanent cure,  I loaded up the four boys and we went to visit Dave and Katie in their new town.

 

 

 

This is a picture of the fabulous dinner that Dave handcrafted while Katie and I sat in the living room drinking red wine and updating each other on uh… all the uh… critically important world events… that we uh… are uh… so knowledgeable about.

 

 

 

 

 

Dave and Katie have two beautiful children that my own children love, so when Dave and Katie moved and took their children with them, blood curdling screams of pain and anguish could be heard coming from my house for weeks.

 

 

 

 

 

This is their handsome son, Jackson with my Jack.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And this is their beautiful daughter, Maggie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here is Katie leading the Deathly Hallows Book Club discussion.

It has long been a dream of Katie and I, to someday merge our families via holy matrimony. It would allow Katie and I to spend much more time together and I don’t think it is too much to ask of one’s daughter to provide a little comfort to her mother and her mother’s friend as old age approaches?

Is it?

Well, is it?

No, it’s not.

Maggie can have her choice of my four sons. I won’t make her pick the dumbest or the most likely to be unemployed, or the one with the bad teeth. She can have her choice, as long as she chooses ONE of them.

The question is – which one?

 

 

 

 

 

Drew and Maggie are  in the same grade, and although they are almost equals in outward beauty, we are not sure that Drew is Maggie’s mental equal.

 

 

 

 

 

Katie has always leaned towards Ethan because he exhibits the same brainy, LOTR, child of the woods and water, Star Wars lovin, rogue athletic, traits that her son Jackson has.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cal would be the best one if Maggie prefers the strong silent type and if she wants a die hard fisherman like her dad.

 

 

 

 

 

 

But if she wants to talk…and talk and talk and talk… and if she goes for younger men (like her mother did) Jack might just fit the bill.

 

 

 

Pick one of them Maggie! I really think it would work out beautifully.

 

At least for me and Katie  it would…