By Ruby A. Iadeluca

I came across this article earlier this evening in the December '16 issue of Psychology Today.  Actually, just more of a little blurb, I suppose:

It really fits in to (one of) my current struggle(s):  Finding the time to write.

If you look at my typical week, I'm sure it's just like yours:  Maxed out completely between work and running the kids around and picking them up and laundry and dishes and.....

You get my point.

I've always told myself:  I'll do it tomorrow...

Or that my wants aren't worthy enough to be scheduled between the important things in life.

But I think, all in all, these simple suggestions could be life-changing.  (Maybe?) I might actually get excited about something I've got scheduled, instead of wondering why on earth I made plans.

And I know.  Easier said than done. 

Thanks Saint Valentine!

By Ruby A. Iadeluca


Not quite sure how I feel about tomorrow: Valentine's Day.

For the first time in over 25 years I'll be getting through this one on my own.  Having mixed feelings, really. 

I'll tell you one thing I am enjoying, is pondering how I'm feeling about this. 

I haven't figured it out yet.

Just love Grumpy Cat!

It's just going to be really different watching everyone around me, and how seeing how they really respond to this holiday.  I guess I've never paid it much attention.  Until now.

Sorry.  I know this post may lead you to believe that I have some hostility towards Saint Valentine.

Really, I don't.  Whether you believe me or not, I don't. For realz, man!

I've never gotten much out of Valentine's Day; so I've nearly always had that little bit of envy when I hear about other's dates, gifts, proposals.  I've always thought, "One of these years...!"

One thing I did get - a day early - was this:

 Ok.  I didn't get a boot.  Psst!  It's under the boot...

Picture this:  Freshly showered.  Just getting ready to squirt some lotion into my hand when I see it.  This huge, nasty, beetle-bug-from-h@ll!  On my lotion bottle!

Needless to say, I screamed.

A few times.

Loudly.

I must have blacked out because I don't recall how I got the evil monstrosity to the floor.  But somehow, I did.

I then recall - dimly - sorting through several pair of shoes and boots that were nearby until quickly deciding that my own boot was flat-bottomed enough, and weighty enough, to do the job. 

• Side note:  Finding just the right shoe?  The struggle is real, and you know it!  You simply can't have a sole that has too deep of crevices on the bottom, because the offending insect will surely side-step into a "safe-zone" and then fly up at you as soon as you lift the shoe just high enough to try to take a peek.  And you know that the shoe has to be firm.  Flimsy just doesn't cut it!  But it also needs to be of a medium weight.  Too heavy? Too light?  You're surely going to over- or under-swing in your moment of panicky weakness.  As I said, the struggle is real!

  

  I feel your pain, man.

Then I swung.  Just once.  Thank God!  That's all it took.  At least I think so.  My boot is still sitting on the behemoth as we speak.  I may have to forego wearing boots to work tomorrow.  Eh. It's almost Spring.  I'll live.

Since it's still under my boot, I drew a picture of it so that you could know first hand what I was dealing with this evening:

I think it actually had more eyeballs than this.

So since I've lived through this horrifying, terrible experience tonight (see above), I believe that I will be quite okay tomorrow (V-Day).

My plan is to sit back and observe.  Really get in touch with my inner feelings.  And eat more than a few stale conversation hearts that I've got in my desk drawer.

Enjoy yours! xoxo
-Ruby

The Return to Mid-Life (in a sense)!

By Ruby A. Iadeluca

Hey.

Just checking in.

Dare I say "I'm back."?

There's no proof of my re-entry into the blogosphere.  But truly, - I am.

I've actually just been doing a lot of pondering as of late.  A lot of very deep thinking.  A lot of alone time.  Maybe too much so.  And maybe that leads to too much thinking. Vicious cycle.

I've written.  Though I have not hit "publish" on anything.

Then I've re-written.  Still.. saving the draft, rather than publishing.

Then, ultimately, the little trash can icon is clicked once again.

I'm trying.  Really I am.

In a sense, I suppose, I'm finding my writer's voice - again.

See, when I started all of this in 2010 (10-10-10, to be exact), I had a lot of .... well, Stuff! that I needed to get out. And my love of writing was born. Almost instantly.  It wasn't a long labor. But one of those short ones. You know, the kind of labor where you don't even know you're in labor, you just think you're suffering from some indigestion? 

Exactly that! 

I could say "I don't know what the problem is now."  And that would be a fairly honest statement.

But, at the same time, I do have an inkling about why I'm so hung up on not being able to get anything worthy of reading typed out on my screen.

And that will all flow out in time, I'm sure.  The reasons, the doubts, the strengths and weaknesses.  All of these new aspects of myself that I'm discovering.  And rediscovering.

It's exciting.  It's scary.  It's a long road.  It's an adventure.

I hope you're all still there.  And I hope you're all still willing to take this journey with me.  I hope you're patient. If you're still there, then obviously you are.  But please feel free to comment and help prod me along.

Big inhale...

Slow exhale.....

Here we go!

Moving on...

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

By now you must know me well enough to understand that nothing I do is permanent.

In a way, I apologize for that, because I know that not being consistent with certain things can prove to be irritating for certain people.

But, in another way, I'm not sorry. I like that I'm creative and constantly changing and adapting. I like that I'm able to do that.

Long story short: I've relocated my blog. Possibly just temporarily. Maybe I'll come back to this location at the end of my year and a half commitment to my new location. But you see: I've signed the lease at:

 

www.MySuperMidlife.com

 

 

Now, I know that sounds the exact same as where you're standing right now. "Hey! I'm at your door, love. It's the same address you know." But it's not. You see... the difference being the "dotblogspotdotcom" and just "dotcom".

 

Now you see.... ?

 

 

I promise that I will be just as entertaining, if not, then more so. Come for a visit soon. It's really just right around the corner. Stop in for some tea!

 

Cheerio!

Spinach! Oh The Horror!

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

My lunch today was disappointing. And I knew it would be. That’s why it was the last frozen entrée in the freezer at work. It was pasta with ricotta (yum) and spinach….

I’m an adult; which means that I’ve had many dishes that have had spinach in them.

Okay. I suppose I’ve really only enjoyed one spinach-y item: Spinach Gnocchi (little potato dumplings with blended spinach in them). And those are very, very good.

However, today, when I slid the plastic encased plate out of its cardboard box I noticed that the spinach wasn’t smaller pieces blended into the ricotta as the picture on the box suggested, but rather, it was A LOT of whole leaves and big pieces.

 

My first thought was that this isn’t going to be good for my smile. I’m going to be fishing green things out of my teeth all day.

 

My second thought was of my first experience with spinach. My mom had never cooked spinach at home to go with any meal (bless her heart). I was a spinach virgin. So the "first time" for me was in school. Kindergarten I believe. We all sat down in our little plastic chairs with our little plastic trays in front of us. The warm pile of limp dark green spinach in the corner pocket was met with a general consensus of “Eeew!” and “Ick!” It smelled horrid! So why I ever decided to poke my fork into the pile of mush and hook a dab around one tine and then put it in my mouth is beyond me. I instantly gagged and heaved and have regretted that move ever since!

From that point on, I’ve never ever wanted to experiment with spinach again. And today was no exception. I tried to be a big girl and not pick every single piece out of my microwaved lunch, but I sure as heck pulled out as many green pieces as I could! I also ate the meal as fast as possible before anyone could walk into my office and see all the green stuff in my teeth. There was so much spinach left in the plastic tray - I swear there was more green stuff than ricotta and pasta - that I decided I’d better take it back to the lunch room garbage rather than throwing it away in the can under my desk. I certainly didn’t want to smell it all afternoon.

Needless to say, I won’t be buying that particular frozen meal anymore! I’d much rather go hungry or snack on my spare stash of stale saltines than attempt to eat spinach ever, ever again.

Re-Beginnings

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

It's been a lovely Easter. Not much sunshine, but we've had temps today in the low 60's, which is something I think we've all needed for a very long time. Winter seemed far, far too long.

It's now 6:30 in the evening. Nothing spectacular happened. In fact, other than the mad rush this morning to get the church on time, the day has been quiet and full of loved ones and good memories.

We were slightly late to church. I was worried because I thought I had heard that the services would only be about 15 minutes long due to the extra services being squeezed in this morning. So I figured that 5 minutes late meant that we would miss almost half of the sermon. Thank goodness it was just a misunderstanding on my part! It was a full length sermon and I needed every bit of it. I always feel physically and emotionally better when I walk out of the church.

After the service we were basically told that we didn't have to go home, but we couldn't stay there. Seriously though, we were invited to mingle in the tent that was set up outside. There were heaters, coffee and lots of sweet treats. So while the first congregation gathered in the tent, the second sermon was underway inside the Tabernacle.

We stopped in at Mom and Dad's and visited before we made our way to my In-laws home for Easter dinner. One huge, delicious meal and one Turkey hunting license later, we were home. Some of us fell asleep, while others of us puttered around the house, reading and starting a movie. It was a quiet day, albeit for the snoring.

I'm grateful that we have this time with family. It's doesn't seem often enough and I realize that it's one of those things - Important things - that simply get pushed to the background as we all try to live our lives in the foreground. I can't even begin to analyze why we allow this to happen. I've written before about excuses and life getting in the way, but I don't know how it happens time and again.

On a slightly different note, I was handed a piece of paper today while visiting my parents. It contained several names. Names of some of my ancestors. Several of the names I recognize, some I don't. It could very well be that I have seen all of the names before, but just simply don't remember them.

You see, many years ago, I became interested in genealogy.

It started with taking over planning the annual family reunion. Along with that job came the funds from the year prior, the address list, attendee list and the secretary notes. The secretary notes dated all the way back to the first Youker reunion. Yellowed though they were, they described events, places, family members, etc. It was overwhelming to me that these were family members I had never met mingling with my grandparents and great-grandparents.

Who were these people?

I was lucky, in that a lady, Dorothy Sonntag, had begun the research many, many years ago. Rudolph Juker and his wife Anna Windlorin had come to America around 1750, with four sons. Ms. Sonntag had researched each line of descendants as far as she could and had copied and sold the books. I was lucky indeed, in that I had a copy of our Juker/Youker ancestral heritage. I could trace back nearly 250 years ago, over 10 generations and see exactly where I came from.

Okay. Maybe not exactly. But pretty close!

While my husband and I were both self employed with our restaurant, I was able to spend a lot of time doing a lot of research. Some of it online, most of it in libraries, county records, historians, the local LDS. Visiting area cemeteries quickly became one of my favorite past-times.

I now have four children and a full-time job; and since I work outside the home, my research has been put away for more than 7 years. I've missed it and I have thought about it occasionally, but know that in reality, I simply do not have the time it would take to commit to any real research.

However, these past few months have found me going through my basement office. It's an annual task for me: picking up, dusting and going through the mounds of statements and receipts that have accumulated over the prior year and getting them ready for figuring out taxes. And I am always looking for things to throw out and get rid of in order to consolidate boxes and file cabinets. Down-sizing, simplifying is a good thing. This year, I re-opened the three drawer filing cabinet that held all of the research and reunion supplies that I had accumulated in previous years.

I began throwing out the Family Tree magazines, as any info in those would surely be outdated and also now easily accessible via internet. I boxed up files and files and booklets and references and notes and photos and maps, etc. My heart sunk a little more each time something was taken from a drawer and placed in a box.

After emptying the cabinet, I texted my sister to see if she had any interest and/or room to take on what I had abandoned. She did not want it. Which made me feel guilty for boxing it up. I felt like I had just boxed up puppies that nobody wanted.....

But it's Spring! It's a time for new beginnings and re-beginnings. You all know that I have four kids and a full-time job. I've told my sister that I finally have a pair of walking shoes, which means that I have committed to meeting her for walks two or three times a week. I've also taken on a new Mary Kay business.

Needless to say, I'm a little bit busy. But I've always believed (though I haven't always exhibited this belief) that you have the time for the things you want to do; and when you say "No, I just don't have time because....." that you're really just offering yourself excuses. Now remember: I said I believe that, though I don't always act on it. I think you'll agree: it's easier said than done.

So I'm willing to give it all a fair shot. Giving up some of my crutches and adding in a few of those things that "I've been meaning to do", should prove to be a positive experience.

At least in theory.

Right?

Prioritizing: What Should Really Come First?

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

There have been some recent goings ons:
 
     Spring,
     And Grandma's passing,

that have gotten me to thinking....

Maybe I should rearrange my priorities.

During Spring cleaning, which for me, amounts to the cleaning of the downstairs office area and sorting the previous  years worth of bills and receipts so that I can calculate our tax returns. I actually enjoy doing my own tax returns. I really get into reading the instructions for each line and then following the instructions' guide to the appropriate worksheet, tax table or other essential forms and their instructions.

In cleaning my office area, the boxes of old restaurant paperwork are gone through. Old payables files are set aside for the fire pit. 2007 was the lucky (and last) year for this. Now all that's left are the important things, like articles of incorporation, tax documents and personnel files.

I also had the pleasure/sadness of going through the short filing cabinet (heavy steel, three drawers tall and 2 feet deep).This cabinet was bought along with the rest of the office furniture in 2007. This one, however, has been used primarily to house my beloved genealogy research: Family Tree magazines, Reunion magazines, county birth, death and marriage records, previous copies of our ancestral lines, previous reunion invites, games, secretary notes (dating all the way from the early 1900's) address lists..... OH! How I've missed it!

I've often wondered what I would be doing if I didn't have "regular" job. My guess is that I would be researching our family lines.

The first several generations of the four (it may be five - my mind is a bit foggy on this as it has been quite a while) original Juker brothers were laid out by Dorothy Sonntag (Sunday) and my sister and I were able to add on to those. I had also started on the other lines in my family, but never really had the chance to bring them to any kind of (dare I say?) completion. Though "completion" is something a real genealogist knows they will never reach, as there is always another birth, death, marriage or adoption to uncover.

And then, Grandma Ev passed away on Sunday, April 6th. Her visitation and funeral were Friday and Saturday, April 11th and 12th respectively. At the visitation I had the chance to see so, so many family and friends that I hadn't seen in such a long time. Aunts, Uncles, cousins, friends from school. It was amazing to see those faces again.

And, more than once, I felt that this year was the year I should desperately try to bring back the Youker Reunion. Sure, it takes a lot of planning and work, but I'm up for it. What else do I have to do? Take care of 4 kids? Work a 40 hour/week job? Clean the house and do laundry for 6? Sell Mary Kay?

Family needs to come first. And planning this reunion needs to be done. It was said earlier today in my office, that when a death in the family occurs, it really makes you think that you should spend more time with them (your family).... but then life happens...

And from there, the sentence kind of faded into darkness....

But I thought to myself, 'Yeah, life happens. But in reality, excuses happen.'  And with the things that I had listed above (4 kids, regular 40 hour job, laundry for 6 and Mary Kay, etc., etc.), I also thought that 'It must just take some re-organization, some re-prioritization. Look at Grandma: she had six kids, jobs, taking care of the family, the elders, the farm and still had time to get dinner on the table and bake for and look out for her neighbors.' I think I can plan a simple reunion!

So, for the next couple of months, I'll be planning a family reunion. It will be fun. My sister, who has helped me tremendously plan and put together the last several that we did together, also helped me coin the phrase: "How hard can it be?" And we remind ourselves just how hard it really can be all too often!

And, I may even start dabbling again into the family research. Start laying it all out on a USB drive and get myself an early birthday gift of a subscription to Rootsweb or Genealogy.com or some such. Maybe I'll even try to attend some of the GTAGS meetings again. Hopefully the old bats won't start arguing this time!

My cup of tea!

Does anyone want to hire an amateur genealogist/researcher? You would only pay for for travel and expenses and meals, on top of my 'retainer' fee.

Seriously, the thought of this is really starting to appeal to me.....

I'll keep you all posted.

The UTBIOTAD Ruse

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

If you have teens, you probably already know what I'm talking about.

The UTBIOTAD ruse: Using The Bathroom In Order To Avoid Dishes.

Because really, how much bathroom time do they really need?

Apparently, a LOT!

I interviewed my 13yo on the subject and this is what she had to say:

Q: Why do you spend so much time in the bathroom?

A: Because it gets me out of doing dishes.

Q: What do you do in the bathroom?

A: I look at my hotness. (She came up with that answer pretty quick. Maybe I should be worried?)

Q: (at this point I used my hand to show her a "graph" of the time she used the bathroom plus the time she took to finish dishes, in comparison to the time she could have taken to simply do the dishes and then have free time) Why don't you just do the dishes and then have free time before bed-time to do whatever?

A: Because dishes suck!

At this point, the interview was over. She was mad because I was questioning her routine, her decision to "just use the bathroom real quick before dishes".

This is typical in our household.  Our 20yo is almost never home. She doesn't pay any rent, just her share of car insurance, so she's expected to do some chores, but she rarely does. Unless she's expecting her BF to come over, then it's a different story completely! She will clean house until she more than runs out of time and he's standing at the door while she's finishing sweeping the dirt into the dustpan! In fact, the usual custom that has developed is that she will come home late from work and then continue to stay up to (literally) all hours face-timing, face-booking, tweeting and texting. Then when morning rolls around and the rest of the family has been up and dressed, eaten breakfast and are beginning on the day, she will stroll up the stairs from her room, still in her pajamas, hair fashionably in its messy knot on the top of head, pretending to be all exhausted from her night of studying. And when we confront her with the topic of what chores she will do that day, we get a very high-pitched "But I have to go to work today! And I've got to work on my essay!" She is basically saying that she will not be participating in any household chores because by the time she fixes herself breakfast, and then showers and gets ready for work, her three free hours will be all used up. Her dad and I go down this road at least once a week.

The 17 yo, he just is waaaaay to macho to be pushing a broom or soaking his hands in dishwater. However, despite the machismo, we usually let him off from the mundane household chores, because he's the "go-to" guy when the driveway needs to be snow-blowed, or the lawn needs to be mowed, or the roof needs to be shoveled, or some other heavy-duty, heavy-lifting chore needs to be done. He's the guy.

Then, the 13yo. This is the girl I interviewed.

Over a year ago, their dad and I had much more control over the household chores than we do now. We divided the chores between the kids on a basis of time. Dishes: each kids got a week at a time. Garbage out to the curb: each kid got a month. Etc. You get the point.

The oldest three kids did the chores when they were supposed to. That was that.

So the 13yo.... We made a 'deal' with her. Since she completely sucks at doing dishes, we told her that if she could step up her game and do the dishes without the "clean" dishes being coated in grease, then we would assign the another of our children to do dishes and put her into the 3 week interval of the dish-washing schedule. I cannot remember the exact date we began the 'deal'; it's been well over a year at least, most likely close to 2 years.... And we are so (sadly) in the habit now of checking plates, silverware and glasses for film, grease and dried on tidbits from the last meal that, obviously, she is still doing dishes. Every. Single. Day.

I sometimes will help out. But that's more for the sake of actually having a clean dish to eat off of than it is for feeling sorry that she's doing dishes. Again.

So, in summary, she very willingly admitted that she spent a lot of time in the bathroom to avoid doing dishes; but what the poor child doesn't realize - or at least, what she won't admit to - is that she is only wasting her own time. I know for children, this isn't a huge deal. After all, she's only used up 13 years of her lifetime. And remember as a kid, how your days and months and years used to seem endless? This is why, as adults, we fear wasting time. We know how fast the days, months and years are really ticking by. That's not to say that I wake up at the crack of dawn every day. But for kids, sleeping until noon, or gazing at every nook and cranny of their own face in the bathroom mirror for what seems like hours on end, is okay. Because for them, they still have a lot of life left to live.

It's an age-old conundrum, one of those riddles that will never be figured out, until what goes around truly comes back around, and children become adults and they look at their watches and say, "Is it really 7:30 already? Where did the day go? Don't those kids realize that if they just did the dishes now, they would have the entire evening left over to just do what they want?"

And, of course, no parent will ever admit to their own child, how much time they used to spend in the bathroom after dinner!

How You Look at Things: Opti- v. Pessi-

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

This is not meant to be a depressing post, and the books that I borrowed these quotes from, are not depressing books. The books as wholes are very well written and they are very scintillating stories that kept me involved in the characters' lives from start to finish. And, as I have not read from this series in some time now, I find myself missing these people (characters).

I believe I have borrowed both of these from the same author: Martha Grimes...

"Memory is slippery. I read somewhere that we never completely forget a thing, that there are the imprints of everything we've ever seen or done, all of these tiny details at the bottoms of our minds, like pebbles and weeds that never surface from a river bottom."

"But I suppose the whole natural world forgets; the tall grass I plow through beyond the door does not hold on to the imprint of my shoe; the water she drowned in and the lily pads that bore her up have lost all trace of Mary-Evelyn Devereau. We don't leave anything of us behind, except in others' memories. And if they forget us, we're finally gone at last."

Every once in a while, I latch on to a sentence or two that makes me stop and re-read what I have just read. Then, when I have read those words many times over, I will finally reach for my pencil and paper and write them down, in hopes of never forgetting what they evoke in me at any given point in time.

It's odd how you can find these little gems in the oddest of places: a line in a book, a young tree with bare branches covered in frost, a long lost friend or family member on Facebook who lifts your spirits with their posts. . .

Maybe it's not odd, maybe it's a kind of blessing. I suppose it depends on how you choose to look at things.

Like.... (and this is a stretch for me) it's ten at night and the kids didn't wash up the dishes, but there is fresh-baked banana bread. Does this make me happy? Or does this make me uptight because, not only are the dishes not done, but now there are more to do tomorrow?

I'll leave that question hanging out there for you to ponder. There are some of you who know me very well and they know how I would answer this. But there are others who don't know me as well who will believe the opposite. And still others would shine their own opinion on this and state what they think I should be feeling about this situation.

I will tell you though, that at this point, I am happy. Maybe content is a better word. Content = not discontent. And I'm certainly not discontent. At least not at the moment.

Post a comment. Do you have any favorite quotes from books that you've read? A sentence or a paragraph that just seemed to make you stop in your tracks? A little snippet of something that made you think that it was just waiting for you to find it? I'd love to hear what yours are.

A Bit Unusual

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

It's Sunday evening, and currently I am sitting here all by my lonesome. The two younger kids are in bed - and asleep. The older two kids and their dad are still at work.

I can hear my last load of laundry for the day going its' rounds in the dryer. I have already put away all of the clean and folded laundry. I am showered and pajama-ed and have put a fresh coat of polish on my nails. I've checked Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest and several of my favorite sites and blogs.

And now.... ? I'm thinking about heading to bed. This is unusual for me. It's not quite 10 p.m. and I'm actually thinking about clicking on my electric blanket and choosing which new book to begin from my bedside stack.

I was even able to squeeze in about a half hour to do some of the online research that I've wanting to tackle. I made some notes and sent some emails. And now...

I'm done. And all just a little bit earlier than the "norm".

For as many years as I can remember (at my age, that isn't very many), I've had the same bedtime routine. Shower, brush, floss, drink a large glass of ice water, read until ice water (and ice) are gone, then slather my lips with Carmex, and lay down and work a sudoku puzzle until I fall asleep and nearly stab myself in the eye will my pencil.

          Aside: Occasionally, I've actually woken up the next morning to find those little eraser gunkies
                       stuck to my lips.

If I just "go to bed" I will never fall asleep. Reading and the few minutes of sudoku are a form of relaxation for me. It really helps to take my mind off of things.

I'm a mother of four, so for many years - and I mean many years - I carried diaper bags everywhere I went. Diaper bags always contained: Diapers, wipes, powder, Desitin, change of clothes, bibs, extra bottles/formula/snacks, plastic mat and bags for diaper changes/soiled clothes, favorite toys/books, pacifiers, pacifier clips, extra pacifiers, sanitizing wipes, etc. And so, as a mother of four, I most likely carried diaper bags everywhere I went for at least 8 years. Do you know how long it took me to get over the feeling of "I know I'm forgetting something." every time I left the house. I can still walk into a store and think I've forgotten something in the car.

          Aside: Once, after grocery shopping and getting everything into my car and driving out of the parking
                       lot, I completely panicked! An electric shock went through me and I began to sweat. It was so
                      quiet inside my minivan that I was certain, for that split-second of infinitesimal time, that I had
                      left my baby in the cart, now in the middle of the parking lot cart corral. I didn't. She was safely
                      buckled into her seat in the van - just being extra quiet.

My point being, that if I were to just go plain old straight to bed, turn off my lamp and lay down, I would essentially be awake for hours tossing and turning, wondering what I had forgotten to do. This is not a good feeling.

So tonight, I will follow my usual process and fall asleep.

Except last night, I had done just that. I had followed all of my usual steps to a "T". Not more than ten seconds after turning off my lamp and snuggling down into my warm flannels, something jolted me awake. I hadn't heard anybody get up and go to the bathroom, or even to the kitchen. My mind quickly went through any and all items that may have been left out in the kitchen that may have fallen over. Even if I had been able to think of a logical explanation, which I hadn't, I would still need to get up and check on whatever this noise was. Just as I was pulling open my bedroom door, the thought struck me that I may want to be quiet, just in case it was an intruder, or a monster or some such.

Luckily, it wasn't anything of the sort. In our kitchen we have a long overhead fluorescent light fixture. The kinds where the plastic casing just snaps onto the end caps of the fixture. The plastic casing had fallen off and - of course - had clattered onto the floor.

Very unusual, indeed. This fixture had not been touched since my husband and son had installed it several months ago. So after standing there in the dimly lit kitchen, looking down at the plastic casing and then back up at the fixture, and up and down several more times with no logical explanation of what had caused this coming to my mind, other than sometimes weird stuff just happens, I deemed it safe enough to pick up the casing and lean it against the cupboard. There was no way I was going to pull a chair over and stand on it while trying to pop this thing back into place at that late hour.

Nope. I just headed back to bed. Again picking up my sudoku to soothe myself back to sleep.

I know this is neither here nor there, but because it's been such a drag of

a cold winter, I thought that the sun felt glorious this weekend as it poured through my windows.

I felt a bit like this cat sitting there soaking it up.

Something New. . . And Selfies

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

I posted a while back about getting a New Do. Appointment set. Appointment cancelled. Appointment set again - and this time kept.

The night before the appointment, I had posted two pics to my Facebook wall:

Option 1

Option 2

I had asked my son prior to posting the photos, which option he would choose for me. His answer was Option 2. Option 2 is a bit edgier, and my mid-life hypercritical self, also wanted Option 2, putting aside the fact that it was much choppier, layered and shorter. Which, in reality, would mean that the time it would take every morning to make this cut look good would leave me with about .007 seconds in which to drive to work. Plus, on the odd morning when things just aren't going as planned, there would be no "bad hair day ponytails" because the cut is simply too short.

Though secretly I was rooting for Option 2, luckily my Facebook friends are much more realistic and down to earth than I am. Everybody who voted chose Option 1.

So Option 1 it was, hands down.

I tried to get some selfies of my hair color and length before my Saturday morning appointment, but with limited time and no experience in the Selfies Department whatsoever (High angle, low angle, from the back.... Delete! Delete! Delete!), coupled with the other fact that I'm fairly self-conscious. . . well, in summary, there is no Before photo.

And, again, with no experience taking Selfies, my youngest daughter (7yo) took pity on me and offered to take my photo. Three tries and she nailed it:

Overall, I think about 4 inches came off. I am happy with the cut. Though I am somewhat lamenting not going with the 'edgier' option, I am quite thrilled with the change. And while not wanting to rush the weekend at all, I am looking forward to styling it on Monday morning.

So that's my story. I'm thinking about adding "Learning To Take Selfies" to my New Year's Resolutions list. It's never too late, right?

Something New...

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

I'm learning quickly,  that at my age, you can't necessarily grow your hair out to any fabulous length without a lot of extra effort to keep it from looking, well - fried!

My hair is currently layered and hangs (literally) to the bottoms of my shoulder blades. Which is great - if I had the time every morning to mousse it, dry it, tease it and curl it. I am proud, however, that I haven't had too many ponytail days.

As the years progress, my ponytail progressively gets thinner. I've always had fine hair, but over the last couple of years, it takes nearly as much product and teasing now, as it took me 25 years ago to get the famed "80's hair".

Whoop! There it is!

Let's just sum it up by saying, "That was a very long time ago.'

Now, I'm looking for something fresh. Not exorbitantly different. Just something that doesn't look like an overgrown shag. This post is from one of the blogs I follow and I've always loved her hair ideas. I had just pulled a few photos off of a google search I did last night; and then - should have known - I checked Kate's blog and saw that she had done exactly what I was hoping to accomplish.

What do you think?

She's got so many hair tutorials. I highly recommend her blog. The link, mentioned above, is also on my sidebar Favorite Sites list.

So really. Let me know what you think. Thanks!

Is It "Mid-Winter" Yet?

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

I've just visited Facebook and every other post is about the weather, the massive amount of snow, the Polar Vortex, windchills, the slams on the South for closing at the least bit of ice or snow... I am so done with this weather.

In particular, I'm done with
     *White, whiteness, the color white
     *Snow-blindness - which goes along with the aforementioned "White"
     *Gray
     *Dirty snow
     *Driving slow
     *People driving in front of me driving slow
     *Brushing snow off my car
     *Everyone on Facebook posting about how cold it is
     *Everyone on Facebook posting about how much snow we've had
     *Co-workers mentioning (repeatedly) their upcoming vacation(s) to someplace warm.

This pretty much sums it up.

  
 I'm very ready for someplace warm.

Tonight though, we dined someplace warm: The Hofbrau in Interlochen. We were lucky to be seated by the fireplace.


Hofbrau in the Winter 2014
I know there's a front door here somewhere!

Hofbrau in the Spring. :)









I am so very, very tired of the unbearably long winter months. Dark, grey, dreary.

I spend a few minutes each day thinking about spring, summer and fall. Planning out the back deck this year and the planters full of colorful flowers. Scouring the calendar for just the right dates and weekends for a getaway; for just that right time with the kids and a few well-earned days at the beach.

Who knows? Maybe this year, I'll be able to schedule in a few extended weekends. Not maybe! I'll make sure it happens!

In the meantime, I'll while away my hours day-dreaming about:

Here's to some warmth and greenery.

Time and Will Power from an Older Perspective

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

Resolutions seems to be the going theme at this time of year. Promises we make. Goals we set. AT my age, you really start thinking “Why?” I’m an old dog, who, try as I might, just doesn’t seem to be able to learn any new tricks. I never imagined it would be this hard. My enemies (at least the way I see it) are Time and Will Power.

More time. Who doesn’t wish for more time? Time is what I need to get my thoughts straight; to get any and all resolutions/goals/promises in order: most important to least important; most impactful to least impactful; will make me happiest to what will make me least happiest. Bill Marsh - Making You Matter tell’s us that looking back on the last year is important. It is – to a point, but really. Wouldn’t it be easier to just scrap it all and start over? You’d better make up your mind quick on that one because none of us are getting any younger.

I need Time to think and Time to organize those thoughts and Time to really write down which ones are most necessary for my mental, physical and financial well-being. This is serious stuff. Not something I can do on the fly, or during the two hours left to me in the evenings; remembering that with this two hours is usually dinner, bill paying, showering and maybe, if the family is lucky, a load of laundry might get done. But not tonight. Folks, I have a hard enough time getting together a grocery list for a quick stop on the way home.

Time is a sneaky enemy. A formidable foe. How do you overcome Time? How do you trap him and squish him thinner and stretch him out longer? Then, I suppose, he wouldn’t be considered “Quality Time.” There are only 24 hours in a day. And a normal day consists of: Waking up, getting ready for work, getting the kids to the bus stop and/or school, getting to work, working, getting out of work, home (with or without the stop for gas, groceries, pet supplies, etc.) dinner, visiting with the kids and/or vegging out, shower, like I said before: possibly the occasional load of laundry, bed.

So please enlighten me. Tell me something I don’t know. When am I going to squeeze in a work out? Writing? Cleaning? When I make time for these, something else must get cut or suffer. It’s just not possible.

And Will Power? I’ve always thought of myself as Normal. I’m just as good as the person next to me. I’m generally highly adaptable to most things that get thrown my way. However, as of late, with this whole mid-life dealio thing, I find myself not quite as adaptable as I once was. And I believe a lot of that has to do with Will Power. I had the Will Power, early on in my life to shut up and put up. I could put up with a lot – aka: Highly Adaptable. Now? Not so much.

I hated with a capital “H” not taking my own thermos of coffee to work. I hated taking it, but I hated that I should give it up. It was a very nearly year-long process to break the habit. That’s right. It took me almost a year to build up enough Will Power to break the habit. Telling myself that it was okay to go to bed without getting the coffee maker ready the night before. It’s okay to re-heat a cold cup of coffee in the morning and take it with me and then switch to the uber-strong and bitter mud/coffee at work. Well, finally, I quit carrying my own thermos to work. In fact, there are mornings when there isn’t any left over coffee to re-heat and I’ve found that I’m okay with this. I take some ice water with me and remind myself that I can get some fresh, hot, super-strong and bitter coffee when I get to work (Oh joy!). And on a typical day, I have 2 to 3 cups a day. Other days I might have a few more. But for me…. Someone who has taken an entire thermos of coffee with her for years… this is a good thing.

And another thing that darned Will Power won’t let me do is walk. I enjoy walks. I really do. Being by myself, earbuds in, favorite tunes drowning out everything around me. Walks are a time of therapy, meditation – and of course, physical exercise. But Will Power beats me to the punch. It whispers in my ear, “Oh, Ruby, you don’t want to walk today, it’s way too cold. Why walk today? You’ve already done so well two days this week. Stay home, the kids need you. Don’t you feel slightly crampy and bloaty? Stay home. Stay home.” Why oh why do I listen to Will Power?!?

Or cleaning? Will Power doesn’t like it when I clean. Will Power actually makes me feel good about myself – in a very artificial sense. Will tells me that I’ve worked hard all day; that I should take it easy. Will Power rubs my shoulders and tells me that I deserve a little break, that I should sit down and watch another episode of Parks & Recreation. Awesome sauce! Hey, the pile of laundry isn’t actually falling over yet; therefore, it doesn’t need to be put away. Let it go…. Let it go…

That dirty, nasty Will Power. Hate! Him! Why couldn’t I have been born with a nice Will Power to accompany me throughout all the days of my life? Thanks Mom

So here we are. On the eve of January 3rd. And here I sit, complaining to you all that I can’t possibly write down and plan out my year of resolutions because of powers outside of my command. I know. I know. It’s just excuses. But tell me, how do you handle these two unruly, outlandish, numskulls (sp?)? I hate to say I give up, but I’m exhausted from trying to figure a way to get around these two, trying to coax these two into being more accommodating. What’s wrong with me? Other people seem to be able to meet them head on. “Why can’t I?” I ask as I sit here stifling a yawn, looking forward to my shower and bed and my newly acquired electric blanket. Why do they seem to be so far out of my reach?

Well, I’m sure I will ponder this a little more. . . when I have a little more Time and Will Power to do so.

Have a good night.

#throwbackthursday 'Tis the Season for Snow Days!

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca


I suppose you've seen it. And you've read all the posts on Facebook that state the obvious: It's snowing! I suppose we need to consider ourselves lucky up here in the north that we've made it nearly half-way through November before it snowed.

I'm not certain what drove my ancestors to land here in Traverse City. In the spirit of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday, I am thankful that at least they didn't land in the *U.P. *That's Upper Peninsula to you folks who aren't trolls who live under the bridge - meaning the Mackinac Bridge.

I don't remember as a child being be-fuddled by snow. It never occurred to us - ever - that the roads were too icy to drive on. Never thought how unlucky my parents were, having to drive on the nasty roads, while us kids had a snow day.

Now I know. But I'm sure, with el Nino and global warming and whatever else the politicians and scientists and weather forecasters want to through at us, that the winter roads now are waaay worse than they ever were when I was a kid!

I could be wrong! Not our car, but I know the blizzard of '78
left us driving through drifts as high as a house.

Snow days were great! Honestly, I think the best part of the snow day was the lethargic, angry mood we would be in while listening to the radio waiting for them to announce that Buckley Community Schools was closed. After that.... don't remember much.

One of the things that my sister and I used to do while we stayed at home was play with paper dolls. I remember some of the details vividly, and others are just a blur.

Carrie, Katie, Sarah and Becky

 

This mush have been Sarah's living room at Christmas. Maybe it was Carrie's?

 

 

Katie's ice cream parlor.

 

 Carrie's bedroom.

 

I'm certain this isn't an exact replica, but it will give you some idea... 

 

We started out the The Gingham Girls, my sister was Carrie - with the dark hair and blue outfits; and I was Becky, with the blonde hair and yellow and red outfits. They suited us well. The paper-dolls came with a cardboard backdrop of an ice cream parlor, amongst other things. We played for literally hours. We would painstakingly set up all of their many rooms in their mansion all over the large Indian-print rug on the living room floor, in front of the huge Zenith console TV.

Again, don't know if this is an exact replica, but I am certain it was this big!

I don't know if anyone remembers how thick the old JCPenney catalogs were, but after mom was done poring over them and ordering her thermal-lined curtains, sis and I would carefully tear out the pages of the prettiest bedrooms and living room and kitchens in the catalog. We would take the pages, trimming them down if necessary, and lay them out, just so, on the Indian-print rug. It was our super-huge paper-doll mansion! We would lay them all out in perfect alignment, setting them up so there would be an intricate maze of hallways. **Sis, did we use secret passageways?

Later on, we got a little more sophisticated when I had gotten a set of Barbie paper-dolls. The Barbie set came with an RV and Ken and Skipper. Ken! Don't remember much about Ken. He must have been a dud. There was just no way to tell if he was such a cool guy that he had girls - lots of girls - around him all of the time; or if he was one of the girls and like them for their conversation and hair-care tips. Barbie had a lovely wedding dress. I think she must have had some kind of complex because I made her wear it a lot!

Anyhoo.... that's one of the many ways we wiled away the hours on a snow day. Enjoy!

Short & Sweet: The Inevitable Candy Corn-Induced Sugar Coma

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

**Please see disclaimer below.


I am falling into a nap/sugar coma.

I had some candy corns stashed in my drawer and for the last several days I have been very good; pouring out only a small handful to treat myself with after I've eaten my lunch. Today, however, I temporarily lost my mind. I ate my lunch, poured myself a small amount, then, when that was gone, I thought: There's only a small amount left in the bag. I'll pour those out on my desk and eat them slowly throughout the afternoon.

Well, you'd think that at the age of 42, I would know myself better. Eat them slowly? Riiiight. And secondly, after I poured the remainder of the bag out onto my desk, it looked like way more than I had thought it was going to be. I had this really big pile of candy corns in front of my phone!

I didn't put them back in the bag either. (Of course.) Though my sane self told my piggy self that I should just put some of them back in the bag. My piggy self said, "What? Are you kidding? Eating all these? No problem! And I deserve it!" I began shoveling them in for fear someone would walk into my office and see the massive pile of candy corns, and then they would know what kind of person I really am.

And now?

I'm extremely lethargic. I'm yawning. My eyes are crossing. And I've still got two more hours until the end of my work day. I really don't understand why I do this to myself. I could have just nibbled on a few more saltines to satisfy the cravings. In fact, I still might do that in hopes of counter-effecting the mid-afternoon crash. Maybe the carbs will absorb some of the sugar?

Wishful thinking!

Disclaimer: First, let me be very frank: I wrote this at work. NOT something I normally do. And I wrote it a few weeks back. I usually just jot down ideas and one-liners as they pop into my head, but I thought writing this immediately would get me the most bang for my buck. And I think that changing the tenses to make it sound like I wrote it after the fact would definitely have short-changed everyone involved. It was really only a matter of a few minutes and I promise I'll never do it again. Peace.

Friday Night!

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

Are you a mother? Are you children moved out? Still at home? What do you do on a Friday night for excitement?

Exactly what I was thinking.

If you're a responsible mother of four and your spouse and two of your oldest children are working for the evening, you're most likely left at home to "be" with the other two. You've probably poured yourself a glass of wine. Something young, cheap and sweet (I won't use the "how I like my men" reference here - though it's killing me to not do so). And, like most of the world now-a-days, you've given up all access cable TV for the much cheaper version of entertainment we all know and love: Netflix.

This is me last Friday night. Wine in hand, my dollar-a-bag pretzels on the coffee table, Parks & Recreation episode 71 playing on TV. The two children who are still at home with their mother are the two youngest daughters: 13 y.o. in her room most likely YouTube-ing music videos, though she adamantly swears she's doing her German homework; and the 6 y.o. who is spending her evening annoying her mother by playing with marbles on the coffee table in front of me. She also has at least one empty paper towel tube that she is blowing the marbles through. My attention, wanting to be on the TV, is distracted every few seconds by the noise of a marble bouncing off the top of the coffee table. Annoyed, I try my best to perfect my lip-reading skills so that I can continue to enjoy the semi-quiet of the evening. I prefer to not turn up the TV at every little sound - unlike some other people who live in this house who shall remain nameless...

It wasn't until my sub-conscious heard the slight coughing/gagging noise that make mothers everywhere cringe with the knowledge that someone has just puked or something of equal value. And then my consciousness heard the shrieking/panicked crying that snapped me out of my tune-out-the-kids trance and I realized what was happening.

But alas! It was too late. The marble was already down the esophagus. I could tell immediately that she was breathing fine because she was crying. And continued to cry - loudly - for a period of time. Poor kid. I suppose I can't blame her for freaking out. She seemed to be in a state of shock. Kind of like: "Oh My Gosh I Just Swallowed a Marble And I'm Going To Die!" mixed with "Oh My Gosh I Just Swallowed a Marble And Mom Is Going To Kill Me!" That's a bad combination for the 6-year-old brain to process.

I admit, I went slightly into panic-mode myself. "Oh My Gosh My Kid Just Swallowed a Marble!"

But I did fine. Something about being a mother and the instincts that just take over when something is happening to your child (though they still need to clean up their own vomit when they don't make it to the bathroom). I was level-headed and calm - at least on the outside. I just knew, as I put my arm around her and told her to calm down, what I had to do. I knew where the other kid was, where my purse and car keys were, where the shoes and jackets were. Worst case scenario: a drive to the emergency room. While my brain was doing laps around the house taking a mental inventory of everything that might come in to play, and my mouth and arms were trying to comfort the frightened child, my legs took me straight to the laptop. GOOGLE! "What should you do if you kid swallows a marble?"

Every post I read (oddly enough, most of the posts came from Australia. Things that make you go hmmmm), suggested that I simply wait. Making sure there are no other symptoms like belly-ache, or not being able to breathe properly, we were to wait until the marble popped out the other end. However, many suggestions mentioned that if it were a battery or something with sharp edges, that I should take her immediately to the emergency room. Well, duh!

And while she threw the few remaining marbles quite willingly into the trash, Mommy explained briefly where the marble was and where it would go. That if anything started hurting she needed to tell me right away. The rest of the evening was spent reassuring her and the next day was spent asking her if she needed to go potty or if her belly hurt.

I'm pretty sure she's learned a valuable lesson.

All this brought to mind the story of when my aunt (five years my junior) got a bean stuck up her nose. They couldn't get it out and took her in to see the doctor. The doctor looked and looked and simply couldn't find it. Once something is up your nose, there aren't too many places it can go. There just aren't. I believe the bean was found when they came back out to the car to go home. It was laying on the back seat if I'm not mistaken.

Maybe my aunt is Australian.

#ThrowbackThursday: Grandpa's Basement

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

This seemed appropriate since today is Halloween....

My family lived next door to my great-grandparents for many years. During the summers, my sister and I would spend the day with the great-grandparents. Often times we would wake and once ready for the day, we would ride our bikes along the path that led from our house to theirs. During the school year, depending on mom and dad's schedule, Dad would drop us off in the morning before school.

I remember freezing in the morning in my pajamas (so maybe it was during Christmas break), being driven in the black of early morning down the road to their house. The super-large snow-flakes coming at the windshield like a swarm of killer bees.

Once there, I recall mostly the basement in the winter mornings. Grandpa was up and waiting for us. Grandma still a-slumber in their warm bed. As a way to keep it quiet for Grandma, Grandpa would usher us down the narrow gray-painted stairs to the warm basement. After stoking up the wood furnace, the games would commence. Grandpa was always a good sport. For little kids, it seemed so easy to keep us occupied. Who knew that you could sit for hours in a heated competition with your Great-Grandpa trying to drop clothes-pins onto the rim of a Mason jar? He always won.

And who knew the finding of a little silver thimble could be such fun, especially when you found it inside the hem of Grandpa's pant-leg or better yet, inside of his hairy ear!

The basement was a kind of eerie place to play for my sister and I. "Play" in the sense that it might be fun to play as long as we were together. Alone - not so much. It was dark. It was damp. During the winter it smelled of pungent stacked wood and smoke. In the summers it smelled of earth and dampness.

The creepiness started at the top of the stairs. It was an old house, so to begin with, the doors were all wood, stained dark, with glass knobs - and the old-fashioned keyholes. The kind that took a skeleton key. The stair case seemed very long and narrow and as soon as you cleared the floor above, it was an open stair case with just a railing on one side. For us kids, the whole scene? Just. Plain. Scary.

At the bottom of the stairs, to the right, was another wooden door. This door was the freakiest in the whole house! The same wooden door, but not as well cared for, so it seemed dull and dirty. And I think this one may have had a metal knob. On the other side of this door.... there was no light switch. You had to pull the string on the fixture in the middle of the room, and though the room was tiny, and an adult could probably have reached the string from the doorway, it seemed to a small child as though it were miles away - in the dark. The floor was dirt, and the narrow wooden shelves were lined with canned fruits and vegetables and meat. (Side note: I love canned meat! Great-grandma made the best mincemeat pies!) This small room always seemed to contain more than its fair share of cobwebs, too!

The deep freezers were located in the basement. These weren't so creepy. Not unless you spent too much time thinking about what might be inside....

There was also a little gray school desk. The kind of desk you would find in a one-room school house, where you needed the desk behind you so you'd have a seat to sit on. The hinged lid lifted to an interior that I'm sure some child-sized apparition kept its invisible slate board in. Also on top, was a hole that seemed a mystery for years, until we finally discovered that it was once for holding an ink pot. It always seemed to me as though it may have a ghostly school-aged spirit that sat there with it, waiting for class to start. When I went to the basement alone, I never passed to closely to this desk.

Helping Great-Grandma and Grandpa with the washing was something I'll always remember as a fun time. The actual washing of laundry is kind of a blur. But I certainly remember helping to wring the clothes!

 

 

The clothes would slosh in the washer and drain through a hose leading to a drain in the cement floor. Though very carefully watched - and probably helped - I was then allowed to feed the wet clothes though the electric wringer. I loved that job! They would come out on the other side as flat as a board and we would have to get them into the clothes basket and not on the floor. Then, depending on the season, we would either help hang the clothes outside on the line or inside on the line. I could be wrong, but I think I was pretty good at it.

 

Great-grandma may have thought different; but if she did, she never said.

 

Maybe next #throwbackthursday I'll concentrate on the magic of the small yellow kitchen. Until then: Happy Haunting!  

 

 

 



#ThrowbackThursday: Great Grandpa's House

Written by Ruby A. Iadeluca

The following stems from an old college Literature paper of mine. And seeing as how I wrote it, I took many, many liberties correcting and embellishing where needed. My hope is that this will be a lengthy series.:

I spent a lot of my early childhood days in a place I could have very easily called home. This place was my great-grandparents' house. The lived in a light green, two-story, brick house. It was a peaceful setting, off the busy road. It was surrounded by towering maples and pines, which lent to the mint-green coolness of the brick house.

A garage, matching in color, squats beside the house. And behind that is a small barn, built with pine and a slanting metal roof. Small windows, fly-strips, tractor parts, saddles, bits and reins occupied the barn, lying still, covered in dust. With the ponies gone the barn seemed to sit in a vacuum tube of bygone days. The empty pony pens' floors matted with moldy straw.

It was a small barn, built with a low ceiling to accommodate the hayloft above. One day, after I was told to leave the ponies alone because they were lame, I went down to the barn. My pony's name was Sam. My sister's pony's name was Sarge or Sergeant. Sam was mine because he was a little smaller than Sarge. When I went down to the barn, the ponies were standing at the manger, not necessarily eating, but standing there in the mud-tray to aid their lame hooves. I spoke to them. I curried them. Then, child that I was, I hoisted myself onto Sam. He immediately bucked and I remember hitting my head so hard on the low ceiling that I saw stars. Foolish child! Should have listened to Great-grandpa. I climbed down gingerly and walked back to the house trying to act as though nothing had happened.

I remember so many details of that era; of that house. Grandma always wore dresses. She had good dresses for church and visiting. And she had her every-day dresses. She had lots of pretty aprons, too. She was always baking. The smell of fresh bread every week was a delight to the senses, even for a child. And if we were lucky - we could smell a loaf of cinnamon bread, too! I can remember pancakes for lunch. Grandma, though often thought of as an ornery woman and a stickler for penny-pinching, loved us girls and Grandpa tremendously. We often got chocolate milk with lunch, and once in a while we were treated to milkshakes made with the mixer on the kitchen wall. They were always served in these glasses that had monkeys on them.

To this day I have a hard time eating raspberries. I loved them as a child; I really did! One day, Grandma and Grandpa, my sister and me sat on the enclosed porch at the back of the house to eat our lunch. Dessert was a small bowl of freshly picked raspberries. So fresh, mine had a tiny white worm inside of one. I probably started to cry. But Grandpa, softy that he was, tried to make me laugh and believe that it wasn't that big of a deal. He squashed the teeny-tiny worm with his finger and ATE it!! He may have scarred me for life when it comes to raspberries, but I'll always remember this loving act!

However, I can certainly eat my fair share (and then some) of raspberry fluff atop yellow cake!