Helen, Georgia - Not For All Seniors

We drove for several hours. Stopped at Babyland General Hospital in Cleveland Georgia, home of the Cabbage Patch Doll. I loved the visit (see prior blog). Then we proceeded another fifteen minutes to our actual destination, Helen. Excitedly, we anticipated a German village similar to others we had visited (Frankenmuth Michigan and Leavenworth Washington).

The town lay in the midst of a beautiful mountainous area surrounded by water and trees. We were greeted by a "Willkommen" sign, Welcome. As we drove around, we saw evidence of assorted cultures. There were a few German street names, some Dutch, some native American, and some...well, Main Street, main stream.

We stopped at the Tourist Information Centre where I was given several brochures and coupons. 

Since it was lunch hour, we decided to try one of the restaurants which the tourism lady had highlighted for us. She also told us that there were over 200 shops. These included some of the following: a pottery shop; toy store; gift store; gourd shop; a jewelry store; candy stores, and a Dutch import store. We drove through town and noted that many of the small buildings and stores looked a bit worn and tacky with lights, fake greenery, and residual Christmas decor. We also discovered that there was no on street parking, so we looked for one of the marked public parking locations. Imagine our surprise when parking costs were between $6 and $10. It wouldn't have been too bad except that we are older and it would have required considerable walking to go anyplace...definitely not senior or handicapped friendly.

We then went to Hofer's Bakery and Restaurant in the hopes of finding some goodies and lunch. They had their own parking behind. Sadly, it was closed for vacation.

At this point we were ready to give up and move on. We still hadn't had any lunch however, so we looked for yet another place, found it was also closed, and ended up at pub type restaurant called Bigg Daddys. We were wary at first thinking we might just have a snack, but the menu looked good and the food turned out to be delicious.

So I learned through tripadvisor that the top five things to do in Helen, are outdoor activities...waterfalls and hiking trails. In fact the lady at the welcome center told us that the waterfall was literally, a hike from the parking lot.

This town is great for the outdoors person with an interest in some store browsing. There are several hotels available for people travelling a greater distance. It didn't seem to be "high" season since a number of places were closed. Perhaps it's busier in the summer.

This windmill was kind of cool

Babyland General Hospital

For those of us who became parents in the eighties, or those who were children of the eighties, we know how difficult it was to get certain essential toys. For some, this meant searching within a hundred mile radius to locate a Ghostbuster Firehall. For others, it was the elusive new thing in toys, the Cabbage Patch Doll.

People were rushing department stores and trampling each other to get their hands on one of these unique $25 dolls. It was said that no two were alike. 

Xavier Roberts, was an award winning art student, born in Cleveland Georgia. When he was 21, Roberts met ***Martha Nelson Thomas at a craft fair in Kentucky. She was the creator of soft sculpted dolls which became the inspiration for the very similar looking Cabbage Patch Kids. According to a variety of articles, she also had the adoption paper idea. Roberts first called his dolls "Little People" and eventually sold his dolls under the Cabbage Patch Kids name after creating an elaborate cabbage and magic crystals story. 

crystals at bottom right

   Roberts went into business and hired local seamstresses to       produce his dolls in a converted medical clinic (Babyland General Hospital) in his hometown of Cleveland, Georgia. 

  Original cabbage patch dolls were made using a process of  needle molding, a German technique for fabric sculpture along with a quilting technique, taught to Roberts by his mother.

   I was one of those parents in the eighties. No, I didn't have to wait in line, or resort to violence to get a doll, but I was  fortunate enough to locate a baby version complete with yellow onesie, a bonnet, and pacifier.

  This is where my 2023 adventure begins.

  I was in Atlanta area recently and was made aware of  Babyland General Hospital by my daughter. Prior to this trip, I knew very little of the cabbage patch dolls' history. How did I not know about this place sooner? I was fascinated because I'm a sucker for any kind of odd or unique attractions to visit. Not only that, the price was right...free admission.

We drove to Cleveland on a bright, sunny Friday. As we approached the massive white hospital, I was becoming very excited to go inside. Nonetheless,  I first needed to stop for a photo in front of the entry sign.

We parked and I walked around the building to the entrance where I was greeted by a lovely lady in a nurse's uniform. She informed me that it was ok to take as many pictures as I wanted, so I immediately took advantage of the opportunity to photograph her. "I'll bet you get your picture taken a lot." I said. "Oh yeah," she responded.

As I walked into the first room, a large space with many windows and glass display cases, I was enthralled by so many original soft sculpted dolls. There were all styles including historical figures, professions, formal attire and more. All dolls had a description or an informative note about who donated them.  

 .

 

I continued through the individually decorated nurseries and admired the occupants. Each had a personality of its own. There were even sibling sets in some of the cribs. I noted the faint,           unmistakable scent of baby powder in the air.                

   

After I passed the nurseries, I came into a room where the cabbages were growing. 

           

Finally, I reached the birthing center. I read a detailed article in the Orlando Sentinel (link below) which stated that births occur sporatically and that visitors are alerted to an impending birth by an announcement "dilation is eight leaves. All staff on standby."

 Sadly, I did not witness this event. It would have been interesting as there are supposed to be some rather uniquely disturbing birthing features. I did however, see the birthing center where the cabbages received intravenous feeding and were eventually born in the babyland delivery room.  

After passing through the delivery area, there is of course, a very large gift shop with all manner of dolls for adoption and other paraphernalia.

The vinyl headed dolls that everyone seemed to have in the 80's were made in Hong Kong. I have read reports that state numbers sold...er...adopted are anywhere from three to sixty five million dolls. 

Finally, the rather large, stunning Cleveland facility was built in 1919 and was a former medical clinic. Apparently, there have been talks to create a larger hospital for the still prolific cabbages. This one was quite adequate to satisfy my need for curiosity and nostalgia.

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***More details and photos are available on the internet and on Martha Nelson Thomas Doll Artist facebook page.

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 Full article from the Orlando Sentinel at this site - (copy & paste since I couldn't get the link to load)

https://www.orlandosentinel.com/news/os-xpm-1991-12-20-9112190203-story.html

And Now, Canada Post Scams

I know a couple who at age fifty plus years refused to get any sort of technology...no cell phones, no computer, no digital camera, and no whatever else existed twenty five years ago or in the years since then. It was hard for me to imagine how they managed, especially in this day and age where contact with real people in businesses barely exists and automation rules. I sometimes envy these folks, now octogenarians. Their life is simple. They're happy, healthy, and unless they've fallen prey to one of "those" land line phone calls, they've probably never been scammed.

It's getting harder and harder to negotiate past the criminal element. Each day, there's a new way criminals either appeal to people's emotions, create fake but real looking letterhead, and the latest, fake websites so that you need to be super careful who you are contacting. My best advice is, don't respond to anything no matter how official it looks. On the phone, hang up. Canada Revenue and banks don't phone you. If there's something in your email (phishing), delete. Most places don't contact you this way either. Be diligent and, sadly, suspicious of everything.

So here's my latest. We've been pretty wise to most of these scams thus far. Recently, I was away on a trip but had been expecting a package. I forgot to put a temporary stop on my mail at the post office. I received a text message (smishing). It appeared as follows.

I wasn't thinking and was caught by surprise so I didn't  look carefully at the phone number. I clicked on the form, and it was quite detailed and official looking with Canada Post letterhead, stating that they couldn't leave a parcel in a secure location, so I had options of other dates for delivery. I did not fill out the attached form. I was wary, especially when it offered optional Sunday delivery dates for the package with a required fee. On the other hand, I was expecting a package and was hoping it wouldn't be lost or returned. I phoned my local post office but received no answer so I left a message.

Fortunately, someone returned my call and told me that they NEVER send text messages or emails regarding any postal service, nor do they ever charge extra for delivery. This was a scam intended to get access to my info or credit card. 

So, did all this cost me anything? Yes, it certainly did. Since I was out of the country and panicked about a potential scam or a disappearing parcel, I had to use my roaming fees to make several phone calls to sort things out with my local post office. First day, no response to any calls. Day two, got an answering machine and left messages on two occasions. Day three, I noticed three missed calls and a phone message which I listened to. Total, $36. That, plus stopping my mail for a week to ensure that it's all secure, $26. Another lesson learned, priceless.

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Previous Scam Blogs

***Land line phone calls - see blogs April 18, 2015, "Warning! Scam Alert", and also May 17, 2015

***email scams - see also Jan. 11, 2017 "Be Aware...More Scams" 

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*** Smishing and phishing? Phishing - Cyber criminals send fraudulent emails that seek to trick the recipient into clicking on a malicious link. Smishing uses text messages instead of email. Cybercriminals try to steal your personal data, trick you into giving out credit card info, and commit fraud or other cyber crimes.

Meatballs, Wherefore Art Thou?

It's interesting how for many people, their childhood memories centre around food. Whether they were special event meals, holiday fare, or memorable foods mom or grandma cooked. I too have fond childhood memories of a particular mealtime.  

When I was about seven years old we moved from a shack in northern Ontario, to a series of rooms and flats in the big city. Both my parents worked. Back then, eating lunch at school was not a thing. You went somewhere, anywhere. Sometimes, as a treat I was allowed to go to Morris' Grocery Store on the corner of Clinton Street. I'd ask for a bun and he'd put the 5 cents "on the bill", to be paid by my parents later. Once a month or so, mom and dad would spring for a lunch counter meal near my school and I'd get fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. Even now, I can almost smell the wonderful intermingled aroma of fish, chips, and newsprint. I was a young child, but fears for safety did not seem to be an issue back then. 

My dad often worked shifts, so generally, I was able to come home for lunch. He usually prepared a Kraft singles cheese sandwich, or Campbell's soup (mushroom, chicken noodle or tomato). From time to time there was vegetable soup, but I hated those weird little white and orange cubes floating in what looked like red grease. The peas were identifiable, nothing else was. 

It was very special being able to spend even a short time alone with dad each day. As strange as it sounds, we occasionally watched soap operas (they were 15 min. episodes back then) or cartoons. Other times, we assembled something with Minibrix or grew sea monkeys on the kitchen table. There was not much time, but we made the best of it.

On very rare occasions, dad had a day off and made one of our all time favourite foods...rice and canned Puritan meatballs. This particular meal took a little longer to prepare and was also a go-to camping lunch. I recall that the cans were a bit larger back then, nonetheless, dad and I polished one off by ourselves. On our camping trips, there was magically enough for all three of us to eat. It may have had something to do with my mom's insistence on vegetables and the addition of a very delicious salad to complement the meal.  

I had totally forgotten about rice and meatballs until my stepmom asked about them some months prior to dad's death. She wondered why he kept talking about rice and meatballs and why, although her homemade meatballs were fantastic, dad kept insisting they weren't the same. 

"The same as what?" she would ask.

I explained about the canned meatballs as best I could.

During his final months, we brought dad to our house from time to time. I found, and sometimes made him rice and canned meatballs. His face lit up. I'm not certain whether this processed food was really that delicious to him, or whether it just triggered some wonderful memories of years gone by.

I had forgotten about canned meatballs until I spotted a familiar looking tin with a not so familiar logo at our local Giant Tiger. Cordon Bleu? Was my memory that poor? Despite the exorbitant price, nostalgia made me want to pick up a can and try them. I did, and the taste was as fantastic as I had remembered. (Of course, these would not be to everyone's taste. I do hear some refrains of "yuck" as people are reading this). My friend Google told me that the Puritan company had been bought out at some point. This explained the only slightly different looking label.

I decided to purchase another can to keep on hand for myself for use when hubby would insist on eating some of his own favourite Fear Factor foods. I zipped over to GT and noticed that there were about a dozen cans on their sell-off shelf. Although I wondered why, I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Then, not wanting to be greedy, I picked up only two of the 1950's priced delicacies. Mistake. 

Imagine my surprise and dismay, when weeks later and ready to replenish my pantry stock, I couldn't find a single meatball tin at any store. I texted a photo to my friend asking her to watch for these meatballs. Within the hour, she sent me a picture which her niece had messaged...same can, same request. Wow, a kindred meatball spirit! She too had searched everywhere. Were they discontinued? Were they too expensive that people didn't buy them? Suddenly, I felt a huge loss.

The good news is that we have since located the meatballs at Walmart. The price is slightly lower than it had been. Possibly the newer cans have shrunk like so many                                    other products nowadays. 

Alas, canned meatballs live on!  Yayyy... 

But wait. Do I detect Puritan products on the same shelf?

Anyone addicted to Puritan corned beef hash in a can?

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*** NOTE - Just to be clear, although delicious and convenient, these meatballs are far from a good food option. I am not promoting them. They contain a fair bit of fat and a ridiculous amount of sodium.

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Fitted Sheet Nightmares Solved

There's an old Mennonite expression which I may have used in previous blogs. It seems very fitting for so many situations, but now, I find it especially useful for this "fitting" blog. It goes, as follows...

At some point in my adult life, I had a vision. I saw myself relaxing in my large, well appointed bed, wearing shiny silk pajamas, surrounded by pouffy satin pillows, and lying on a thousand thread count, soft white sheets. Perhaps I've seen too many Hollywood movies.

I got as far as purchasing the white sheets. Two sets were all I needed. Three hundred thread count was all I could afford. Actually, one set was all I really required until I read that it's not good for the sheets to be washed and put directly back on the bed. Google wisdom likened the care and washing of sheets to some kind of pet bath ritual. They need to fluff up, stretch themselves, air out, and be left to breathe prior to any further attention, and of course, keep them off the bed at all costs.  

I feel somewhat embarrassed even mentioning the two major sheet problems which have irritated me over the years. Both have to do with (drum roll)...the dreaded fitted bed sheets.

One thing which seems to plague not just me, is the age old problem of how to fold fitted sheets so that they are small enough to go back to the size they were when purchased. It's been suggested that a whole set could be washed and placed inside a pillow case after folding. Great idea. Good luck with that. I have half way managed it. A bonus is that it hides the fact that I can't fold the fitted sheets properly. Youtube videos are wonderful, helpful things aren't they? I must confess, try as I might, I will never measure up to Marie Kondo and I no longer care. 

I am happy to announce that in my advanced years, I have finally solved the other issue. I am writing it in this blog because I know that if I excitedly shared the secret to my success on Facebook, someone (and we all know at least one person), would undoubtedly say, "You didn't know that? I learned it when I was eight years old."  

So here's my confession. I have always had an issue when putting sheets on the bed. I would pull and stretch and tug ad infinitum and invariably, end up with the fitted sheet on sideways and not fitting at all. Pools of perspiration would form at the nape of my neck. Then I'd remove it, (the sheet and the perspiration), start again, only to have it still...sideways. Oh eventually, I'd get it turned the right way around. Problem was always the same. I could never tell which was the narrower top or bottom at first glance. Someone suggested putting a colourful thread or a button at one end, but really? Is that a thing people do? Besides, since I'm old and forgetful, that would still have me wondering if I had the correct narrow end or did I sew that onto the wider part.

Last year around Christmas, I decided I'd had enough of boring white sheets so I made a decision to opt for something a little more fun, child-like, and possibly seasonal. Besides that, I wanted a warmer flannel option for the winter months. It was then that I made a most remarkable discovery. If you get sheets with a pattern that can only go one way, you will always know which end of the sheet goes up. Clearly, little trucks and tiny gnomes (and now penguins that match my pajamas) can only go in one direction. This to me was a major light bulb moment and resolved an issue even greater than the fitted folding sheet dilemma.

I realize that little trucks and tiny gnomes aren't everyone's taste. However, this ingenious discovery can surely translate to ugly flowers, miscellaneous wildlife, seashells, and stripes.

On a final note, an irrelevant statistic I found in a computer article is that people don't wash their sheets nearly often enough (at least once a week). I can certainly sympathize with sheet changing procrastinators if they have to go through calorie burning calisthenics just to get their beds made, and their clean sheets refolded.

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***Note - Just found this on facebook for those who continue to struggle. Seems easy enough...not.

Une Petite Chaise Bleue

Soooo my French title is a bit pretentious but the story isn't. This is a tale of ...

 A LITTLE BLUE CHAIR

Once upon a time, there was a cute little blue chair that belonged to a cute little child. It got sat on, dragged around, climbed on, dinged, nicked, and played with. Eventually, the owner outgrew his little blue chair and the sad little chair got tossed unceremoniously onto mom and dad's weekly garbage pile. Poor little blue chair, all alone and sitting on the curb.

A nice lady who was out walking her dog spotted the little chair. This little chair is too cute to be dumped into the monstrous, groaning, squealing, trash truck she thought. She had her dog leash in one hand, but was able to pick up the little chair in her other hand and carry it to her nice, warm home.

The nice lady went to her friend for help. "Can you paint this little chair and make it cute and happy again?" she asked.

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Her friend loved to paint and agreed to try to help.  

First, she gave the chair a nice bath. Then, she sanded, filled holes and cracks, and sanded again.  Blue dust flew all around.  Finally, she got a cloth and wiped off all the dust.

The chair was ready, but ready for what?

It needed some fresh, bright coats of white paint. The chair looked sparkly and new.

Next, the friend had to think and think. What would make the small chair, and a possible new small owner happy and not afraid? Should she paint trucks, or fish, or storybook characters?

"I know," she said. "The little chair needs some bright colours and cute animals painted on it."

Since it was a very little chair, it was difficult to make tiny animals with paint. She tried using a pencil, but it left ugly marks, and she didn't like how the chair was starting to look when she added paint. It deserved a lot more thought, love, and detail.

Once again, the tiny chair got re-painted white. This time, the friend decided to make a pattern, or template for the chair seat. She used a square of construction paper and drew each animal. Then she cut and taped, moved them around, and reassembled until she was satisfied with their size and placement. This was a better idea.

After painting the background, she used erasable charcoal to draw the animals onto the seat.

When she was satisfied with her drawing, it came time to paint and add a few details. It took bright lights, a steady hand, and lots of patience to get all the animals the way she wanted them to look, but soon the chair was finished. With a quick protective gloss coat of fixative, the chair became bright and shiny and new.

                                           

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When the chair was finished, the nice lady came to pick it up from her friend. She took it to her little grandson's house where there was a beautiful quilt that coincidentally matched the animals on the chair. The little chair had a new home and had a cute, new little owner. Everyone was happy.

Aging Ain't For Sissies

 Found this blog along with about a hundred others that I started last year but didn't finish or publish. It's from October 2021. Thankfully, all is well with my leg now. I haven't laughed nearly enough these days, although the memory of this incident has helped.

My blogs might be on restart mode. We'll see how this goes. Gone are the days of trip info and celebrations. I don't want to write about bad news, the virus with which some people seem to be obsessed, the latest in trivia, sports teams, or movie stars. I also don't want to make this depressing. I hugely admire "older" female writers like Loretta Laroche and the now deceased Erma Bombeck. In fact, I once took a writing course and told the instructor that I enjoyed the writing style of these women. He looked down his nose at me and proceeded to tell the class about his science fiction, fantasy, vampire, and alien novel which he had completed and was trying to get published.

I knew that laughing is a good tonic (an old person term to be sure). I am going to try to paint some pictures with words describing events in my life. 

 I've always had issues with focus...this is nothing new. I've been called a squirrel more than once, although I think the word more likely comes from distracted puppies who are busy, but then get distracted when they see a squirrel.

Other than things like going down the downstairs to the freezer three times to get butter, and resurfacing from aforementioned basement on each occasion with clean laundry, garbage, and soft drinks, but no butter, I have all the usual aches and pains, a little Sunday to Saturday weekly pill suitcase, and memory farts that most "older" adults develop.

 Yesterday, my moans, groans, and creaking bones, weren't the only sounds emanating from me. I did something which caused me to laugh so hard, I forgot about all my aches and pains.

Part 1

I have some pulled tendons and a tear in the meniscus in my right leg. Add that to the moderate to severe arthritic knee and OUCH. I've gone to physio...fun. Armed with a wad of exercise sheets that I've been attempting regularly, plus icing my leg each day, there has resulted in some improvement. Yesterday morning, after icing my leg, I was feeling a tad chilly and crawled back under my covers. Since I was wide awake, I decided to use my time wisely and pulled out my empty boxes to sort my pills into the appropriate days of the week. I placed them on my nightstand.

Part 2

As I neared the end of my sorting and organizing from bed, I dropped a pill...on the floor. Annoyed, I hung my head and torso down the side of the bed, being careful not to uncover my cold legs...an odd angle but it worked. I located aforementioned errant pill just under the wooden bed frame, picked it up, and proceeded to tell my upper body to get back onto the bed. As much as I told my body to do this, it refused to budge.

Part 3

I tried lifting myself by pushing on the bed frame, and I attempted pulling myself onto the nightstand, but it was all in vain. I was left with the only option I could think of...crawl out of bed, onto the floor. I put my palms on the floor and walk myself forward, being careful not to further injure my leg. As I did this, my pajama bottoms decided they wanted for the most part, to stay in bed without me. I started to laugh and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Part 4

As I landed on the floor and turned myself over, still unsure how I was going to get back up, the words from the old commercial, "I've fallen and I can't get up" were ringing in my ears. My pants were around my ankles, I was grabbing for anything that could pull me up, and hubby walked into the room. Without batting an eye at the contorted half clad mess on the floor, he asked, "Are you doing your exercises?"

I laughed and laughed for the next five minutes. He must have thought I was insane. Nonetheless, as it often is, the day was much better after that. 

Stuff, Nonsense, and Thoughts on Puzzles.

I'm not one to tar every feather with the same brush or however the saying goes.  I must confess though, having experienced a lot of adventures, worked at many jobs, and tasted innumerable exotic foods, I'm pretty set in my ways about some, but not all things. 

I'm at an age where I might say, "Why should I go to a restaurant and order frog's legs, when in fact I know I prefer chicken?" By the way, only people who haven't eaten frog's legs say that they taste just like chicken. That's like claiming lobster is exactly like eating liver or vice versa. 

I can also tell you there are certain experiences which I didn't like the first time, and don't need to do again, but that's another blog topic.

I  enjoy word puzzles, crosswords, and the like. In the more recent technological years, Candy Crush was the rage and now, I am playing Wordle along with the rest of the planet (except for Homer Simpson) it seems.  ***(found on facebook but don't know who owns it to give credit)

As with so many things in the age of technology, I kind of miss the hands on experiences. I tried and disliked books on tablets. I'd rather have a bookshelf rife with paperbacks that I may or may not finish reading before the big dirt nap.

Recently, I retrieved a jigsaw puzzle while decluttering my office. Well, this could be ok to work on from time to time I thought to myself.  How hard can it be? It's tangible and I can putter at my own speed. Besides, my brain needs all the stimulation it can get these days.  ***(note - need to try to think to myself more often)

THE PROCESS

DAY ONE - I proceeded to dump all 500 pieces onto our coffee table and examined the box. First, I noted that there was a huge "Art Gallery" banner across the top which covered some essential picture parts. How annoying. Besides that, none of the pieces looked like the colours on the box. In fact, they all looked like brown cardboard. Oops. 

 After spending half an hour flipping them all the right way around, I was done for the day. Jigsaws are exhausting.

DAY TWO - I spent a brief time sorting by colour and potential buildings, bridges, people, water, trees, and so on. Time for another rest.

DAY THREE - Fun. I found some cute little pictures that looked like parts of people and animals and proceeded to assemble those. Then, I automatically started pulling all the flat edged pieces out of the mix, piling them around the edges of the table. 

 At this point, the memories started flooding  back. I remembered all the reasons I hated jigsaw puzzles and have avoided them over the years. It wasn't that I had to turn all the pieces over before beginning. It also wasn't that many of the shapes look the same and no amount of fist pounding gets them to fit into places where they don't belong.  The truth was more complex. 

I remember attempting, and abandoning a few of these with my parents when I was a kid. I was always excited and eager to get started. Then came the first blow. Dad would inform me I had to help make the frame with all the side flat pieces first, before filling in the middle. Ugh...I hated that and usually walked away.   

                                                

As an adult, my years prior to retirement involved working with small bodies, small fingers, undeveloped brains, and many wooden puzzles. I was often frustrated and developed a further dislike for puzzles when, at the end of a work day, I'd find a dozen or more of the dreaded manipulatives with over 100 assorted random loose pieces piled on shelves. Some, were easier to reassemble than others, but I did not enjoy this task at all. Eventually, I realized that fewer options should be made available; that it should be reinforced that the children remove one puzzle at a time and ask for assistance rather than toss them willy nilly back on the shelf; and that there's always that one kid, who is able to assemble these in minutes...that was the one to ask for help.

DAYS - FOUR, FIVE, SIX - I walked past the puzzle several times a day, staring at it with intention. At some point I found a few pieces with words, dates, manufacturer etc. As it happened, those were in a border piece near the bottom left, so I put them together. Again, exhausting.

DAY SEVEN - Hubby had a look and located a few more pieces for edging. Grrr...he clearly subscribes to the "make the frame first" philosophy. I'm beginning to wonder whether there's a reason.

DAY EIGHT - Several people have told me that they become obsessed and need to sit until they're finished a puzzle. Apparently, I don't have that issue. I'm just glad I don't have need of the coffee table in the near future...or possibly ever. Why do people have living rooms anyhow? ***(yet another blog topic)

DAY NINE - A friend came to visit.  She sat on the floor by the coffee table for about five minutes and here's what happened. One edge piece remained missing. She insisted it was lost, not there, never included. Nonetheless, glad that most of the border is done.

So now, it's DAY 10. The plan is as follows. I will continue to stare at and add the occasional piece to this puzzle. I may or may not finish it one day, although I can almost guarantee there won't be another. Odds are good that I'll now work on it with more enthusiasm. After all, the dreaded border/frame, seems to have been miraculously almost completed.

UPDATE

DAYS 15 & 16

I found it! The missing border piece was there all along. I feel so accomplished. Progress is slow and steady. I've come to realize that morning is my best time to sit and search. I have more patience and more light. Honestly, despite the appearance of a little helper, I did it all myself!

FINAL THOUGHTS

I finished. |I completed the puzzle after a mere...oh, let's just say three weeks. I learned something new. Dagnabit ! These jigsaws have a grain. Had I realized this in the first place, I could have turned all the pieces in the obvious directions. Would I have been finished faster? Not likely, but still...an interesting fact that I didn't know about before. Will I do another? Not in the near future, but who knows?

Yummy Simple Cake

 Super Delicious Hint of Orange Cake

This is probably the simplest recipe for an amazing tasting cake.

When I was 12 or 13, I went to the CNE with my friend. We entered all manner of contests, particularly at the food building. A few weeks later, I received a package in the mail from St. Lawrence Starch Company. Exciting! It contained all kinds of goodies...corn oil, corn syrup, and a cookbook.

At the time, we lived in a subdivision in the outskirts, and my parents worked in the city, so I often made dinner and desserts for when they got home. I could hardly wait to try some of the new recipes with my free products. The most interesting to me was this cake recipe.

I lost the recipe for quite a while, then remembered I had submitted it to a church cookbook in the mid 60’s. After asking around, I finally retrieved the recipe so I’m now writing it out so that I might keep it safe.

3/4 cup shortening (I used butter)

1 1/2 cups sugar

3 egg yolks (save whites for later)

2 1/4 cup flour

3 1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 cup orange juice

3/4 cup cold water

1 tbsp grated orange rind

3 egg whites stiffly beaten

Beat together shortening, sugar and egg yolks until very fluffy and light coloured. Sift flour, baking powder, an salt together and add alternately with orange juice and water.

Beat well after each addition. Stir in orange rind and fold in beaten egg whites.

Bake in spring form pan 350 for 30-35 minutes or until light golden brown. Size of pan depends on how many layers you want to make this into. Larger for two layers, smaller for three. Make buttercream frosting and use filling of your choice for layers.

Birthday Cake

I used buttercream frosting and filling with chocolate shavings (chocolate goes great with orange). You could use prepared frosting in a can if desired. I tossed some sprinkles on the outside of the cake. I was sorry I used a premade tube for the lettering on top...it ran and the letters spread, but oh well...cake tasted fantastic. 

                                                                                                                    

This is the original cookbook and the cake with fondant Garfield. 

***Today I learned that you can't paint fondant. I used white and painted it with food colouring because the store was out of orange. It didn't dry and was somewhat messy and challenging to assemble.

When "We" Were Very Young

 I wish I could remember more, but I can't. I blame it on trauma of varying degrees rather than my young age. At the time, I was nine years old. This becomes more relevant as the story goes on.

A couple of months into my fifth grade year, our teacher Mrs. Garrison disappeared.  Suddenly, she just wasn't there any longer. A few students were recruited and given the task of clearing out and boxing up her plants, books, and personal paraphernalia. We were told, she was very ill and wouldn't be returning that year. She didn't.

She died.  

Most of us were a bit young to comprehend the situation and the concept of death. Some of us were apprehensive and of course, as young children usually are, we were quite self absorbed. Who would be educating us now?

Out of nowhere, or somewhere, arrived an elegantly dressed man with an accent which I identified immediately. After all, my parents and many of their friends had the same speech patterns. Mr. Boehlke was our new teacher for the remainder of the year. Although I felt some kinship with him, he seemed disinterested when I announced that I too was born in Deutschland, and could point out where on a map if he wanted to see. 

He didn't.

My 5th grade class

When it came time for open house and for parents to meet the replacement, things went a bit differently. Mom and dad quickly discovered that Mr. Boehlke taught Saturday morning German school to second generation immigrants as well as some high school students who needed extra help with a credit. For whatever reason, my parents decided that it would be a good idea for me to join his Saturday class.

I suppose I was excited at first thinking I would somehow be more special by participating in another of Mr. Boehlke's classes. It all unraveled fairly quickly.

On the initial Saturday, dad took me to a school some distance away from our flat in the city. I was then to take a streetcar home with whatever change my parents had allotted me. As I walked into the classroom, I panicked. Everyone there was tall and old, teenager old. I was intimidated and wanted to go home. 

I survived class, by attempting to lay low in the back of the room. That was easy. I was young and short. I understood very little of the "high German", and soon came to realize I really didn't want to be there. 

Athletics was an important part of this curriculum and after what seemed like an endless two hour language class, we were expected to participate in an hour of gymnastics. Husband and wife, former German olympians would teach us we were told. This did little to assuage this 9 year old's terror at seeing equipment which was much taller than most adults. 

The final challenge was to get myself back home. I was somewhere west of where we lived and it was a simple streetcar ride to the Honest Ed's landmark where I needed to exit the vehicle, or so I thought. After sitting in the streetcar for what seemed like an inordinate length of time, I realized something was wrong. Nothing looked familiar. Dad had said, and I remembered his words exactly, "Get on the streetcar. Get off at Honest Ed's. Walk home."

I suppose nobody told me where to get on the streetcar and how to go in the correct direction. Either that, or I didn't listen. I remember being calm and yet terrified. I had no extra cash, I was alone in the city, in unfamiliar territory. Fortunately, I had grabbed a transfer as I entered the vehicle. It was offered to me and it was free. I left, crossed the street, got on another car, and relieved that the driver accepted the transfer, went in the opposite direction. As I passed the school where I had originated, things began to look familiar...relief. 

Someone recently asked on facebook, "What's something scary you did as a kid that isn't done nowadays." My answer? Riding the TTC all over the city.  I used to take transit everywhere, to Maple Leaf Gardens for events, to the CBC on Jarvis St. to meet dad at work, and more. 

Having done those things as a youngster, and having survived, taught me a few things. I believe I became more independent, I learned to adapt to change, and I became a pretty good problem solver. 

Despite cell phones and all manner of technology nowadays, who would feel safe letting a nine year old venture out in a city of millions? It's sad really. It was an education in and of itself...an important part of growing up most children are not, could not, and should not be afforded any longer. 

The world is a scary place. Or, perhaps it was a scary place back then as well, and because there was no high speed communication, internet, or instantaneous t.v. news reporting, we just didn't know any better.