Clootie Dumpling, or The "pudding" that attacked the world...

Some of you don't know that I'm a Brit. Or more correctly, I'm a Scot. I was born in Scotland eons ago and came over here with my parents when I was a kid. It's kind of cool having dual citizenship, I am a dual citizen since I never gave up my British citizenship. It doesn't mean a whole lot, but I do get to have some extra privileges when I go to the UK. I get to go through the customs as a UK citizen, while my husband stands in line with all the US born folk waiting to go through... I stand and smile at him...OK, truth be told, I gloat at him. He hates standing in line, and on more than one occasion he's said, "I stood in line for four years in the Navy, I wouldn't stand in line anymore, even if it was to see Jesus Christ on the cross". That may be a bit of a stretch but then again, I wasn't the one standing in chow lines in the Navy, so maybe there's a bit of truth in the statement.

OK so here's the deal. At the holidays I try to resurrect (no pun intended, after the above comments about Jesus) some of the old holiday traditions I learned from my Mom and her sisters. Christmas was always a big deal in our house. We didn't have any relatives over her in the Colonies so we "picked" our relatives. Our friends were the relatives we lacked. My Mom would have our house filled with friends, and friends of friends, over the week between Christmas and New Year. When I think back to those days, I think she was trying to compensate for the lack of family for me.

She would make all kinds of foods. Some of the food she made was pretty ethnic...You know what that is? Innards and all the things most folks over here wouldn't touch with a 10' pole. But if they didn't know what it was....you get the picture. My Mom was a great cook. She learned all about cooking from her Father, who was a professional cook, amongst other things... Someday I'll go into that....

My Mom taught me all the things she learned from her Dad, and I in turn have taught my kids. Consequently, there is no sauce that I can't recreate after tasting it, nor are there many dishes I can't recreate. I seem to have inherited the "tasting" gene (it helps me when I go to wine tastings...hmm...maybe I should think about a new career change...no, I'd just get drunk).

One of the biggest things (literally) at celebration times was the creation of the "Clootie Dumpling". A "Cloot" is a cloth. A big cloth, usually made from linen, or something that can hold a huge pile of flour, raisins and all the other ingredients.

The recipe is an ancient one, and most families have given up the tradition to make the dumpling to serve on the holidays. I decided this year, since the family party was falling on December 21st, Winter Solstice, we should really do it up and have all the traditional food stuffs, including "THE CLOOTIE DUMPLING".

I found the old recipe, all stained and yellowed. I matched it up with a couple of others I had come across when looking for the "real" recipe. The ingredients were available. At least I could buy them, I didn't have to sacrifice a cow, drain blood and chop innards...Most of the stuff was at my local grocery store.

This thing takes a lot of ingredients and it's messy. The assembled ingredients were all over the kitchen and the dining room. I had the needed water boiling in a vat on the stove (a big vat). I had the cloth ready. I was ready.

I had to dip the "clootie" into the vat of boiling water, pull it out, let it drip a bit, then wring it out. (Does anyone know how to wring out a big cloth when it's been soaked in boiling water, and NOT burn the Hell out of your hands??I sure don't...I had at least 2nd degree burns on my fingers...and the pain....Hell...it was worst than the first kid coming out....). I finally got the cloth out, then I had to spread it over the table and put flour on the wet cloth, spread the flour to the ends of the cloth...(Got it? So now you have a big wet slimy cloth dripping water and what appears to be library paste all over it).

You let the cloth "set" or "rest" while you make the dumpling. Now, as I stated, I had all the ingredients out and ready to hit the decks running, so I figured I'd be golden. I found the largest bowl I own and started putting the first group of ingredients into the bowl. So far so good, I had the flour ( all 6 cups of it) the 9 teaspoons of baking powder, two cups of breadcrumbs, cinnamon, ginger, salt, allspice and the shredded beef suet (1/4 pound of the artery packing cholesterol stuff) in the bowl. There was only one way to mix this...in went the hands, up to the elbows in the mix... I had to make sure the suet was rubbed into the dry ingredients and the warmth from my hands helped to melt the suet into the blob that was forming. I added the eggs, molasses, and milk and continued to massage the blob. I added the raisins and the currants. Last, but not least, I added all the trinkets that make the "pudding" into the celebratory thing that it is. The trinkets are wrapped in tin foil and poked into the mass. A heart for love, coins for wealth, something for good health, strength, and whatever else you want to put in for fortunes for the New Year. Finally I could see this thing was forming into something, I wasn't quite sure what to call it, but it looked familiar...(kind of like the gross stuff you might see at the dog park...)

Now the fun began in earnest. I had to navigate the "blob" over to the "Clootie" roll it on to the "clootie" (the freaking thing was so heavy I needed help getting it to the table where the "clootie" lay in wait). When the "blob" was in the middle of the "Clootie" I had to bring all the ends together and tie with a string...tight...got that? "tight". BUT I had to leave a bit of room for expansion. (Who knew?)

The whole "clootie" now filled with it's science experiment was then placed, carefully into the vat of boiling water. I needed Larry, my husband, who is looking at me askance as I do this recipe, to help lift the "blob" into the vat. The whole time he's lifting he's saying to me, "Tell me again, why are we doing this?" Straining my biceps and standing on my toes to get the "blob" into the pot without burning the rest of my body with burning water, I yell "BECAUSE IT'S TRADITION AND IT"S THE SOLSTICE!!!THAT"S WHY!!!" He forgets the Gods need to be appeased by human sacrifice....I'm just doing my part for the Gods, dammit.

The "thing" finally settles into the vat of boiling water...and I gotta tell you, I think water gets hotter when you add stuff to it immediately, 'cause this vat was bubbling up a storm and water was flying out of the pot running away to get cool. It was a sight to behold.

The vat was set to a high simmer. The "thing" in the vat had to boil for 3 1/2 hours...Yep, that's right 3 1/2 hours...I had to top off the vat on occasion to be sure the water stayed over the top of the "thing". The "thing" by this time was starting to expand in the "clootie". It was a good thing I left room on the top for the expansion........

The hours went by, I peeked in on the "thing". I told Larry, "Don't leave the house before this is done, I'm afraid of it." I had visions of all those old horror movies about the "things" that came from outer space to kill all the humans, or something like that. I wondered at one time, if this truly was some sort of science experiment that may have turned into some kind of radioactive growth....

Finally the 3+ hours was over and I had to remove the "thing" from the vat of water...boiling water. I could not lift the vat off the stove. I'll bet that sucker weighed in at 50 pounds. The objective was to grab the "clootie" haul it up and place it into a colander to drain. Now, I ask you, who in their right mind owns a colander that will hold a "blob" that has to weigh 30 pounds? I sure don't.

I enlisted in the help of my poor husband again. He looked at the vat, looked inside, looked at me and said, "No way", and promptly started to walk away. I looked at him and said, "By all that's holy...if you walk away from me in my hour of need, you may as well grab the butcher knife and cut out my heart...you chicken.....". I guess my words got to him because I noticed he came back with a smirky smile on his face as he grabbed a towel and we, together, lifted the vat and the "thing" on to the counter. The problem was, you see, you had to get the "thing" out of the water while the water was still boiling. You can't let the "thing" sit in tepid water.

We both hauled the "clootie" out of the pot, put it into the cleaned out sink, in the biggest colander I owned, which was no where near big enough to hold this great mass. It sort of moshed over the colandar and rested on the bottom of the sink. We carefully cut the string holding the "clootie" together and surveyed the "blob". It honestly was the worst looking food type of thing I've ever set my eyes on. The outside was slimy and kind of grayish, when you touched it, it sort of jiggled. I knew I had to dry it but this thing almost didn't get the drying it needed. It was bad. Larry took a good look at it and said, "You're not going to try to get my family to eat this thing, are you?" The gauntlet was thrown down... I said, "You bet your sweet bippy, I'm going to serve them this, AND they're going to like it too..." I wasn't quite sure how I would pull the last part off, but I was determined to try.

The original recipe states after draining the "thing" you place it on a tray and put it next to the fire to dry out for a few hours. (These old recipes are a riot, they never give you exact times or measurements, it's just sort of known...guess what? I don't have a clue). I decided I would put the "thing" into the oven and keep a watchful eye on it. After all, I didn't want to destroy it....

After about 45 minutes of drying it looked like something some homeless hungry folks wouldn't object to eating. As a matter of fact, it starting looking and smelling pretty damned good. Larry came in as I was looking into the oven and he said, "You know that looks really good, and it smells great". Hmm...maybe it wasn't going to be the disaster I anticipated.


I trimmed up some of the sides of the "thing" and placed it on a decorative plate. I poked a sprig of holly into the top and wrapped it for the next day...

The comments from the family were...guarded, but they were all game to try the "thing". I think they were more excited to see what their piece of the dumpling studded with the trinkets would give to them. Everyone of the family in attendance to my impromptu "Winter Solstice-Scottish traditional Clootie Dumpling" unveiling ate (and lived to tell about it) and seemed to enjoy the "Thing" called a "Clootie Dumpling".

Now you ask..."Will you make it again?" My answer to that is, "WHEN FREAKING PIGS FLY!!". I'm still dressing the burns on my hand.

Sacrifice? Does anyone do it anymore? Not around here.

With all the headlines spouting financial ruin, I decided to observe how people were sacrificing and what they were doing to tighten their belts to protect themselves. It was Wednesday night, the night before the garbage man comes to pick up all the garbage in this suburb.

I walked around the neighborhood, nodding hello (no one really speaks to each other around here, it's just a nod and maybe a slight smile, but usually the nod is the extent of the acknowledgement). Every house had at least one huge garbage can in front of it, some had multiples. We recycle around here, so this was true garbage, no paper or cans.

OK, now you think I'm nuts, but this was a pseudo-scientific study I was doing. One of the neighbors has a dog that gets loose on occasion, usually on garbage night (must be the yummy smells emanating from the containers), so I was able to look at some of the garbage as I walked by.

I saw some perfectly good food stuffs in that debris (no, I didn't take it...I'm not that cheap) as well as some other things I consider "specialty" food stuffs I only have during the holidays (OK, so maybe I am cheap....). The point is, in that can of garbage were the remains of non-essential foods and junk. No sacrifice in that household. At least none evident in their garbage.

The farther I walked, I thought about sacrifice and what it meant to me, in comparison to other people. I've lived the majority of my life in this great country and learned, culturally, what it means to live in this country. We all love this country and some of us think that folks living outside of this great country are envious of our lot in life. I don't think so.

I see this United States as a country of great potential, not only because of our resources and wealth (which may not be as great as it was a few months ago, but I digress..) but for the human resources and culture, if we choose to accept a few sacrifices.

We need to embrace the concept of: neighbors, family, ecology, environment and frugality, instead of materialism, isolationism and greed. I don't think many of us would disagree with that statement. The difficulty, as I see it is, we have to be happy with less. You know the old idea of "Less is more"? We have too much stuff, and the stuff needs stuff to survive. The damned stuff has a life of its own and we're all too stupid, or too entrenched in our quest for "more, more, more" to realize what's happened here. We don't know what sacrifice is. I know what you're thinking, "Isn't it great that we don't know what sacrifice is? That means we have more than we need and have had it that way all our lives".

I used to think it was great to have everything and anything at my finger tips, but it doesn't give me much pride to know that I have so much and so many others in this world have little. What really ticks me off is, I think they're happier than so many of the folks that live here. Wealth and stuff doesn't bring happiness, that's for sure.

The price of gas has caused a reduction in the use of our cars. I see buses traveling the roads with more frequency. The buses have LED signs that light up as they pass by saying, "take the bus-save gas". People are taking the bus more frequently, I see them at the bus stop (who even knew there was a bus stop on my street? I didn't, and I've lived here for 40+ years) as I drive to work. If there was a bus to my work, I think I'd be on it.

I've made a commitment to myself. I'm going to cut back on spending, eating and waste. I'm going to attempt to de-clutter my environment and maybe, just maybe, if I have less stuff I will understand the concept of "Less is More", because I need to understand that, and I'm betting anyone reading this needs to understand that as well.

Willing to give it a try? I don't think it'll be tough...

Why do I live wrong???

Historical Fact:

Forty years ago this month my husband and I, a very pregnant I at that, purchased the home we still live in today. A simple three bedroom ranch, one bath, about 1000 square feet. It's about 1600 square feet if you count the family room in the cellar.

When we attempted to buy the house, we went to our local savings bank (that was the type of bank you went to for mortgages at that time). We were told we would have to refinance my husband's car (he was paying $52.00 a month for his car payment -way too much to get a mortgage for the house) and we'd probably need to take out a loan on his small life insurance policy. The fact that I was working couldn't be taken into account because I was a woman, and no doubt would get pregnant again and wouldn't be able to work. I'd be home taking care of the kids and making sure my hubby had a hot meal set before him when he came home from work.

We listened in rapt attention, because this man (and yes, it was a man, because they were the only ones capable to give out loans in those days....the women had to do the paperwork, but couldn't make the big decisions...they were probably thinking they should be at home with their kids, making dinner for their hubby's...I guess) knew more than we did about the workings of mortgages and what we could and couldn't afford.

So armed with all the information, we went toward fulfilling the great American Dream of owning our own home. The price for the home was, $16400.00. ($300.00 down, $300.00 closing costs). A pretty high price in those days, especially when the only income to be counted was net pay of $86.00 a week. Our mortgage payment would be $100.00 a month. The $100.00 was double our rent at that time, so this was a huge amount.

OK now stop laughing. I have a point here, listen.

We moved into our house. The months past by and there were some months when we weren't sure how we would pay the mortgage, as well as the mounting bills for the baby we now had, and everything else that life throws at you. I sold my beloved piano, my skis, we refinanced anything we could, I learned how to make things out of nothing. I was probably one of the first "recyclers" in the world. We lived in a neighborhood with folks in similar circumstances, so no one felt alone in the struggle to maintain our houses and our lifestyle in general. We weren't rich but we felt comfortable in the fact that we had a house and we were making it, little by little.

Our furnishings at that time, in this new house, consisted of two pieces of a three piece sectional couch, patio furniture, milk crates (not the plastic kind everyone has today-but the metal ones, stolen from the milk truck.....well appropriated, not stolen I guess), orange crates covered with shortened sheets to make a flowing table cover. Our lamps consisted of anything someone wanted to give us. We couldn't afford to buy any, so we made do with what we could get. We became very creative in our decorating at that time.

Eventually we were able to buy new things, but not until we could pay cash for the things. We didn't have the luxury of credit cards, and to be honest, I think we were afraid of credit cards for fear we would get ourselves into debt. We were frugal and used up things before we bought new things. I never bought anything retail, it had to be on sale, or in a consignment shop. I wasn't ashamed of that, I loved saying I got a deal on this garment or those shoes...so what if someone owned it before me, it was broken in...I just didn't care all that much.

Now, let's speed ahead in time, to say, 2008.

I work for a company that provides proof of insurance on property for the mortgage company. The mortgage company has a financial interest in the property and they won't close on the house unless they have absolute proof their financial interest is covered in the event of a loss at that house. (Got it?) OK...so here's where things get really scary.

Over the past few years, I've come home with all kinds of stories about young newly married folks buying houses with price tags way over their budgets, but still they get the mortgage and off they go into their new dream house. What I've noticed, more than once though, is many of these young marrieds walk into their closing hand in hand, sign the paperwork, but walk out with the closing papers and more than one mortgage on their dream house.

What they've done is to liquidate all their assets, savings, 401K's and any other money that might be hanging around, and use this as a down payment. This makes an immediate equity in the house (money they put down was theirs so they can take out equity in, at least, that amount). Hence, they have money to borrow as a "Home Equity" loan. They can then use their own money to buy stuff for the house, you know the essentials, like a flat screened TV, home theatre, pool table, the essentials...you know...And of course, claim the loans on their taxes, pretty neat, huh?

Both of these newly marrieds I call, "sweet things" have good jobs, both the hubby AND the wife. The combined salaries are certainly enough to cover the bills. No one is really looking at the bottom line, because the bottom line is always waaay down there and we won't really ever have to worry about it. (yeah, right)

They move into their dream house, buy a couple of new cars, put in the landscaping, fencing, and buy a shed for the ride-on lawn mower, never mind that they don't know diddly squat about caring for these mechanical things they now have...What the Hell? Someone can fix them, they'll just "send them out" for repairs if need be.

Next thing happens...a child...maybe two...Hubby's job is shaky...Wife's job is **horrors** "downsized". We now see the "sweet things" in a far different light. The light's not as bright as it once was. They have two mortgages, two car payments, a payment for the ride-on mower, kids are in daycare, Mom has to work two jobs to try to make up for the lost wages due to downsizing. Hubby is staying late at work very often to make up some of the lost revenue they need to maintain this unmaintainable lifestyle...But he'll die trying, by damn!

Life goes on like this for months, then someone gets: sick or loses a job or has to stay home to care for a parent or child, one of the cars gets wrecked in an accident, someone is injured, you get the drill. Life happens to the "sweet things".

They have credit cards, to keep their heads above water in the mean time. They rob Peter to pay Paul, they use one card to pay off the other card. They start paying all their bills by credit card, pay only the minimum amounts due on the cards and continue to live the lifestyle they started when they first bought the dream house that was out of their price range in the first place. Things are really spiralling downward very quickly. Things are getting out of hand. The kids need things, the house and cars need maintenance, the credit cards are maxed out. The "sweet things" aren't so sweet to each other anymore.

"You did this...", "No, this is your fault", "We shouldn't have gotten that:big screen TV, riding lawn mower, new kitchen appliance, etc.,etc.,etc." The "sweet things" are now several months behind in all the bills, including the mortgages...which now number three...Yes, some banker allowed them another "home equity" loan, to consolidate some of the little bills into one larger one, allowing them to make one big payment a month, rather than a bunch of little ones.

The "sweet ones" are beyond trouble by this time. They are headed down a very rough road. It's going to take perseverance and control to get out of this mess. The have few options left. They try all the normal things to get money to help solve this crisis. They call family and friends. They try to go back to the bank that gave them the initial seed money that got them into the mess in the first place. The denial from the bank hits them between the eyes. They're amazed they aren't able to get another loan...The "sweet things" are angry that the big bad banker man won't give them more money to squander.

Pretty soon the "For Sale by Owner" sign is the only thing you see on their lawn. The house takes on that empty cold look that can only happen when the life is being pulled out of the home, the soul of the home is being spirited out, leaving just the shell of the house. This was once a house with laughter and the noise of a family loving life, now it's a big box of sticks and cement planted on a small patch of unkempt grass. The family is gone, both in spirit and in body. The family has left the house sitting on the grass waiting for the bank to take over and replace the "For Sale by Owner" sign with a sign that says, "For Sale-Foreclosure".

Sounds pretty sad, and it is, but it's not my fault, or yours. It's the fault of so many folks who think they can have something because they want it. They've been sold a bill of goods that says, "You can have everything you want, forever...just sign on the dotted line".. Guess what? It's time to pay up. You've had your fun and your overpriced house. It's time to stand in line with the rest of us and pay what you owe.

I'm angry that we, the folks who bought and fought to keep a little house for ourselves, strained and struggled to make sure we paid our own way. We didn't play the system and try to cheat to get more than we were entitled to, we pulled in our stomachs, tightened our belts and stood up tall and worked harder than we were working so we could keep what we had and pay in cash for the necessary items in our homes. I'm going to be really pissed off if my tax dollars, tax dollars that I faithfully pay each and every year are going to be used to help keep folks from foreclosure in their 5000+ square foot houses with the price tags hovering at $750000.00.

This may sound like sour grapes to some, but it's the way I feel about this whole "housing crisis" and if I hadn't seen things happen first hand, I may feel a bit more sympathy for some of these folks, but I don't. What I saw, and continue to see is people who haven't learned from their mistakes and expect others to forgive them for continuing to make the same mistake over and over again. Making mistakes is a great learning tool, but you have to accept the fact you made an error and try to do something different next time. You can't expect to do something, leave a mess and have some one follow you around to clean up after you. Grow up.

I'm sick of all the stupid things I see and I think we really need to lose everything in order to bring some sanity back into this world. I hate to say it, but I don't see a lot of light at the end of this tunnel...sorry...

Fat, fat, water rat=Americans

OK Americans are fat....I'm fat. I'm not "chubby, chunky, pleasingly plump (God, how I hate that phrase) or full-figured", I'm fat. I'm not happy about it, but at this minute in my life I can't do anything about it. Right now, as I sit at the computer writing this, "I'm fat!". Maybe later I can do some jumping jacks, or lift some heavy weights, but for the moment, "I'm fat!".

I don't have anyone to blame (damn it!) but myself. I eat too much. Yeah, I know I could blame it on: heredity, thyroid, pituitary, liver, pancreas and probably a slew of other excuses, but the bottom line is, I'm fat because I eat more calories than I use up. Is that so hard to understand? Yeah, I know all about how hard it is for women to lose weight, and I don't deny that, but I also know that I shouldn't be eating enough for three people at every meal.

I went to a nutritionist a few months ago. The meeting was a group thing with folks who were there because their doctors had told them to go. Those folks had serious health issues they were dealing with as a result, mostly, because of their diet. I was there because I thought, "What the Hell, I've tried all other kinds of weight loss programs, let's see what this is".

The whole idea of the program was to educate about the nutritional values of the foods we eat. Now, honest to God, most fat people I know are pretty astute about nutrition and what we should and shouldn't eat. Most of my fat buddies are in the same spot as I'm in, we know what we're supposed to do but WE DON'T DO IT. That being said, I have to tell you, I was shocked by the experience I had at this program.

We had to do a bit of paperwork and some psychological testing, nothing difficult, just some things to understand our, "inner soul". (I knew I was in trouble right then). The very knowledgeable dietitian explained to us that we were to attend meetings on a monthly basis but we were to be weighed and measured every week. "No sweat"...I thought, typical of all weight loss programs. I guess I was one of the only folks that felt that way because the amount of groans and grunts that went through the group was incredible. I turned to the woman behind me and said, "What? No one thought they were going to get weighed at a weight loss program? What's the big deal?" Apparently I was on the outside of this group, I felt all eyes peering through me, and I'm sure I heard some growling coming toward my way.

The dietitian explained she was passing out a list of the foods we should try to incorporate into our diets on a daily basis, and the things we really needed to reduce from our diets. I looked at the listings and thought they were pretty good. There was nothing on either list to make me go berserk.

Little did I know I was in a group of fat older folks who have apparently never read a nutritional book, gone on a diet or read the back of a food label. I heard one woman say, "I've never seen the label on the back of a can before". Where's she from? Mars? Then the real objections started. I sat there and listened to some of the most ridiculous comments I've ever heard from supposedly intelligent folks.

"Oh my God! I couldn't possible eat three vegetables or fruits a day". "Does eating fruit flavored Pebbles cereal count as a fruit? I eat two bowls of that every morning...." This woman was in her 60's; not one bowl, but two... Then another women raised her hand and said, (no lie) in a very cultured voice, "I'm sorry, but I don't think this will work for me. I have many restrictions in my diet and I only eat 6 things". To give the dietitian her due, she was really much more calm and collected than I was. She looked at the woman and said, "Well what are the 6 items you eat, maybe we can work something out with them". The woman, with all seriousness said, " Well...I only eat Velveeta cheese, white bread, white rice, tomato soup, grape jelly and peanut butter". Honest to God, I was waiting for a punch line. This woman was dead serious. The Dietitian, looked like she was about to faint. For crying out loud, I thought I was about to faint.

I still can't get over the fact that these folks were all fat, most of them fatter than me, and they had no clue about what made them fat. Nor did they think their diet had much to do with their health issues. My question was, how did they live as long as they did?

As the weeks progressed, most of the folks dropped out. A couple of them had heart attacks and became food Nazi's after their brush with death. Some, like me, got pats on the back for knowing why I was fat and what I needed to do to lose the weight. I received gold stars for knowing the nutritional values of foods and why we needed certain minerals etc...(Man, I'm good....ho hum).
I lost weight and belly fat, which was the goal of the program, and a few others stuck it out and learned some things that will help them with their health issues. But the majority are still out there living in La La land, eating all the stuff normal folks know will kill you if you keep eating like you're 25 instead of 65+. They wonder why they don't feel good....geesh...

The main thing I learned during this program: don't assume things about others. What I thought everyone knew about nutrition and foods is dead wrong. I guess there are many folks out there who never read a newspaper, magazine, listen to a radio, watch TV, read the literature their doctors give them, talk about weight loss, or maybe it was just the folks who attended that program . Gosh, I sure hope so, because if everyone out there is as uninformed as the majority of these folks, we better get some more funding into Med schools, because we're going to need more doctors.

The Topic for today is:Human Nature. Is it Human or is it Nature?

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live on a deserted island with no way to leave any time soon. That's not to say, you could never leave. If you desired to leave, you could.

Just think about it for a minute. Yes, you'd have to give up some of the amenities you love where you are now, but think how good it would be to get away from everything and everyone for a while.

I come to this discussion in a very unusual way. The last couple of days have had me scratching my head in wonder. I think I'm dealing with fairly sane people, but then again, I may to over estimating their sanity.

Point in case:

1. I think I've met the living beings of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Those of you in the psych field will be saying, "Oh that person must be bi-polar or some other such psycho label". I say, "Hell no, they're freaking nuts, and they could use a swift boot in the behind". I'm tired of all the excuses for disrespectful behavior. Snap out of it.... Yeah, yeah, I can see all the heads shaking out there in cyber land, with folks saying, "You must be patient and give the person the benefit of the doubt. They can't help themselves. They're ill." OK, granted some may be ill, but for God's sake, GET THEE TO A DOCTOR. Don't be wallowing in self pity, do something!

Now, I'll hear from the psychology establishment that I am uncaring. Not so, I do care, but when things aren't getting better, don't keep trying the same tactic in hopes that they change. You know what they say, "If you walk down the path the same way every time, why do you think the outcome will be different?"

I've had it with this "kid glove" stuff. I'm done with all the soft pedaling and walking on egg shells. I'm turning over a new leaf as of this very minute and I telling it like it is, not what they want to hear. I am Woman hear me roar! (hmmm that was pretty empowering..)

Speaking of empowering:

2. Look, you can only be a doormat if you lie down. DON'T FREAKING LIE DOWN! There I've said it. Don't come crying to me because of some injustice done to you if you don't want to stand up for yourself. I'll listen to your complaints, but it's up to YOU to do something about the injustice. I'll be standing behind you supporting you if you need it, but YOU and only you can make the difference in your life. I can't change the way of things, YOU can change some things, but only if you're willing to get out from your comfort zone and take the steps necessary to make those changes you so desperately want and need.

So many times I've noticed people complaining about their lot in life, but yet they're not willing to compromise, even a tiny bit. It's rough to take on new challenges, but the rewards you reap are worth the bit of discomfort you'll feel in the beginning. I don't think there's been a time when I did something new that I didn't feel as though I had mad a mistake. It takes a brave person to venture into the unknown. For me though, I've come out on the bright side and been very pleased by the outcome. Even if the outcome wasn't was I expected, somehow it ended up being better than my original expectation. I learned from the experience. Sometimes what I learned was...don't do that again. But usually, I was pleased.

You must make choices in life that are scary at times. You must try new things that seem foreign to you. You must be able to say, "Wow, I did it", then pat yourself on the back. You must be your own cheerleader, don't put yourself down. Why should anyone hold you in great esteem if you don't act as if you deserve that esteem?

There isn't a person on this Earth, or who lived on the Earth, who hasn't made mistakes. Go out there make some mistakes. You can laugh at them in the future. Go ahead, have some fun. You're Human, it's your nature to have fun and make mistakes, that's how we learn.

The "Contraption"

Look it, if you're a guy, I can guarantee you won't understand this, but believe me, the women...oh they'll understand completely. Let me tell you how this began...

My retired husband has become the chief cook and bottle washer in this house since his retirement. He's great, he does the floors, windows, washes the clothes, does all the household chores...you know, like a wife...It's great for me. He's been learning how to properly clean the clothes through trial and error, lots of error...but I don't mind, I like buying new things. I know better than to throw things down the laundry chute that need "special handling" and I have signs I use when I do my "special handling" washing so he knows not to put everything into the dryer. We had a few disasters at first, but then, when I was first learning how to do laundry I did too, so no big deal.

The biggest problem for me is when he starts to kibitz (like I used to with him) about the state of my underwear. You know we all have underwear that's been broken in and we hate to part with it because it sags where we want it to sag, or it's stretched enough to feel really comfortable. You really don't want anyone else to see it, but you can't throw it away. It's sort of become part of the family.

I have several bras that fall into that category. I know they're shot to Hell, but they're just broken in for comfort, and that's saying a lot for a bra. Husband was making some really loud noise about the condition of the "brays" for the girls, so I figured it was time to buy some new ones. What a pain in the neck...

Bras are a contraption made by a man. No woman would ever make something so freakin' uncomfortable. I measure myself and go to the nearest store and buy some pretty good "foundation" things. (Yes, that's what they're referred to in "Bra-ease language")

I was at a department store on the day I was going to "treat" (some treat) myself to a couple of new bras. The store was having a "Professional Bra Fitter" in that day, so the customers could be properly fit for a bra. The signs all over the lingerie department were screaming at me saying "80% of American Women wear the wrong sized bra". I thought OK I'll buy...I walked to the customer service person, asked where I signed up for this "fitting". The woman was very nice, I couldn't help look down at her to see what her boobs looked like. I mean honestly, she's selling these contraptions she should expect people are going to check her out, don't you think? She seemed oblivious to my eyes wandering down to her chest.

I was taken to the dressing room and told the "fitter" would be right with me. I sat down and looked around. There were those blasted three way mirrors reflecting the image of a very fat women with red hair... Realizing it was me, I sucked in my gut, pulled my shoulders back and stood straighter. I was still looking at a fat women...maybe not as fat as the original image, but then I had to breathe, and the very fat broad was visible again. crap...

Before I could run away from the mirrors from Hell, the "fitter" came in. She was about 5 ft tall and obviously from some country that feeds their young rice and veggies, not Twinkies and cocoa puffs. She was this little teeny, perfect figured Mother's darling, and I was the blob.

My first thought about this encounter was, how the heck is she going to measure me? She'll have to walk around me with a measuring tape because she damned well can't wrap her teeny, tiny arms around MY chest. She looked up at me and smiled. She said, " I will give you the tape measure to put around your back and we'll see what size we need to get for you. We have some very nice brassieres for the "fuller figured women" and I'm pretty sure we'll have something for you." Now here's when I have to explain something...something personal....I'm not that big in the chest, I have this back that's as broad as a linebacker's, but the front of me is not that big, honest. In front of this tiny woman however, I was the size of some Wagnerian Soprano singing about the Ride of the Valkyries or some such thing. I was becoming afraid of what kind of contraption she might get for me.

She went out of the dressing room and I heard her rifling through tissue and muttering something about women who were over sized and mean. (Honest, I wasn't mean...I just told her that I wasn't spending all day on a stupid bra, nor was I paying $100 for some elastic and cotton, damn it!).

She brings back a handful of straps, material and little hooks and eyes. I thought she was going to make the damned thing as I was standing there. But no, she had a handful of bras for me to try on.

You know how you see in magazine ads the women with the beautiful bodies? You see little scraps of material around their chest and their boobs seem to be standing tall and straight. Sometimes the fabric is shear and you know the material is soft and cozy. LIES all LIES. I don't know how those pictures are done, I suspect computer enhancement.

This little twit in front of me had bras that were reinforced with hard, stiff cotton and plastic. I don't think 50 washings would soften these babies at all. She turns me around, puts her right knee on my back, pulls the bra around, as she's pushing me with her knee to get the bra hooked. She turns me back to look at her, bends the upper part of my body down, slips her hands into the cups of the bra, grabs the girls and molds them into the shape of the bra cup. All the while murmuring, "I'll get them in there. They'll fit good".

I stood straight up, looked into the three way mirror and gasped... I was in something that resembled an ancient corset from the 1800's. OK it wasn't quite like that, but pretty close. All I could see was elastic, hard cotton strapping, something that looked like those straight jacket clasp things to keep things together. I looked like I was wrapped in white Ace bandages. There was another problem, the girls seemed to look like that opera singer in Wagner, or Madonna in her younger years with the cones on the boobs. I was positively pointed...super pointed. I was actually afraid that I might fall forward and stick into the floor. I was pulled up, separated (that's the big deal here, separation, no one supposedly wants a "uni-boob") It may have been the "correct fit", but it was not comfortable. I thought I was going to explode when she released the hooks in the back. I could almost hear the girls saying, "Run".

To give the women her due, she tried her best to get me to try several others, but I declined and told her I wasn't sure which I wanted to buy, so I'd think about it for a while. The folks in Hell will get a swimming pool filled with ice water before I buy one of those contraptions.


I eventually found some soft cozy bras that fit the girls quite nicely and I think I heard a collective "Ahhh, that's better" when I bought the softer kinder bras, rather than the "contraption from Hell".

Economic Rantings of a middle aged woman

You know, when I was a kid I had it pretty good. My Mother would say differently, but to me all the things she thought were adversities in her life, were the things that made life fun for me. It's all in your perspective.

This blog entry has come out of a result of a newspaper article. The article was talking about the increasing prices of foods, gas and in general, everything. Some people interviewed were appalled at the things they had to do now because of the constraints the economy was putting on them; Things like, they have to buy regular coffee instead of the Talle Latte's they've become accustomed to. And then there's the lady who was moaning about the cost of the Chinese take-out, and how much more it cost for the gas to go to pick it up. She was quite upset that the Chinese take-out restaurant was going to surcharge her for the delivery service because of their additional costs. Or how about the man who was complaining about the high cost of gasoline as he was pumping an enormous amount of gas into a huge truck he alone was driving to his office job. Why?

I decided to really look at the increases, and there's no denying there are increases in the costs of everyday things. Groceries have gone up around here about 15%. Some things have increased more than that, but generally, a 15% increase is what I'm seeing.

The wacky thing is, some of the stuff that's going up the most are things that I consider an unneeded expense. For example, I like this one kind of salad dressing. No big deal, I buy it once or twice a year. The price before Christmas was $1.79 for a bottle (8 oz). Now, that same dressing is $3.29 and the bottle is 7 oz. At first I thought it was an error. I took the bottle to the service desk and asked about it. It was correct. The dressing was in fact, $3.29. If you divide it out, that's .47 an oz. Multiply that by 64 oz=$30.08 a half gallon!!I don't think so. I'm not buying it. It's a convenience. That got me thinking about all the other conveniences we take for granted. (Honest to God, I feel like some old fart from the depression era complaining about the costs of everything, but that's exactly what this is like).

It seems to me, that everyone needs something to make them stop what they're doing and look at things from a different perspective. Sometimes it takes a great war, sometimes it takes some devastating disaster, an illness, the loss of a loved one, something to make the masses stop and think about what's going on around them.

Several generations have come to think if they want something they just have to have enough money to buy it. They haven't lived with less in their lives. They've wasted and spent, money they didn't have, but may have at a later date, they hope. They've put themselves into debt, in hopes they will be able to pay off "someday". They've never denied themselves anything. With the help of some little plastic cards, they've been able to live a life that's nothing but a facade of wealth. Now it's time to start to pay back, but guess what? They haven't begun to save for this day, so they're now in trouble. I feel bad for so many, and especially the kids that have come into this mess through no fault of their own, but I also feel a bit responsible for not saying, "STOP" to some of them, or at least say, "Do you know what you're doing?"

I understand that it may not be my place, or business to try to tell someone what to do, but when I see younger people doing stupid things I shudder. (Now I really feel like that old fart....)

That little exercise with the salad dressing can be done on tons of things. It's a good way to understand what the true cost of something is. I know we can't go back to the old days (there's that Old Fart again), but there are some things that I do now, and have done for years, that I know some folks never do, nor do they think to do them. I can save so much by doing some very simple things, like make my own soup. When a can of Campbell's soup pulls in $2.19 it's time to learn how to make soup (it's simple...honest) . I can make several meals, really good meals (and I'm fat so I know "good, delicious meals") out of a ham, roast beef, pork whatever is on sale. I don't waste, and that's the trick.

I watched a woman put a cooked chicken into her shopping cart. It was on sale, at a good price. I spoke to her in passing asking her what she did with the chicken. She told me she would have it for dinner that night, with baked potatoes and a tossed salad. I said, "that's all?" She said, "Yes, because there will be no white meat left after that and we don't eat dark meat". Holding my tongue in, I said, " what do you do with the dark meat?" "Well, usually I throw it away". She said. I had all I could do not to belt her. I did say, "Why don't you make soup?" She just shrugged. Is it me? Doesn't anyone make soup? Does everyone waste like that? No wonder we're considered the "throw away society".

I have to work in an office tomorrow. I work there on occasion. It's a nice office, but there are many clients who come in crying the blues about their lives and the cost to live that life. I sit there and listen in amazement as they tell me things they shouldn't, and expect me to "fix it" so they don't have to pay the piper that's come to get his payment. I only work occasionally because I find I don' t have the patience to listen to the crap all the time and smile politely, when I want to say, "listen jerk, you put yourself into this mess, so don't look at me as the villain". But I listen, nod and smile and say, "Sorry, this is the 5th, 6th, 7th etc. time I've heard this and there's not a whole lot I can do". They usually leave, head in hand, but understanding they are in a pickle.

I think we all need to see life as it really is, and not how we hope it is. We need to live within our means and stop being something we're not. That's not to say, we need to lose all our goals and not try and achieve, but understand that not everyone has a mansion, nor do we all drive Ferrari's, and we will not be King of the world anytime soon.

It's a matter of perspective. It may sound trite to say it, but if you're given a bunch of lemons, make lemonade and learn something about what is happening to you. Damn it, learn how to make soup!