Different Paths

The wheels of fortune have turned so many times, I'm starting to get dizzy. When I was a kid, not everyone went to college. Plenty of folks opted to work for their Pa down at the shop, or learn haircutting at the technical school, apprentice as an electrician or keep plugging away at the grocery store where they started part-time in middle school. Decades have passed, formal education has become more accessible, particularly with the advent of the internet and remote learning. A college degree has become the new high school diploma. It is generally expected, and most people go into debt to get it, sometimes heavily. But who's stopping to think about whether it's the best solution? 

Two of our children have college degrees, two of them don't. And frankly, it doesn't seem to matter one bit. The two that don't have them are probably making more money than the others (I'm not asking) and they sally forth with their self-esteems quite intact, thank you. It just didn't suit what they wanted to do with their lives and they've had enough hustle in them to go and get what they wanted. I am no fan of 30-somethings slogging around in the basement while Mommy takes care of everything. Any child who is still at home and not in school has to be earning their keep and paying rent. Get crackin,' Einstein...

Get two things, if you can: a trade, and an education. A trade can be gotten while you are getting an education. My daughter was my assistant for years and years while I painted houses. Summers and breaks, she was an apprentice to what I was doing. Our boys worked one day a week with my brother in construction trades, instead of hunkering over schoolwork. That means they only had four days of "school" but they can all swing a hammer if their other jobs dry up now (and one of them is a firefighter and he does just that on his off days). In the summers, they worked full-time at it. 

We have so much information at our fingertips, it is easy to learn new skills, take classes cheaply and expand our horizons. My hope is that the tide will begin to turn and that young people will begin to see that there are fantastic opportunities in the trades apart from college in the near future. I dare say that a vast majority of the entrepreneurs that I know personally are making far more money and are happier with their careers, who have found their calling in the various trades. They have flexibility and pride of place in their work. Here's to Mike Rowe and all the dirty jobs! 

Chicken Salad Chick

There's nothing like an event to get me to clean up my house. And even then, I rush around like a mad woman at the last minute to get it done. We had a baby shower for our upcoming sugar dumplin': Matthias Slate Norton, due to arrive sometime in early September, but probably more like late August, if his three siblings' entries are any indicator. His Mama looked serene and happy, aunts and all the cousin girls were giddy to be included in the festivities. We had all the requisite cool dishes in the sweltering heat: chicken salad, fruit salad, veggies with ranch, a yummy fruit trifle with angel food cake, and cool cheese slices, along with plenty of sweet iced tea and water with lime wedges. I love me a baby shower in the deep South in the summertime. It speaks of magnolias, humidity and lots of hope. I'm now one of the old tribe and I wear it with pride. What a joy to carry on a long tradition of welcoming these dear babies into the world.

I must speak about the chicken salad though... it's an ancient recipe, tried and true, that my family has loved and begged for in years past. I usually do the lazy thing and throw a family pack of pre-boned chicken tenders in the crockpot, cook it and then commence with all the chopping. There's almonds and celery, grapes, water chestnuts, pineapple, then the sauce. It's exhausting, so who wants to bone a hen (which is in itself so disgusting anyway)? But this time, I put a whole chicken in the pot and let her baste and simmer with all the spices. Then I spent the time pulling it apart and picking out all the little juicy pieces. So of course when the chicken salad arrived at the party, it was primo. I noticed it at first bite, and my daughter noted that my more recent efforts at chicken salad (before this one) had been lacking (though she had not wanted to say anything). I was aghast, but decided that no more shortcuts were to be taken in the future. It was that good. There was a nice big bowl left in the refrigerator but it's all gone now. I don't believe Ken got any...he usually asks for the "Sampla" platter when I go to or host any shower or women's event. That's sampler, for those who aren't from east Georgia. 

Here's the recipe (I always at least triple it):

2 c. cooked chopped chicken

1/2 c. slivered almonds, toasted

1/2 c. chopped celery

1/2 lb. seedless grapes, halved

1/4 c sliced water chestnuts

8 oz drained pineapple chunks, halved

2 tsp. soy sauce, 2 tsp lemon juice, 1/2 to 3/4 c. Dukes mayonnaise, 1 tsp curry powder (or to taste)

Combine first 5 ingredients. Mix mayo, soy sauce, lemon juice, and curry. Add to first mixture. Put pineapple on top and chill. 

You're Welcome!

 

Exhaustion in the Vacay

I wanted to relax, sincerely I did...  

Two days before we left for the idyllic Georgia mountains, I was planning on getting organized...camping is not for the faint of heart. You have to clear the cobwebs, whirligigs and spiders out of the camper, haul all the containers into the house and pack them with food and clothing for the trip. There's lots to prepare for and think about. But no, during those two jolly prep days my phone started going off like a danged siren. And you have to say that like "S-i-r-e-n-e"...like it rhymes with Irene, because it's bigger than a regular one. Everybody and his brother wanted to buy or sell a house, sign a contract, inquire about a piece of land, get out of something or bite me. I woke up before dawn each day and threw myself in the bed after midnight for two days. Ken got off work early on Friday and hitched the camper up while I was still talking to clients and tossing things into hampers. We tore off down the highway and I wasn't quite sure if I was coming or going. When we got to the campground, I discovered there was no Wifi, so I parked myself at the Ingles cafe in the town until they forced me out at 11:00 at night. Little Annabelle played games with Papa's phone while I sweated bullets over contracts and tried not to cuss. The good part about all of this was that there were four of our grandchildren parked next door in their camper for a few of those days. At least there was that... 

This summed up most of my week, except we discovered the campground did indeed have Wifi. It was in the game room next to the office, where there was service, but alas, no air conditioning. I spent much of the week there, where I could see Ken out the window in all his splendor, laying out getting a tan like a king on the lawn next to the lake while I grinded out  amendments and drama. We were both in our elements: Ken was happy, clocked out and in his introverted bubble. He'd turn over once every twenty minutes like a skewer, getting a nice, even tan while listening on his earbuds or reading on his Ipad. I was up in the game room, my extroverted self, meeting many awesome strangers as I banged out contracts and made calls. It was a surreal kind of vacation, like none we've ever had. I don't recommend it. 

On July 4, the last night the grands were there with their folks, we went to see the fireworks with all the other rednecks. The next morning, they pulled out and went home. I see my people often, I mean, they only live 15 minutes away from us, but I bawled like a baby. Maybe it's just the same song and dance that time is marching on too quickly, or maybe it was that a dear friend died the day before...so I was feeling especially vulnerable. Then my phone started frantically buzzing again and I spent the next four days tamping down numerous real estate deals, each one dramatic and requiring vast amounts of time and emotion. There came a point where I literally raised my hands and gave up. I think that's where He wanted me anyways, and cussing sure don't help. The last night we were there, it was late and I was still up at the game room. There were folks playing pool and talking all around. I was sitting in a puddle of sweat, chatting with various people as I tried to send emails and finish up a contract. I decided I wasn't going any further until I got my hinder parts parked back home in front of my monster computer screen. I pulled out a bag of quarters and challenged some little 11-year-old girl to a game of Foosball. I warned her that I had mad skills. Her Daddy was standing there and laughed. People never believe me when I tell them that. Teenage boys don't believe me. 20-year-old young men don't believe me. They look at this mature, fluffy, blonde lady who seems harmless and they have no clue about what lies beneath. I enjoy this rarely-used part of my life. Her Dad joined her and they played me, 2-on-1, and I whupped them for about 10 games or so. It's really terrible, how much fun that was, but I'm pretty sure they'll be okay. 

Forever and a day later to get there, but let the record show: there's no place like home.  

Hanging On

Sometimes the connections dry up. Sometimes things just seem to stand still. Time flies by but then nothing seems to be happening. What is this, the spectre of age, when the efforts of survival finally overcome you? I knew I was slogging uphill, quite awhile ago, with occasional bouts of free-wheeling coasts and breezes on spring-spritzed days. That's why I want to pull my children and all those young people aside and tell them that it really is true -- that they need to eat right and exercise while the gettin's good. I've always been the kind of gal who ate dessert first and then dove in. The diving in is fantastic, but you better shore up those arteries while you can and keep 'em maintained all along the way. Don't make a religion out of it, for heavens' sake. I know people who have no other subject in their head except what they ate, didn't eat or what supplements they're taking. Ditches on either side of anything are a bad idea. 

Go back to your Grandmama's good advice, well some of them, anyways. One of my husband's grandmothers thought that white bread, instant everything and lots and lots of sugar were the best things God ever made, even though He had nothing to do with that. I understand. That stuff tastes so amazing, it's completely out of this world. And it is, it's not from this world. It's from zombies or Planet Zurg or something. She wound up with bad Alzheimers and a terrible end. I don't know if that's why, but I do know she ate from a pitted set of aluminum cookware that was her Mama's...and most of her siblings also came down with the big A too. All this negativity, but it's a part of our world. The sweet part was that even when she was at her worst, full of violence and confusion, you could pull her Bible out and start reading the Psalms...she would immediately calm down and close her eyes and starting quoting it with you. The Spirit was still with her. She is with Him now, whole and at peace. I bet they have stuff that tastes a whole lot better than white bread and sugar.

We're back up here in the mountains for the Fourth of July, at our old campground, with one of our sons and his family. Today's job was to go swimming in the little lake. I forgot how much faith it takes to immerse one's self into a brown, murky lake. I tried to not think of water snakes, but the grandkids kept reminding me of them ("Yaya, there are water snakes in here, but guess what, there's no rattlesnakes!") I'm not so sure about the rattlesnakes either. And I also couldn't help remembering that long-ago movie (before my time but still memorable, even if it was terribly cheesy) Creature From the Black Lagoon. Because I was certain I felt my foot get bumped a couple of times. Either way, the kiddos and I made our way out to the slippery dock. The fresh mountain water was delightful and it was fun to share time with these precious ones. We drank cold water from a spring and they rode on the back of the truck with Papa while I tried to bounce them off. 

Slow down, time. Slow down.