As a kid, I always considered myself blessed. I was undeservedly privileged. That's not to say that we had money because we didn't, but I was loved and well-cared-for. The Covill kids were not spoiled by any sense of the word; however, we were privileged by living in an intact family with old-fashioned values and were tight-knit. Were it not for that, I'm not sure what would have become of us children. We moved around so much with the Navy that there were no real roots except for my grandparents' farm that was always our home base. As young people, all three of the Covill siblings had their own personal issues caused by circumstances beyond our control. Still, through it all, we went places and did things that most American kids don't get a chance to do, and Mom made it her mission to point that out on a regular basis. We had an enviably firm family foundation.
I, however, believed myself to be above the instability of the moving fray. I endeavored to be the "good kid". And I was, for the most part. I always did what I thought I was supposed to do....what people wanted me to do...what was "right" and "good" to do. It worked for me. As it happens, I was in possession of some intelligence and some talent here and there. Add that to the angelic attitude, and you have the makings of what my mother sometimes called the Model Child. As it turned out, I was the Model Child, which became both a blessing and a curse. Things came easy to me. Even at a very young age, I observed that I didn't have to work very hard in school, and people genuinely liked me. I determined that must be because GOD liked me, too. God wanted me to succeed. God gave me the gifts that helped me do it, and if God was for me, who could be against me? That's what I mean about being undeservedly privileged. I really didn't have to do anything to be on a pedestal of positive recognition in school or in life. That was my immature reasoning about my life as a kid. It truly was a gift. If things went well for me, it must be because God had ordained it for me.
An example of this sort of thing came when I was in, I think, third or fourth grade. We lived in Danville, Illinois. (This was in the mid-50s.) The Community Chest Foundation, or some such civic non-profit organization, held a yearly "Red Feather" campaign to raise funds for local charitable endeavors, like orphanages and the like. Somewhere in town, there was a sign with a big feather painted on it. As funds were raised, red would be added to the feather like a thermometer, showing how much money was raised each day. The hook was that young women were nominated to be Miss Red Feather. People voted for the gal of their choice by donating money. Whoever raised the most money became Miss Red Feather for that year. And, to squeeze as much money out of the community as they could, schools were encouraged to participate, with students bringing in coins to place as their votes for LITTLE Miss Red Feather. It was a competition, of sorts, and somehow, I was nominated as one of the candidates. (I have no idea why or by whom, or even if I was part of the competition just for my school or district-wide.) I didn't know anyone in the school other than my own classmates. I was quiet and not particularly popular among the kids. I don't remember having to do one single thing to campaign or sell myself as a candidate. Still, I was leading in votes during much of the week-long campaign. I thought that was a pretty big honor. I felt special. Even better that absolutely nothing was expected of me. If I won, maybe I'd get my picture in the local newspaper as Little Miss Red Feather. If I lost, I wasn't out a thing. Easy-peasy. As the week was coming to a close, there was a last-minute push to get in the monetary votes to sway the election. I was nosed out by someone I didn't know. I didn't win, but I had learned an important lesson: I had to be the luckiest kid on the planet just to be that big a part of something I didn't even know about, and I didn't even have to work at it.
I developed an attitude that things should just fall into my lap because, well, for many years, they just did. I'd let God guide me by allowing good things to come my way. I wasn't aware it was happening or how very dangerous that was to my psyche. Most people, I've discovered, find a passion in life. They know what their dreams are and what they are striving for. In short, they know what they want. They set goals by which to achieve them. It gives them a drive and motivation to launch into the adult world with purpose. I, however, just did what I was supposed to do and let life just happen to me. No plan. No dreams. No real idea of what I wanted to be when I grew up, other than just be a super wife, and super mom to children, with all of us supported by a husband/father who loved us and treated us as his treasures, because that was the way things were for my parents. (Oh boy! Was I in for an education about the institution of marriage!) I scratched many vocations off my list of possibilities as unreasonable. I didn't really want to become a teacher, but that's what I became...because that's what my parents were. (Mom always told me that teaching or nursing were "respectable" jobs for women.) I wasn't encouraged to reach for the stars. Just to raise my hand toward that which was reachable.
As a result, it is inordinately difficult for me to fill out, say, dating profiles because I don't know what I want. I only know that I will recognize it when I see it, and that won't come quickly. If I were asked the cliche' "If you could go anywhere in the world that you wanted, where would you go?", I wouldn't be able to answer. I want to go everywhere...and nowhere. It's too complicated a question for me to take lightly, and I would second-guess myself out of any choice I made just before I gave up in frustration because, God knows, I would never have that pot of gold at the end of my rainbow to make it possible. It's nonsense anyway. Totally not feasible because I am old and poor and...well...why put myself through the agony of pressing my face to the window and drool over what's inside when I know I can't have it? I wouldn't even try.
Just before I retired from teaching in 2009, my daughter challenged me to think about a dream of what I wanted my retirement to be like. "What is one thing that you've always wanted to have or do?" Honestly, I couldn't think of a thing other than just getting through the time before I could finally retire. I think I mumbled something like, "Well, I've always wanted a piano..." which was followed by, "But I don't have room for one, and I can't play well enough to justify the expense of getting one." I knew my daughter was looking for something more ethereal in thought; something more grandiose and bucket-listy. Part of me wondered if she thought she could supply me with whatever my dream was. For that reason, and others, I simply could not commit. And even if she were in the position of granting my wishes, I didn't have any idea what I wanted. Still don't. It's almost a mental illness with me. I can expound on all of the "should's" in life. I generally have an opinion about nearly everything. But I can't tell you what I want for my own future. God quit making my path easy many decades ago. I grew up. I became a realist...or maybe a fatalist, still letting life just happen as it will without any push or drive from me. In some respects, I gave up trying to make things better for myself because...well...if God wanted it for me, it would happen without any effort from me, right?? I gave up trying to have or do anything other than what was my lot in life.
As I've grown older and must contend with the infirmities that come with the "golden years", I have considered myself somewhat of a victim, partially because of the pervasive lack of mind control that I've been discussing. I had a ruptured brain aneurysm, then I had a heart attack, then I developed back problems that have affected my mobility and ability to do many things without help. With no exercise and my love of food, I allowed myself to get heavy. What else did I have in life? I took it all because that's what I was supposed to do: endure without complaining, like my mother and my grandmother did. Just keep plugging with no plan. Joined with the indignities of a major scar on my head with little hair to cover it, and having to take pills every day of my life, was the fact that I hated the way I looked. It colored everything about how I felt about me, and about my life. I had to accept that I wasn't young and sexy anymore, nor was I in the least bit easy to look at. I couldn't even look at pictures of myself. Not even the good ones. I believed myself to be totally lacking in will power, so why even try?
I don't know what got into me. Back in late May, something just came over me that said, "You don't have to live like this. You don't have to be a victim of your own weaknesses". I decided to put myself on a diet because my weight is something I CAN control. Oh, I've dieted before--usually Weight Watchers--but I never, ever stayed with the program long enough to lose all of the weight that needed to come off. It wasn't long before all of the weight came back on because I wasn't even trying to be good anymore. I still had my WW materials from my previous attempt years before. I can no longer afford the meetings, but my daughter and son-in-law can, and they are succeeding nicely. I figured I could rely on them for the moral support that meetings would give me. So, I gathered the old WW program information I had stashed in my bookcase, set a day of the week to be my official weigh-in day, went grocery shopping to stock up on the things I knew I would need, and began a journey to lose weight.
As ludicrous as it sounds for someone who has just floated in life, I have discovered strength I didn't know I had. For some reason, I'm still on that diet. I'm still losing. I've not let myself stray far from the regimen, nor have I lost heart or given up. For once, I'm TRYING. And it's working! I've lost 27 pounds (with many more to go), but far from feeling like I am being cheated out of the things I love to eat, I feel empowered by every ounce that comes off. I look better. I feel better. I can reach parts of my body that I haven't been able to reach well for quite awhile. I know I have lowered my risk for diabetes and have probably helped my blood pressure considerably.
Best of all, I have come to understand the intricacies of the emotions that have defeated me at my core for a lifetime. It only took 70 years to get there! Those complications that took so long to develop probably won't be resolved in what's left of my life, but at least I comprehend them better. I accept that God hasn't singled me out for special treatment, and that He isn't going to save me from myself. That part, I must do alone. As Dr. Phil would say, "If you are in a boat that is sinking, pray to God...but row for the shore." There is value in trying. Finally, I'm rowing!
Wednesday, November 1, 2017
Tuesday, October 31, 2017
Hallowe'en, 2017
Perhaps you think I made a typographical error in the title of this post. Au contraire! Once upon a time, when I was a kid many decades ago, the word Halloween was spelled with an apostrophe between the e's. That is because the original name for the occasion was All Hallows Evening, or Hallowed Even. The terms were consolidated into one word, and the apostrophe was inserted to show that the "v" was left out. And somewhere along the line between my childhood and now, the apostrophe was dropped. How do I know this, you might ask? I know because the holiday term appeared on more than one spelling list in my grade school days. In order to be correctly spelled, it had to be capitalized, and it had to contain that blasted apostrophe. Miss either one, and the word was counted WRONG on the test. Horrors! I was a Spelling Nazi who never missed words on tests, except that one. And now, everyone thinks I'm nuts when I tell them it used to be spelled with an apostrophe. The response is usually along the lines of, "No, it wasn't", or worse, "How old are you, anyway"?
It has become somewhat traditional for me to post an after-action report about the nightly visitors that darken my door on Halloween. Here are my observations for 2017:
1. This is the first year that the bat wreath hung on my front door actually did its job. The wreath, purchased at a Covered Bridge Festival craft fair many years ago, has a battery-powered motion sensor. When anyone approaches the door (or even drives by on the street, it seems) the bat laughs maniacally while its red eyes flash. Most years, kids hardly even notice it. That may be because I've always had the top half of the storm door windows pulled up to keep the cold air out. Yesterday, I endeavored to pull the window up for the winter but thought I'd leave it down just for one more day. Thus, when it laughs, the kids can hear it. Every single kid or group of kids that came to the door tonight saw it and heard it. One small group of costumed young ladies even shrieked when they saw it. Two more girls--maybe aged 12 or so--actually screamed and ran away from the door. We laughed and laughed. Even the parents waiting on the sidewalk thought it was funny. Yes! Finally, the wreath did what I intended for it to do--although, in truth, it's pretty tame. Note to self: remember to leave the storm door window down until after Halloween from now on.
2. One group of little ghoulies showed up on my stoop, right ahead of their young parents with what looked like young Chocolate Labrador dogs. Except the dogs were in costume. They were disguised as Dalmations. Couldn't fool me!
3. A majority of my early trick-or-treaters tonight were bigger kids--like 6th grade or older. Usually, the early ones are the little kids, but not this year. I began to wonder if it was too cold for parents to want their little ones to be outside. (It's only 42 degrees. At least it's not raining or windy.) One older kid said, "I'm 16 now, so this is my last year." Sixteen? Heck, my parents made us quit along about age 10 or 12. Not fair!
4. One family came roaring up in the yard in a golf cart. How very decadent!
5. My very first trick-or-treater was a mother. She was wearing some sort of a rabbit costume, and she came before the hours declared by the Town of Plainfield. She had three bags: one for her, and one each for her two children, neither of which were with her. "One's in trouble, and the other one is sick," she said. I thought to myself, "So the one who is in trouble still gets Halloween candy anyway, without having to go out in the cold to work for it?" Hey...where can I get a gig like that???
6. One father and son combo that came to the door turned out to be one of my former students who lives just down the street from me, and his soon-to-be 9-year-old son. He stood at the door and talked for a bit, then insisted that I take down his phone number after he asked if I had any family nearby. He kept saying, "If you need help with anything, I want you to call me. I would love to help you out. I really mean it." I assured him I would. What a sweetheart!
Funny story about this young man. I had his older brother in 4th grade, then 5th grade, then 6th grade...and when he was about to graduate to the Jr-Sr high school, he discovered that I was transferring there, as well. His parting words to me were: "Gee whiz, Ms. McNary. Are you going to follow me to college??"
The boys had an older sister whom I didn't have in class. When she graduated, she left this note in her Senior Last Will and Testament: "To the teachers, I bequeath my brothers. And if you think the older one is bad, wait until you get the younger one!" The younger one was the one at my door tonight. I never had a single problem with him in class, although I'd heard stories. Ah, that's sisterly love for ya!
7. Every year, I fill up a big bowl with candy and put it by the door, and every year, I have at least one-fourth of the candy left. Some years, I tried to count the number of ghosties that came to the door, just to have an idea of how many I should count on in the future, but I always lost track after 30 or so. Still, it never seemed that I had as many as, say, 60 kids. This year, I splurged and bought a bag of the expensive stuff. You know, the M and Ms and Twixes and Milky Ways and Snickers kind of good stuff. The bag said there were 60 pieces. No problem! The candy sat around here for a couple of weeks, and although I did sit down and calculate the number of Weight Watcher points in each piece, I never ate a single one. I figured I was set for an evening of doorway marauders. However, even though I only gave out ONE piece of candy per kid, I ran out of the good stuff and had to dig into my own stash of York Peppermint Patties to get me through the final count. Oh well!
~~On a non-Halloween note, I went to Walgreen's today to get my flu shot. Two years ago, my pulmonologist told me he wanted me to get flu shots every year. He also wanted me to get a Prevnar13 (pneumonia) vaccination. I was under the impression that it wasn't wise to get both at the same time, so I got a flu shot and determined that I would get the pneumonia shot another time. Last year, I never did get around to going for either one. Today, my to-do list included getting this year's flu shot, and when I got there, I asked the technician about getting the other one. He said there would be no problem with getting both at once, so I decided just to do it. One in each arm.
The technician asked which side I normally sleep on. I indicated that I do both sides but sleep more on my left side than my right. He said that people complain more about soreness from the pneumonia shot than the flu shot, so he injected the left arm with flu vaccine and the right arm with pneumonia vaccine. Honest to goodness, I didn't even feel the flu shot. The pneumonia one stung a bit going in...but...guess which arm is quite sore tonight and will probably cause problems with sleep? Yep...the flu-shot arm. The one that isn't supposed to hurt as much. The one that I will be trying to sleep on. Well, what did I expect? I mean, it IS Halloween, after all. Trick or treat! Guess the trick's on me. Now, where's my treat???
It has become somewhat traditional for me to post an after-action report about the nightly visitors that darken my door on Halloween. Here are my observations for 2017:
1. This is the first year that the bat wreath hung on my front door actually did its job. The wreath, purchased at a Covered Bridge Festival craft fair many years ago, has a battery-powered motion sensor. When anyone approaches the door (or even drives by on the street, it seems) the bat laughs maniacally while its red eyes flash. Most years, kids hardly even notice it. That may be because I've always had the top half of the storm door windows pulled up to keep the cold air out. Yesterday, I endeavored to pull the window up for the winter but thought I'd leave it down just for one more day. Thus, when it laughs, the kids can hear it. Every single kid or group of kids that came to the door tonight saw it and heard it. One small group of costumed young ladies even shrieked when they saw it. Two more girls--maybe aged 12 or so--actually screamed and ran away from the door. We laughed and laughed. Even the parents waiting on the sidewalk thought it was funny. Yes! Finally, the wreath did what I intended for it to do--although, in truth, it's pretty tame. Note to self: remember to leave the storm door window down until after Halloween from now on.
2. One group of little ghoulies showed up on my stoop, right ahead of their young parents with what looked like young Chocolate Labrador dogs. Except the dogs were in costume. They were disguised as Dalmations. Couldn't fool me!
3. A majority of my early trick-or-treaters tonight were bigger kids--like 6th grade or older. Usually, the early ones are the little kids, but not this year. I began to wonder if it was too cold for parents to want their little ones to be outside. (It's only 42 degrees. At least it's not raining or windy.) One older kid said, "I'm 16 now, so this is my last year." Sixteen? Heck, my parents made us quit along about age 10 or 12. Not fair!
4. One family came roaring up in the yard in a golf cart. How very decadent!
5. My very first trick-or-treater was a mother. She was wearing some sort of a rabbit costume, and she came before the hours declared by the Town of Plainfield. She had three bags: one for her, and one each for her two children, neither of which were with her. "One's in trouble, and the other one is sick," she said. I thought to myself, "So the one who is in trouble still gets Halloween candy anyway, without having to go out in the cold to work for it?" Hey...where can I get a gig like that???
6. One father and son combo that came to the door turned out to be one of my former students who lives just down the street from me, and his soon-to-be 9-year-old son. He stood at the door and talked for a bit, then insisted that I take down his phone number after he asked if I had any family nearby. He kept saying, "If you need help with anything, I want you to call me. I would love to help you out. I really mean it." I assured him I would. What a sweetheart!
Funny story about this young man. I had his older brother in 4th grade, then 5th grade, then 6th grade...and when he was about to graduate to the Jr-Sr high school, he discovered that I was transferring there, as well. His parting words to me were: "Gee whiz, Ms. McNary. Are you going to follow me to college??"
The boys had an older sister whom I didn't have in class. When she graduated, she left this note in her Senior Last Will and Testament: "To the teachers, I bequeath my brothers. And if you think the older one is bad, wait until you get the younger one!" The younger one was the one at my door tonight. I never had a single problem with him in class, although I'd heard stories. Ah, that's sisterly love for ya!
7. Every year, I fill up a big bowl with candy and put it by the door, and every year, I have at least one-fourth of the candy left. Some years, I tried to count the number of ghosties that came to the door, just to have an idea of how many I should count on in the future, but I always lost track after 30 or so. Still, it never seemed that I had as many as, say, 60 kids. This year, I splurged and bought a bag of the expensive stuff. You know, the M and Ms and Twixes and Milky Ways and Snickers kind of good stuff. The bag said there were 60 pieces. No problem! The candy sat around here for a couple of weeks, and although I did sit down and calculate the number of Weight Watcher points in each piece, I never ate a single one. I figured I was set for an evening of doorway marauders. However, even though I only gave out ONE piece of candy per kid, I ran out of the good stuff and had to dig into my own stash of York Peppermint Patties to get me through the final count. Oh well!
~~On a non-Halloween note, I went to Walgreen's today to get my flu shot. Two years ago, my pulmonologist told me he wanted me to get flu shots every year. He also wanted me to get a Prevnar13 (pneumonia) vaccination. I was under the impression that it wasn't wise to get both at the same time, so I got a flu shot and determined that I would get the pneumonia shot another time. Last year, I never did get around to going for either one. Today, my to-do list included getting this year's flu shot, and when I got there, I asked the technician about getting the other one. He said there would be no problem with getting both at once, so I decided just to do it. One in each arm.
The technician asked which side I normally sleep on. I indicated that I do both sides but sleep more on my left side than my right. He said that people complain more about soreness from the pneumonia shot than the flu shot, so he injected the left arm with flu vaccine and the right arm with pneumonia vaccine. Honest to goodness, I didn't even feel the flu shot. The pneumonia one stung a bit going in...but...guess which arm is quite sore tonight and will probably cause problems with sleep? Yep...the flu-shot arm. The one that isn't supposed to hurt as much. The one that I will be trying to sleep on. Well, what did I expect? I mean, it IS Halloween, after all. Trick or treat! Guess the trick's on me. Now, where's my treat???
Thursday, October 12, 2017
The Art of Grieving
Some things that I've observed about grief situations:
1. It is not uncommon for the bereaved to end up comforting others who are supposed to be doing the comforting. The phenomenon has something to do with the attitude of the one who has lost a loved one. We go to do something or say something to try to help the one who is grieving, hoping beyond hope that he/she isn't simply a pool of blubbering flesh. We don't know what to do, in that case. And when they seem to be holding up, we are relieved...refreshed, even...to be able to say that we went to visit and all seems well. Truth is, all is NOT well, but in our efforts to navigate the mine fields of grief situations, we tiptoe carefully, and when the survivors seem to be sane and dealing with things in public, we sigh, but we leave encouraged. What we don't understand is that people who are in the early stages of loss are often numb. They are functioning on auto-pilot, just getting through each day because they have to, not because they feel confident that they can.
2. It is often quite difficult for those who are grieving to ask for help. This is particularly true of people who have lost loved ones suddenly or unexpectedly. They have, up to now, lived their lives independent of needing others to supply anything to them. They now feel weak, vulnerable, and wondering what will become of them without the person they lost. Even those whose loved ones passed after a long and protracted battle for life are left questioning themselves. "I have to do this alone now. I should be able to handle this because I've known the end was coming...yet I feel so unprepared." Asking for help only affirms their fears that they can't handle things by themselves. They can. They just can't grasp it yet.
3. Everyone comes rushing to help in the beginning...and then...after the funeral is over and the dust has settled, they slowly begin to disappear into the mist. That's when the grief gets rough. "I have all of these bills. The family income has gone way down. I have these kids to feed, but the lawn needs to be mowed and the floors are dirty, and I am too emotionally exhausted to handle it all." Yeah...that.
4. Anyone of any age at all has lost someone to the inevitable fate of death. Those trying to comfort those who mourn find themselves recalling their own feelings when their loved one died. We share those times in an effort to let the bereaved understand that we are with them in spirit. I'm not certain it is always helpful, but it is normal.
5. People who are grieving are in emotional pain that can also affect the physical body. Emotional pain hurts. We want it to go away as soon as possible so we can function normally once again. We seek one day without crying...one day without aching...one day when we can actually laugh again and forget all of that nasty grief stuff...but it hangs on. We draw lines in the sand, hoping or expecting that tomorrow will be better. And when it isn't, we get impatient with ourselves. We spank ourselves for not getting well sooner, or (conversely) spank ourselves for daring to have a moment of happiness when the loves of our life have died. How DARE I smile? How DARE I not carry on as if all is well?
6. Not knowing what to say to someone who is bereft is an awful burden. What if I say something that reminds him/her how hurt he/she is? What if I say something that makes things worse? How should I handle this?? I have a list of things that we say that I consider offensive even if well-intended.
A. "You have my thoughts and prayers." Great. It is comforting to know that people are thinking of you and praying for you--but no amount of thinking or praying is going to change your reality. Maybe it's better just to express the truth. "I can only imagine how much you must hurt." Or "My heart is with you now and always." Or "I'll be over tomorrow from 2:00-4:00 to watch the kids so you can take a nap. Let me know if it won't work for you."
B. "He/She is in a better place." I particularly hate this one. Better for whom? I'm pretty sure the one who died wasn't particularly happy to do so; I'm positive that the ones left behind would have preferred another outcome! The "better place" thing sounds religious and assumes that the deceased lived a saintly life. No one does! Having an "angel" watching over us sounds attractive, but maybe we'd rather have the angel in person on earth!
C. "Everything will get better in time." While this is true to a degree, it seems to me like telling a child whose puppy just died, "Don't worry. We'll get another puppy." The raw grief that we feel doesn't ever go away. It gets put in another part of the brain, in time, to be taken out only when we feel safe enough to do so. I've seen it. I've lived it.
7. Grief is not reserved just for those who have experienced a death in their lives. It also happens with divorces, betrayals, and personal hurts that come at a level so deep that we can't always talk about them. I'm not speaking about someone who merely gossips about you. I'm talking about something that happens that hits you to the very core of who you are. Situations in which you were so emotionally invested that someone unilaterally changing the relationship rules throws you into an emotional tailspin over a long period of time. As surely as you will experience grief due to a death, you will also experience one or more of these. Not if, but when. Prepare your heart.
I am writing all of this because yet another of my friends has lost a loved one. Her wife died, suddenly, while being treated for throat cancer. (Yes, I said HER wife.) They had kids together. The funeral was today. I notice that my friend seems impatient with herself because things aren't getting any easier yet. Holy Moses...it is waaaay to early for her to be ready for things to get easier. She has a long row to hoe, and she needs to give herself permission to grieve. If she doesn't, it will follow her for years. (Hint, hint, to my niece Lynn.)
I ache for the grieving and hope for the best. It is the unfortunate part of life. We are assured the "pursuit of happiness" by the Constitution. Doesn't mean we will always get it.
1. It is not uncommon for the bereaved to end up comforting others who are supposed to be doing the comforting. The phenomenon has something to do with the attitude of the one who has lost a loved one. We go to do something or say something to try to help the one who is grieving, hoping beyond hope that he/she isn't simply a pool of blubbering flesh. We don't know what to do, in that case. And when they seem to be holding up, we are relieved...refreshed, even...to be able to say that we went to visit and all seems well. Truth is, all is NOT well, but in our efforts to navigate the mine fields of grief situations, we tiptoe carefully, and when the survivors seem to be sane and dealing with things in public, we sigh, but we leave encouraged. What we don't understand is that people who are in the early stages of loss are often numb. They are functioning on auto-pilot, just getting through each day because they have to, not because they feel confident that they can.
2. It is often quite difficult for those who are grieving to ask for help. This is particularly true of people who have lost loved ones suddenly or unexpectedly. They have, up to now, lived their lives independent of needing others to supply anything to them. They now feel weak, vulnerable, and wondering what will become of them without the person they lost. Even those whose loved ones passed after a long and protracted battle for life are left questioning themselves. "I have to do this alone now. I should be able to handle this because I've known the end was coming...yet I feel so unprepared." Asking for help only affirms their fears that they can't handle things by themselves. They can. They just can't grasp it yet.
3. Everyone comes rushing to help in the beginning...and then...after the funeral is over and the dust has settled, they slowly begin to disappear into the mist. That's when the grief gets rough. "I have all of these bills. The family income has gone way down. I have these kids to feed, but the lawn needs to be mowed and the floors are dirty, and I am too emotionally exhausted to handle it all." Yeah...that.
4. Anyone of any age at all has lost someone to the inevitable fate of death. Those trying to comfort those who mourn find themselves recalling their own feelings when their loved one died. We share those times in an effort to let the bereaved understand that we are with them in spirit. I'm not certain it is always helpful, but it is normal.
5. People who are grieving are in emotional pain that can also affect the physical body. Emotional pain hurts. We want it to go away as soon as possible so we can function normally once again. We seek one day without crying...one day without aching...one day when we can actually laugh again and forget all of that nasty grief stuff...but it hangs on. We draw lines in the sand, hoping or expecting that tomorrow will be better. And when it isn't, we get impatient with ourselves. We spank ourselves for not getting well sooner, or (conversely) spank ourselves for daring to have a moment of happiness when the loves of our life have died. How DARE I smile? How DARE I not carry on as if all is well?
6. Not knowing what to say to someone who is bereft is an awful burden. What if I say something that reminds him/her how hurt he/she is? What if I say something that makes things worse? How should I handle this?? I have a list of things that we say that I consider offensive even if well-intended.
A. "You have my thoughts and prayers." Great. It is comforting to know that people are thinking of you and praying for you--but no amount of thinking or praying is going to change your reality. Maybe it's better just to express the truth. "I can only imagine how much you must hurt." Or "My heart is with you now and always." Or "I'll be over tomorrow from 2:00-4:00 to watch the kids so you can take a nap. Let me know if it won't work for you."
B. "He/She is in a better place." I particularly hate this one. Better for whom? I'm pretty sure the one who died wasn't particularly happy to do so; I'm positive that the ones left behind would have preferred another outcome! The "better place" thing sounds religious and assumes that the deceased lived a saintly life. No one does! Having an "angel" watching over us sounds attractive, but maybe we'd rather have the angel in person on earth!
C. "Everything will get better in time." While this is true to a degree, it seems to me like telling a child whose puppy just died, "Don't worry. We'll get another puppy." The raw grief that we feel doesn't ever go away. It gets put in another part of the brain, in time, to be taken out only when we feel safe enough to do so. I've seen it. I've lived it.
7. Grief is not reserved just for those who have experienced a death in their lives. It also happens with divorces, betrayals, and personal hurts that come at a level so deep that we can't always talk about them. I'm not speaking about someone who merely gossips about you. I'm talking about something that happens that hits you to the very core of who you are. Situations in which you were so emotionally invested that someone unilaterally changing the relationship rules throws you into an emotional tailspin over a long period of time. As surely as you will experience grief due to a death, you will also experience one or more of these. Not if, but when. Prepare your heart.
I am writing all of this because yet another of my friends has lost a loved one. Her wife died, suddenly, while being treated for throat cancer. (Yes, I said HER wife.) They had kids together. The funeral was today. I notice that my friend seems impatient with herself because things aren't getting any easier yet. Holy Moses...it is waaaay to early for her to be ready for things to get easier. She has a long row to hoe, and she needs to give herself permission to grieve. If she doesn't, it will follow her for years. (Hint, hint, to my niece Lynn.)
I ache for the grieving and hope for the best. It is the unfortunate part of life. We are assured the "pursuit of happiness" by the Constitution. Doesn't mean we will always get it.
Thursday, October 5, 2017
Confessions of a Reluctant Non-Recycler
Once upon a time, I had a garage. It was just a one-car garage, but a garage nonetheless. When I first moved to this little house-on-a-slab, one of the first things I bought was a set of three bins that nested on top of each other, to be used for recycling paper, plastic, and cans. It was in the garage along with just about everything else that wouldn't fit in the house. I used them...a little.
Plainfield's trash service provided curbside recycling, for which residents are charged a minimal fee with the water/sewer bill. And for said recycling, they provided big open tubs. BRIGHT ORANGE big open tubs. At one point, Plainfield changed trash service companies. The new company provided their own bright orange recycling tubs, so then I had two of them. The three bins, two bright orange open tubs, and my garbage cans all resided in the garage. Keeping them there meant I didn't have to go out in the cold to deposit the trash bags in them, nor did I have to worry about critters getting into stuff. It was easy enough to drag the trash cans to the curb on trash day...but organizing the recycling was a pain. No one ever explained how to do it. Does the waste paper need to go in plastic bags at the bottom of the tub so it won't get wet while waiting for the trash truck in the rain? Do the cans need to be washed out and de-labeled? Will steel or aluminum cans recycle the same? Did I need to check every plastic container to see if it was recyclable or not? It got to be WORK, and I got worse and worse about it as time went on.
And then the garage went bye-bye. My daughter and her two young children came to live with me. My little house had three small bedrooms, the smallest of which I was using as a radio shack/computer room. That left two bedrooms. For a whole year, my granddaughter slept in my water bed with me, and my grandson slept in a double bed with his mother. It didn't work well. The adults were putting the children to bed at their appointed hour, then tiptoeing around to get in bed when it was our turn. The children, being children, were thrashers. The adults weren't sleeping well. Finally, daughter and I decided that the garage needed to become Grandma's room, with a double bed, radios, and desktop computer; my old room with the half-bath became my daughter's room. The next largest bedroom became the granddaughter's bedroom, and the smallest one became my grandson's room with a Spiderman loft bed to double his usable space. We hired a relative in the construction business to transform the garage into a big room. Everything in the former garage was moved to the covered patio. It took years to get it all sorted and disbursed. YEARS...
Without a garage in which to stash all of the equipment, recycling went by the wayside. Then, in a single stroke, daughter and grandchildren departed. So there I was, all alone, having spent $10,000 (much of which came from my daughter) with no garage and four bedrooms. And still no place to keep the recycling stuff. The trash cans went to the front of the house. (They really belonged behind the privacy fence, but that became a problem when the gate would freeze shut in the winter.) The bright orange tubs went to the mini-barn because they were too open and too orange to keep at the front of the house. I pitched the bins. And thus ended my futile attempts to recycle.
I haven't totally abandoned the whole notion of recycling. My church has two big paper recycling dumpsters at the back of the church lot. They use the money that comes from that to fund the paper purchases for the church. For a long time, I recycled paper there, in paper grocery bags....but...the bags would rip...my back didn't like me for hauling heavy, ripped bags to the car and then to the church. I finally gave that up, but I DO still recycle magazines there.
Then, too, I recycle the plastic bags that groceries get packed in. I hate those things. I swear they breed. Put two of them in the pantry, and the next thing I know, there are dozens of them! I keep a few to reuse for keeping things dry during transport to other places, but I DO put them in the recycle bins in the vestibules of grocery stores a couple of times a month. (Interestingly, the "red" State of Indiana, led by then-Governor Mike Pence [now Vice President of the US], passed a law under the radar, forbidding any county or community to ban the use of those damnable plastic bags!)
So there it is. I plead the Fifth. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. I don't buy individual plastic bottles of drinking water, but I do buy big packages of meat, then repackage them in plastic freezer bags. I do cut up the plastic rings that hold pop bottles together, but I very rarely buy "sodee" that comes with those. I use a lot of paper plates and bowls and foam cups, very bad for the environment, but using regular plates and bowls and cups/glasses consume a lot of water to wash them. Also bad for the environment. What's an old lady to do??
Plainfield's trash service provided curbside recycling, for which residents are charged a minimal fee with the water/sewer bill. And for said recycling, they provided big open tubs. BRIGHT ORANGE big open tubs. At one point, Plainfield changed trash service companies. The new company provided their own bright orange recycling tubs, so then I had two of them. The three bins, two bright orange open tubs, and my garbage cans all resided in the garage. Keeping them there meant I didn't have to go out in the cold to deposit the trash bags in them, nor did I have to worry about critters getting into stuff. It was easy enough to drag the trash cans to the curb on trash day...but organizing the recycling was a pain. No one ever explained how to do it. Does the waste paper need to go in plastic bags at the bottom of the tub so it won't get wet while waiting for the trash truck in the rain? Do the cans need to be washed out and de-labeled? Will steel or aluminum cans recycle the same? Did I need to check every plastic container to see if it was recyclable or not? It got to be WORK, and I got worse and worse about it as time went on.
And then the garage went bye-bye. My daughter and her two young children came to live with me. My little house had three small bedrooms, the smallest of which I was using as a radio shack/computer room. That left two bedrooms. For a whole year, my granddaughter slept in my water bed with me, and my grandson slept in a double bed with his mother. It didn't work well. The adults were putting the children to bed at their appointed hour, then tiptoeing around to get in bed when it was our turn. The children, being children, were thrashers. The adults weren't sleeping well. Finally, daughter and I decided that the garage needed to become Grandma's room, with a double bed, radios, and desktop computer; my old room with the half-bath became my daughter's room. The next largest bedroom became the granddaughter's bedroom, and the smallest one became my grandson's room with a Spiderman loft bed to double his usable space. We hired a relative in the construction business to transform the garage into a big room. Everything in the former garage was moved to the covered patio. It took years to get it all sorted and disbursed. YEARS...
Without a garage in which to stash all of the equipment, recycling went by the wayside. Then, in a single stroke, daughter and grandchildren departed. So there I was, all alone, having spent $10,000 (much of which came from my daughter) with no garage and four bedrooms. And still no place to keep the recycling stuff. The trash cans went to the front of the house. (They really belonged behind the privacy fence, but that became a problem when the gate would freeze shut in the winter.) The bright orange tubs went to the mini-barn because they were too open and too orange to keep at the front of the house. I pitched the bins. And thus ended my futile attempts to recycle.
I haven't totally abandoned the whole notion of recycling. My church has two big paper recycling dumpsters at the back of the church lot. They use the money that comes from that to fund the paper purchases for the church. For a long time, I recycled paper there, in paper grocery bags....but...the bags would rip...my back didn't like me for hauling heavy, ripped bags to the car and then to the church. I finally gave that up, but I DO still recycle magazines there.
Then, too, I recycle the plastic bags that groceries get packed in. I hate those things. I swear they breed. Put two of them in the pantry, and the next thing I know, there are dozens of them! I keep a few to reuse for keeping things dry during transport to other places, but I DO put them in the recycle bins in the vestibules of grocery stores a couple of times a month. (Interestingly, the "red" State of Indiana, led by then-Governor Mike Pence [now Vice President of the US], passed a law under the radar, forbidding any county or community to ban the use of those damnable plastic bags!)
So there it is. I plead the Fifth. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. I don't buy individual plastic bottles of drinking water, but I do buy big packages of meat, then repackage them in plastic freezer bags. I do cut up the plastic rings that hold pop bottles together, but I very rarely buy "sodee" that comes with those. I use a lot of paper plates and bowls and foam cups, very bad for the environment, but using regular plates and bowls and cups/glasses consume a lot of water to wash them. Also bad for the environment. What's an old lady to do??
Thursday, September 21, 2017
(Hopefully) Helpful Hints to New Drivers
Since my granddaughter is now enrolled in Driver's Ed, and her brother isn't that far behind her, I have gathered my thoughts to provide these hints. I have NO idea if they will ever see this, but it won't be because I didn't try! Robin, Ryan, some of this will be a repeat of what you've already been taught, but every one of these hints comes from personal experience that wasn't always fun!
1. When you leave the car, roll up the windows. Even if you think you will only be away from the vehicle for a few moments on a beautiful day, roll up the windows. Make it automatic.
2. When you step out of the vehicle, stop and ask yourself: Are the lights off? Do I have the keys? Do not proceed until you can answer "yes" to both questions.
3. Leave nothing in the car that is valuable. Not even small change. Computers and cell phones and/or cameras need to go with you when you leave the vehicle. No exceptions.
4. Never, ever, deliberately run over something in the road that looks harmless, if you can help it. I can list example after example of when that cost a bunch of money in flat tires, undercarriage damage, and other ugly stuff.
5. If you take the only family car out on an errand, consider what will happen if you do something stupid like lock your keys in the car. How will the family get to you for rescue?
6. Whenever you leave a vehicle, make certain that all non-automatic lights are OFF. If you leave a door open, the lights on, or an inside light on, the battery will drain to the point of not being able to be restarted the next day. Some cars have "dummy" circuits that shut them out automatically, but not all. Make sure you know before you get stuck in BFE with a car that won't start!
7. If the "check engine" light comes on, alert the parents. If the "check engine" light comes on and FLASHES, pull over and call the parents for help.
8. Never leave the car so low on fuel that people can't run errands the next day. If the needle is close to bottom, tell somebody if you don't have the funds to gas up. And don't attempt to go anywhere if there isn't enough gas to get you there and back.
9. However tempting it may be, put the cell phone down. You can address texts and calls when you get where you are going. Funerals are quite expensive and ruin people's lives forever.
10. A motor vehicle is a guided missile. Driving one without parents may seem like freedom for awhile, but driving maturely is a HUGE responsibility.
11. Do NOT get into a vehicle with an impaired person at the wheel. Get out and call your parents to pick you up. It may be embarrassing for a moment, but your parents will be much happier knowing that you are safe than if you had one moment of stupid that proved fatal.
12. Understand that driving is a privilege and not a right. If you break the laws of your state or your home, you mess up your own independence. This is serious stuff.
13. Whether you are changing a tire or loosening a screw, remember "righty, tighty; lefty, loosey".
14. Until you are 18, your parents are responsible for what you do or don't do. Don't get stupid enough to risk all they have done for you.
15. If you get pulled over for any reason but feel uncomfortable about it, continue to drive to a well-lighted, safe location before pulling over. If you have an operative phone, record your experience. Do NOT allow anyone to take you anywhere unless you have broken the law and the arresting entity can tell you about it.
God bless you as you learn!
Grandma
1. When you leave the car, roll up the windows. Even if you think you will only be away from the vehicle for a few moments on a beautiful day, roll up the windows. Make it automatic.
2. When you step out of the vehicle, stop and ask yourself: Are the lights off? Do I have the keys? Do not proceed until you can answer "yes" to both questions.
3. Leave nothing in the car that is valuable. Not even small change. Computers and cell phones and/or cameras need to go with you when you leave the vehicle. No exceptions.
4. Never, ever, deliberately run over something in the road that looks harmless, if you can help it. I can list example after example of when that cost a bunch of money in flat tires, undercarriage damage, and other ugly stuff.
5. If you take the only family car out on an errand, consider what will happen if you do something stupid like lock your keys in the car. How will the family get to you for rescue?
6. Whenever you leave a vehicle, make certain that all non-automatic lights are OFF. If you leave a door open, the lights on, or an inside light on, the battery will drain to the point of not being able to be restarted the next day. Some cars have "dummy" circuits that shut them out automatically, but not all. Make sure you know before you get stuck in BFE with a car that won't start!
7. If the "check engine" light comes on, alert the parents. If the "check engine" light comes on and FLASHES, pull over and call the parents for help.
8. Never leave the car so low on fuel that people can't run errands the next day. If the needle is close to bottom, tell somebody if you don't have the funds to gas up. And don't attempt to go anywhere if there isn't enough gas to get you there and back.
9. However tempting it may be, put the cell phone down. You can address texts and calls when you get where you are going. Funerals are quite expensive and ruin people's lives forever.
10. A motor vehicle is a guided missile. Driving one without parents may seem like freedom for awhile, but driving maturely is a HUGE responsibility.
11. Do NOT get into a vehicle with an impaired person at the wheel. Get out and call your parents to pick you up. It may be embarrassing for a moment, but your parents will be much happier knowing that you are safe than if you had one moment of stupid that proved fatal.
12. Understand that driving is a privilege and not a right. If you break the laws of your state or your home, you mess up your own independence. This is serious stuff.
13. Whether you are changing a tire or loosening a screw, remember "righty, tighty; lefty, loosey".
14. Until you are 18, your parents are responsible for what you do or don't do. Don't get stupid enough to risk all they have done for you.
15. If you get pulled over for any reason but feel uncomfortable about it, continue to drive to a well-lighted, safe location before pulling over. If you have an operative phone, record your experience. Do NOT allow anyone to take you anywhere unless you have broken the law and the arresting entity can tell you about it.
God bless you as you learn!
Grandma
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
The Last First
Wednesday of next week (September 27th) marks the one-year anniversary of my brother-in-law's passing. He had suffered for years with Fronto-Temporal Degeneration. Dementia. His widow (my sister) had been his faithful wife for 55 years. The last few of those years were the toughest for her while dealing with his combativeness, moods, demands, and (finally) his inability to accept her being out of his sight. I'm sure he was terrified at the changes in his life. She had no respite.
The last month of his life was the worst for her. She was being asked to make decisions about his care. He could no longer really walk. Couldn't swallow. Wouldn't bathe; wouldn't shave; wouldn't change clothes; and wouldn't let anyone help him do those things. He was hospitalized for sepsis with a diseased gall bladder, urinary bladder, and an obvious decline in his ability to communicate. She just wanted to take him home to his recliner and his familiar surroundings in order to make him comfortable, but God had other ideas. She finally understood that there was very little she could do for him at home. Then came the quest to find nursing facilities that she/they could afford that would even accept him. Just about the time that she found a place, he took a turn for the worse, and she had still other decisions to make. The doctors were urging her to put him in hospice. She was reluctant, thinking perhaps that it meant she was giving up on him. Again, God took over. Mere days after allowing him to be in hospice, he passed peacefully. Finally, peace. No more pain for anyone.
The morning that he passed, she came home from the hospital and cried in my arms for a bit. Then she did what all Covill/Armstrong women do. She started to take hold. The problem with that is that she was very, very sick with pneumonia, partially because she hadn't been taking care of herself in all of her trials. I arrived only late in the day before, but thankfully, I could somewhat take over while she was ordered to bed by her pulmonologist. She was in control of everything, but it swirled around her as she struggled to breathe. She should have been in the hospital, herself, but it couldn't be just then.
I can't imagine what it is like to lose the love of your life after that many years. I was also doing the Covill/Armstrong woman thing. Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead. What needs to be done? Okay...let's git 'er done. I didn't spend a lot of time worrying about her grieving, figuring that she had been grieving the loss of her husband long before he actually died. We were surrounded by every kind of grief possible, from a daughter throwing herself across her father's casket saying, "Don't leave me, Daddy!" to a grandchild writing poetry to Grandpa. Some of it was, to me, unnecessary drama, but who am I to judge? We all do what we do in special circumstances.
After Roger died, the whole family had to deal with "firsts". The first Thanksgiving without Roger. The first Christmas without Roger. The first birthday, Easter, Father's Day without Roger. My sister has gotten through it all with her usual aplomb--by helping others in her family, however treacherous to herself all that may be. And now, a year later, we are facing the first anniversary of Roger's death. This is the last "first" to get through. It won't be any more difficult than the others, but it is a day when moral support may be required. I will be going to Illinois next week to be with my sister. She didn't ask. I have no doubt in my mind whatsoever that she can navigate this day successfully on her own, bless her. So why am I going?
I am going because it will be a tough day for her.
I am going because I don't want her to have to stand alone among her family that is filled with drama.
I am going because I loved her husband and want to be there as she lays a special wreath on his grave site.
I am going because I know she would do the same for me.
But most of all, I am going because she is my sister.
The last month of his life was the worst for her. She was being asked to make decisions about his care. He could no longer really walk. Couldn't swallow. Wouldn't bathe; wouldn't shave; wouldn't change clothes; and wouldn't let anyone help him do those things. He was hospitalized for sepsis with a diseased gall bladder, urinary bladder, and an obvious decline in his ability to communicate. She just wanted to take him home to his recliner and his familiar surroundings in order to make him comfortable, but God had other ideas. She finally understood that there was very little she could do for him at home. Then came the quest to find nursing facilities that she/they could afford that would even accept him. Just about the time that she found a place, he took a turn for the worse, and she had still other decisions to make. The doctors were urging her to put him in hospice. She was reluctant, thinking perhaps that it meant she was giving up on him. Again, God took over. Mere days after allowing him to be in hospice, he passed peacefully. Finally, peace. No more pain for anyone.
The morning that he passed, she came home from the hospital and cried in my arms for a bit. Then she did what all Covill/Armstrong women do. She started to take hold. The problem with that is that she was very, very sick with pneumonia, partially because she hadn't been taking care of herself in all of her trials. I arrived only late in the day before, but thankfully, I could somewhat take over while she was ordered to bed by her pulmonologist. She was in control of everything, but it swirled around her as she struggled to breathe. She should have been in the hospital, herself, but it couldn't be just then.
I can't imagine what it is like to lose the love of your life after that many years. I was also doing the Covill/Armstrong woman thing. Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead. What needs to be done? Okay...let's git 'er done. I didn't spend a lot of time worrying about her grieving, figuring that she had been grieving the loss of her husband long before he actually died. We were surrounded by every kind of grief possible, from a daughter throwing herself across her father's casket saying, "Don't leave me, Daddy!" to a grandchild writing poetry to Grandpa. Some of it was, to me, unnecessary drama, but who am I to judge? We all do what we do in special circumstances.
After Roger died, the whole family had to deal with "firsts". The first Thanksgiving without Roger. The first Christmas without Roger. The first birthday, Easter, Father's Day without Roger. My sister has gotten through it all with her usual aplomb--by helping others in her family, however treacherous to herself all that may be. And now, a year later, we are facing the first anniversary of Roger's death. This is the last "first" to get through. It won't be any more difficult than the others, but it is a day when moral support may be required. I will be going to Illinois next week to be with my sister. She didn't ask. I have no doubt in my mind whatsoever that she can navigate this day successfully on her own, bless her. So why am I going?
I am going because it will be a tough day for her.
I am going because I don't want her to have to stand alone among her family that is filled with drama.
I am going because I loved her husband and want to be there as she lays a special wreath on his grave site.
I am going because I know she would do the same for me.
But most of all, I am going because she is my sister.
Sunday, September 17, 2017
In Search of the Perfect Cocktail Sauce
Yeah...I know. This is a First World problem!
In my world, there is only ONE use for cocktail sauce, and that is SHRIMP.
I was never a seafood aficionado in my youth, but I came to love the stuff when I became adult enough to understand that it is expensive. (It's expensive for a reason, right?) The rest is history.
Our family always gathered at my grandparents' farm for holidays. Mom was busy cooking a huge holiday meal (Thanksgiving and Christmas) and so didn't want to have to also cook breakfast or lunch for us all. Thus was born the hors d'ouevres table--or "horse's ovaries", as we called it. The card table in the living room held raw oysters, crackers, pickled herring, cheeses, shrimp and cocktail sauce, California onion dip and chips. The cocktail sauce for Mom's shrimp was always excellent, flavored with just enough wasabi from Japan to make it zesty, but I never thought to ask for a recipe! Unfortunately, Mom passed in 1986, and I've been left on my own to find the perfect sauce ever since.
In my quest to duplicate Mom's sauce, I thought the secret ingredient was wasabi. When we came home from Japan in 1958, Mom had a quart-sized tin of powdered green wasabi. (That tin lasted 20 years!!) But since I didn't have that resource, I kept trying to find the right sauce. I have powdered wasabi now that the US has discovered it, but my sauce still doesn't match Mom's.
A few years ago, I bought cocktail sauce from Aldi's. It was "their" brand--Tate's--and it was GOOD. It didn't need to be doctored to be just the right combination of thick and zippy. The very next time I went to Aldi's to get more, they had changed their brand from Tate's to Burnham's. Not quite the same. And just last week, I went to Aldi's to get some Burnham's Cocktail Sauce, only to discover that it is now considered seasonal and not carried at the moment. Huh? Cocktail sauce is seasonal??
Who'd a-thunk it?
My sister told me that she always uses Holland House Cocktail Sauce, so I ventured out to find some. At the time, I couldn't find it at Walmart, which is where I was shopping. I picked up their store brand. Meh! Too bland. Had to be doctored to make it zestier.
The last time I made the long distance trek to Trader Joe's, I ran into their version of cocktail sauce. They always sell good stuff, so I got a bottle. OMG! Too watery and too sweet! Couldn't even get it to stick to the shrimp!
Then I started shopping at Meijer. Couldn't find Holland House there, either, at first...so I got the Meijer brand Zesty Cocktail Sauce. It wasn't too bad, but the next time I went to get it, they were out. Got the regular non-zesty Meijer brand cocktail sauce. No twang to it. Had to doctor it. Yuck!
The last time I went to Meijer with cocktail sauce on my shopping list, I was delighted to find both Holland House AND the Zesty Meijer brand--so I bought one of each!! I'm going to try the Holland House first. Wish me luck!
It would seem that I eat a lot of shrimp. Actually, I do now. I always have some in the freezer. It is low in calories and fat (although high in cholesterol), easy to thaw and eat as a diet treat. Love it!
The verdict is still out on which brand is the perfect sauce for my precious shrimp. I'll keep you posted!
In my world, there is only ONE use for cocktail sauce, and that is SHRIMP.
I was never a seafood aficionado in my youth, but I came to love the stuff when I became adult enough to understand that it is expensive. (It's expensive for a reason, right?) The rest is history.
Our family always gathered at my grandparents' farm for holidays. Mom was busy cooking a huge holiday meal (Thanksgiving and Christmas) and so didn't want to have to also cook breakfast or lunch for us all. Thus was born the hors d'ouevres table--or "horse's ovaries", as we called it. The card table in the living room held raw oysters, crackers, pickled herring, cheeses, shrimp and cocktail sauce, California onion dip and chips. The cocktail sauce for Mom's shrimp was always excellent, flavored with just enough wasabi from Japan to make it zesty, but I never thought to ask for a recipe! Unfortunately, Mom passed in 1986, and I've been left on my own to find the perfect sauce ever since.
In my quest to duplicate Mom's sauce, I thought the secret ingredient was wasabi. When we came home from Japan in 1958, Mom had a quart-sized tin of powdered green wasabi. (That tin lasted 20 years!!) But since I didn't have that resource, I kept trying to find the right sauce. I have powdered wasabi now that the US has discovered it, but my sauce still doesn't match Mom's.
A few years ago, I bought cocktail sauce from Aldi's. It was "their" brand--Tate's--and it was GOOD. It didn't need to be doctored to be just the right combination of thick and zippy. The very next time I went to Aldi's to get more, they had changed their brand from Tate's to Burnham's. Not quite the same. And just last week, I went to Aldi's to get some Burnham's Cocktail Sauce, only to discover that it is now considered seasonal and not carried at the moment. Huh? Cocktail sauce is seasonal??
Who'd a-thunk it?
My sister told me that she always uses Holland House Cocktail Sauce, so I ventured out to find some. At the time, I couldn't find it at Walmart, which is where I was shopping. I picked up their store brand. Meh! Too bland. Had to be doctored to make it zestier.
The last time I made the long distance trek to Trader Joe's, I ran into their version of cocktail sauce. They always sell good stuff, so I got a bottle. OMG! Too watery and too sweet! Couldn't even get it to stick to the shrimp!
Then I started shopping at Meijer. Couldn't find Holland House there, either, at first...so I got the Meijer brand Zesty Cocktail Sauce. It wasn't too bad, but the next time I went to get it, they were out. Got the regular non-zesty Meijer brand cocktail sauce. No twang to it. Had to doctor it. Yuck!
The last time I went to Meijer with cocktail sauce on my shopping list, I was delighted to find both Holland House AND the Zesty Meijer brand--so I bought one of each!! I'm going to try the Holland House first. Wish me luck!
It would seem that I eat a lot of shrimp. Actually, I do now. I always have some in the freezer. It is low in calories and fat (although high in cholesterol), easy to thaw and eat as a diet treat. Love it!
The verdict is still out on which brand is the perfect sauce for my precious shrimp. I'll keep you posted!
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