It’s Super Bowl Sunday! Yay!

Here it comes. Super Bowl Sunday. Our biggest unofficial holiday. The tv media is all abuzz with it, especially deflated balls. Since none of my teams are in the Super Bowl, I shouldn’t care. But I do. I’ve begun to wonder if I should be a football fan. I’m concerned about injuries the football players suffer.  Sometimes our football reminds me of the Roman games played in huge coliseums. After all, it’s those hits we like isn’t it, but that’s what causes the injuries they say. Should we throw a lion, or a tiger, or a slave into the mix to see what happens? Uh, probably not. I bet our football stadiums are bigger than Roman coliseums, and our football players bigger and badder than their gladiators, so how far away are we from those Romans and their games? Now I’ve begun to wonder if we should also worry about cheating. Do deflated footballs cause that much trouble? I did like that one comment, which I think was from a deflated Colts player, “They could have been throwing bars of soap and still beat us.” Hope that wasn’t a cheat quote too. Well, I’ve changed my mind, I’m going to be for the Seahawks, even though they humiliated the Broncos last year. I just don’t like cheating. Hope neither team does.

And onward we go. Really, the one or two or three big reasons to watch our Super Bowl, fan or not, is #1 the commercials (I hate beer but love Budweiser commercials); #2 Katy Perry (seriously doubt if any part of her costume is going to fall off during the half-time show); and #3 all the food I, and everyone else in the United States, is planning on eating on Sunday. For all you cooks out there, male or female, a quick search of the Internet will reveal that everyone from Betty Crocker to Walmart has delicious Super Bowl recipes and foods for you. I got ‘Fifty Crowd-Pleasing Dips,” “Touchdown Scoring Snacks,” and “Get Ready for Game Time” emails just this morning. And that doesn’t include the ones I’ve already deleted. I’m not planning much, but do have my Super Bowl menu planned. Its hot links, beans, and a half-gallon of ice cream. I may throw in some nachos for a snack. One seller tickled me by offering a discount on dvd movies for those not interested in football. Oh no! Ladies, don’t go there. I found out many, many years ago that football games are the best time to crochet. Yep, one year way way way back when, I crocheted Christmas gifts for everyone in the family while watching the Chicago Bears every Sunday. It’s easy. Start your project, when a play gets underway, stop, watch play, watch re-run of play, yell at the ref, and go back to your crochet project while tv analysts tell you what happened. You don’t need to watch the analysts, unless they are retired football players of course. I personally like our own Troy Aikman, from Checotah and courtesy of the OU Sooners. He’s kind of nice to look at. And he doesn’t like deflated footballs either. Just this fall, I, as a fairly new great-grandma, have crochet five baby afghans, and the sixth (a baby blue project) will be in my lap on Super Bowl Sunday. And take note, according to my emails just this morning, every craft store in the world has put yarn on sale. I gotta go shopping!

But oh darn, Sunday is the last day for football until late next summer when, yes, I even watch pre-season games, hoping one, just one, of the football teams I favor, can get it together and get to the biggest sports spectacle on earth. There are those who would argue that premise. And they might be right. I speak of those who favor soccer. And according to all the hype it got last year when some sort of world championship was held in South America, soccer may well be the world’s biggest sporting event. I’ve tried watching soccer. I couldn’t get into it. Yep, guess I’m stuck with my rough and tough American football, even with its injuries, cheating and commercialism, and I will watch every play on Sunday, in between baby afghans of course. Go Seahawks!

Searching for Spring, and Other Things

Now that the end of January is in sight, (Yay!), I have become Spring obsessed. Spring. Where is it? Oops. Any way you look at it, Spring is still two months away. Never mind. Spring is close (well, not really), but I don’t care. I have begun haunting the newly-stocked garden shop at Walmart, which has not gone unnoticed by those who work there. They even directed me to all the new flower bulbs they have for sale. Yes. I confess. I bought some. You are supposed to plant flower bulbs in the fall I found out, and I did, thanks to a friend who decided to clean out her flower beds and leave me with 30 iris bulbs. They are all in the ground and I’ve begun checking to see if they feel the need to grow yet. Nope. Not yet. But hey, I found some seed-starting mix on sale, and bought all I could carry. Never started seeds indoors before, but I’m so ready for spring, I’ll be filling my little pots this very weekend, and setting up a by-the-window seed starting platform.

So obsessed, I went to the internet to find out if I was the only one. It seemed so, since I appeared to be the only one hanging out in Walmart’s garden center. The internet disappointed me. Most bloggers were more concerned about spring fashions and spring makeup. Yep, they are all obsessed with spring too, just not in the same general area.

Such as “pink cowboy boots?” Uh, I’ve got several pair of cowboy boots since my horse and I had to chase cows when I was a girl, but I can guarantee none of my boots are pink. Moving on, found other women really excited about spring shopping for new clothes and makeup. Uh, not interested much in $50 nail polish or $100 face cream. And my old clothes are fine, thanks.

Then I came upon the Fort Collins (Colo.) Nursery. Yep. When on internet I am terribly distracted by anything that promises seeds, annuals, perennials, veggies, etc. And this nursery knows what it’s like to be Spring obsessed, or perhaps more accurately, garden obsessed. They even have a quiz to determine if you are garden obsessed. This quiz offers questions such as:

Do you grow plants in anything that holds soil? My answer: That doesn’t include coffee cans of all sizes, empty ice cream cartons, soup and nut cans does it? It does? Well, yes.

Do you automatically dead-head plants when walking through you garden? Well, yeah.

Do you refuse to leave town during the blooming season? Uh, heck, I won’t even leave my tiny garden!

Do you carry photos of your flower and vegetable garden? Oh dear. I confess I have photos of the garden, but not of my great-grandson. That will have to be fixed.

Do you refuse to kill ladybugs? Or worse, do you bring the ladybugs inside for winter? Oh my. I love ladybugs. Yes and yes.

Have you given up cooking for gardening? Really? Who has time to cook?

Yes. I passed the test. I am an obsessed gardener. The only fault I found with the Fort Collins Nursery is it’s in Colorado, and it doesn’t seem that I can buy on line. And they have a 50-percent off section!

So on I scrolled, searching out anything and everything needed to get Spring blooming a little sooner than later. That’s when I came upon Better Homes & Gardens website, again. Hey. It’s great for gardeners. And it’s the reason I’m about two hours late with this bit of Spring foolery too. On the BH&G website you can plan your garden, learn how to plant a garden, and even buy the garden necessities. And I did. I’m obsessed.

But, there is a saving grace to this, which is featured on the Fort Collins Nursery website, and which I may have written on a stone that I will put in my garden, which I fell in love with because I am now semi-retired. The lesson learned is:

“Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. Anyone who keeps learning stays young.”

-Henry Ford

‘Nough said.

The Great Bird Count

Being kind of retired, sort of, occasionally, I, like many before me, decided to do some things I always wanted to do but never got around to. So far that list includes gardening, bird watching, and never doing housework again. Well, I do do laundry. That’s a gotta-do. Back to the hobbies. It’s not gardening time at the moment, although I am glad that stores are tucking away the Christmas stuff and restocking their garden shelves. And I sure do like to leaf through all the gardening catalogs I’ve signed up for. But I must pace myself. Can’t plant when every morning is frosty.

So, I’m trying to get into the bird watching a bit more. It’s that time of year when the birds hope you will put out a buffet for them. The first thing I discovered about bird watching, when I started peering into birds’ hidden lives last spring was, oh my gosh, it’s a bird soap opera out there in my backyard. There is fussing and feuding aplenty, but now that’s its winter, all my backyard birds want to do is eat. I sort of feel the same way, but we won’t go into that right now (or ever). A few weeks back I got email from the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife Conservation that the Great Backyard Bird Count was in the works. Oh yay. I can do that now, I thought. What fun!

Uh, well maybe not. First thing you gotta do is keep those bird feeders full. I had let mine get a bit empty over the holidays (too much to do) so I rushed to refill the buffet. And my bird neighbors gradually returned. Second thing I figured out was you cannot count birds if they see you coming. They fly away in all directions when they spot you hiding behind a kitchen curtain trying to count them. Third thing is some birds apparently don’t want to be counted. Take the tufted titmouse for example. These cute little fellers fly in, grab a seed or two, and don’t waste time trying to eat at the feeder. They much refer to eat seed in a more protected area like inside a bush. So they fly in, fly out, fly in, fly out. How you gonna count that? I estimated. The wildlife people said that was ok. Then there’s the white-crowned sparrow. I did not know there are a bazillion types of sparrows until I got a bird ID book and consulted the bird identifications on our wildlife conservation website. (I visit often. Great place to learn things.) Until then I could not figure out what that bird was with the black and white striped head. It’s a white-crowned sparrow. And when they fly in to partake of the buffet, they pretty much rule the roost when it comes to who gets to sit at the feeder to feed their face. But watch out for those European starlings. When they show up, they take over everything, and I had to count my poor little cardinals eating on the ground because the starlings had taken over the feeders, in mass. And they empty the feeders in a matter of minutes. I carefully recorded my sightings for the wildlife people, and could barely wait to get back to my computer to send off the bird count. Oops. Here came an email from the wildlife folks. Seems there was a problem with the computers, and many bird counts were not showing up. Would I please try again?

I found that ironic. Out there is my backyard a whole other reality is taking place. Sometimes we are so wrapped up in our own lives that we forget there are, not one but many, other worlds out there, inhabited by other beings. We see birds chasing each other for various reasons for food, shelter, and happiness with a spouse and raising a family. Not so different from ourselves. But dag-nab-it, those who inhabit our backyards don’t have to fuss with computers that don’t deliver as promised. But, computers aside, now I’m just happy that I can tell a titmouse from a starling. Who says old dogs can’t learn new tricks?

How I Became Obsessed with Grilled-cheese Sandwiches

Warning:  If you have been afflicted by some sort of ugly bug, and are now the residence for the flu or perhaps a nasty digestive system revolt, do not watch all those cooking shows on public TV. I did. It was awful. Digestive system was in revolt this week, refusing any and all food, including the chicken soup I tried downing. At first chicken-soup sip my revolting tummy clinched tight and refused to cooperate. So I was laying on the couch, with handy bucket nearby just in case, bored beyond reason. And then I turned TV to our wonderful OETA, and there they were – cooking show, cooking show, cooking show.

Normally I like the cooking shows. My favorites are America’s Test Kitchen (ATK) and Martha Bakes. I don’t, and never have, cooked or baked anything they have demonstrated on air. There are several reasons for this. Number one – they are too complicated. Let’s face it. I can’t match the popular Chefs Martha or Chris from ATK. Number 2 – not only are those recipes complicated, they can be very expensive if you start adding up all the ingredients, none of which, probably, are in my cabinets, and if they are they may be 10 or 20 years old. So, I don’t bother, but I love to watch.

And watch I did. Oh no. Martha was baking cakes, to be decorated with buttercream icing. Guess what? I can make buttercream icing! And at ATK whole wheat pizza was on the menu, along with an adult version of the grilled-cheese sandwich. I wanted that sandwich so badly I could taste it. My tummy immediately tightened and demanded I not even imagine that grilled-cheese sandwich. But why not? Grilled-cheese sandwiches are usually non-tummy constricting. I could understand if I wanted a bowl of chili with jalapenos. That’s a dish I wouldn’t eat even if my tummy was agreeable. I still confess to a Yankee tongue that prefers mild over HOT. But cake with buttercream icing? I remember groaning in despair as my tummy clinched again. And so I became obsessed with that grilled-cheese sandwich.

I did try to follow the grilled-cheese sandwich recipe, which called for cheeses I’ve never heard of before, so I gave that up too. Although I did promise that as soon as my stomach would cooperate I was gonna make plain old American cheese grilled sandwiches. Yes. That’s plural, because at that point on the couch I was sure I could eat more than one. Perhaps two or three, if my stomach would just cooperate. Which it wasn’t doing at that time. To compensate, I ate a Frito. Just one. Surely tummy could handle that. It did, sort of.

I went in search of something other than food on the TV. Um-hum. Here is the show called “The Chew.” No thanks. I can chew right now, but I better not swallow. Then I found Julia Child (What?) making pies. Hasn’t Julia gone on to the great big kitchen in the sky? Yep. But she’s so popular she’s back on public broadcasting again. And Wow! I can make pies. I wanted to make a pie at that very moment. My tummy said, “No.” Then there’s the guy from the Louisiana bayou. I don’t normally like Cajun, but he was busy making breakfast and Angel biscuits. Oh how I wanted a biscuit with jelly. Mental note to self:  Buy biscuits!

Good grief. You would think I could have found a show, or even shoved a movie into the DVD player, that had nothing to do with cooking! But I was obsessed. I wanted food. I really, really wanted food! I really, really wanted a grilled-cheese sandwich. So tummy and I had a discussion. And that worked. My un-cooperating tummy and I have been separated for about 12 hours now, and by golly, it kept down another Frito. So now I am on my way to the grocery store with a very long list. But basically, all I want is a grilled-cheese sandwich.

Christmas Kitchen Katastrophies

Yes, last word above is misspelled but on purpose. It sort of stands for all those great-sounding Christmas recipes that turned into an absolute catastrophe in my kitchen.

I love Christmas. I love old-fashioned Christmas goodies of all kinds, such as candy and cookies. And no, I do not include fruit cake on my list. I tried it years ago and that particular holiday goody is now on the catastrophe list. Colorful houses could, perhaps, have been built with my poor attempt at mini-fruit cakes.

But I’m always on the lookout for new additions to my holiday goody list. The list already includes a cheese ball that must be whipped up at least twice, and sometimes more, every Christmas. The cheese ball is courtesy of everybody’s favorite grandma, Emma Ball of Sallisaw, who some of you may know. Then there’s the seasoned crackers and cereals my kids won’t let me forget, and a fantasy fudge that I’ll never forget, even though a pound of that fudge puts at least one more pound on the lower portions of my body, and I’m not saying where.

But I’m always on the lookout for more Christmas recipes with which I can stun my family and friends. Unfortunately, my friends will never let me forget the catastrophe of the strawberry chiffon pie, which resulted in large quantities of gummed-up strawberry gel that had to be chewed and chewed and chewed, and which was really hard to swallow. I later conquered that recipe, but didn’t share it with those friends. I do wish I had taken photos of their faces as they tried to down that first pie, cause those photos would have been priceless, meaning used for blackmail every time they told the story and laughed about my chewy strawberry chiffon pie.

This year the new recipes included rice cereal crispy treats, in strawberry flavor (Yes, I love strawberry!) and oat cereal chocolate wreaths, concocted using tiny little chocolate pieces made just for melting. I’m not using the brand names of the cereals, because you all know who they are any way and they might not like the way those recipes turned out. However, that strawberry treat recipe is going on the Christmas recipe list cause they are awesome.  Can’t say the same for the oat cereal wreaths, but it wasn’t their fault. It was that chocolate for melting that caused the problem.

I’ve never used that chocolate that is only for melting before, and wasn’t sure how to handle it. I’m sure there’s a fabulous way to melt that chocolate and most candy makers know how. I’m not one of them. Nevertheless, I proceeded undaunted, but with the suspicion that easy melting chocolate might be more challenging than I at first supposed. The recipe seemed easy, and photos of the finished product were gorgeous. The oat cereal was to be mixed with the melted chocolate, spooned into a wreath shape, and decorated with red and green M&Ms. It took me an hour to separate those green and red candies from the others in the bag. But that was ok. The rest of the process would go fast, the recipe promised. I had no idea how fast. Seems once you melt the chocolate, and mix it with the cereal, the race is on and you better be an Olympic sprinter! As soon as the chocolate got mixed with the cereal, it started to set up. I mean immediately. Never mind that me, the cook, had to shape the mixture into something that looked like a Christmas wreath, or that the recipe had to stay soft until the green and red candies were put in a proper position. I was nowhere near the decorating process yet, and that oat cereal was hardening so quickly because of the chocolate that I was flinging the cereal at the cookie sheet as fast as possible, and at the same time trying to shape the concoction into in a wreath. Sweat gathered on my brow. Chocolate gathered then clumped on my hands. Chocolate-coated oat cereal went flying all over the kitchen. My little wreaths didn’t look like wreaths at all. More like gigantic mounds of hay bales my horses had stomped into the mud. I gave up. With half the recipe hardened up in the mixing bowl. And it wouldn’t budge. No wreaths there. Realizing these little wreaths were not going to make it into my Christmas goody bags, I just ate the stuff I scraped out of my bowl with a serrated grapefruit spoon. You know, it tasted pretty good. I ate the whole thing.

So no. I am not throwing this recipe away. I am challenged, a la strawberry chiffon pie, and I will win. It’s either that or eat a whole lot of oat cereal, cause I bought boxes and boxes of the stuff.