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.

The Gift: A Christmas Celebration

Over 2000 years ago, we received a gift. It was salvation, it was peace and love and joy. It was Jesus Christ.

Sometimes it seems as if the Christmas holiday is all about greed, and buying, and having something better than the next person, and overwhelmingly commercial. Sometimes that makes me sad. That’s when I try to remember the first Christmas, that magical night when God gave us his greatest gift – His own Son. And I go looking for the story of that first night.

Luke reports on that first night in a portion of the Bible (American Standard). He reports:

^_ Now it came to pass in those days, there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be enrolled.

^- This was the first enrollment made when Quirinius was governor of Syria.

^- And all went to enroll themselves, everyone to his own city.

^- And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David,

^- to enroll himself with Mary, who was betrothed to him, being great with child.

^- And it came to pass, while they were there, the days were fulfilled that she should be delivered.

^- And she brought forth her firstborn son; and she wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

^- And there were shepherds in the same country abiding in the field, and keeping watch by night over their flock.

^- And an angel of the Lord stood by them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

^- And the angel said unto them, Be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which shall be to all the people,

^- for there is born to you this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord.

^- And this [is] the sign unto you: Ye shall find a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, and lying in a manger.

^- And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

^- Glory to God in the highest, And on earth peace among men in whom he is well pleased.

^- And it came to pass, when the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing that is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.

^- And they came with haste, and found both Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in the manger.

^- And when they saw it, they made known concerning the saying which was spoken to them about this child.

^- And all that heard it wondered at the things which were spoken unto them by the shepherds.

^- But Mary kept all these sayings, pondering them in her heart.

- And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, even as it was spoken unto them.

^- And when eight days were fulfilled for circumcising him, his name was called JESUS, which was so called by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.

There’s a lot more to the story, which most of you know, and depending upon which gospel you read. That first Christmas story is my favorite, because a gift, that child, was given, and the gift promised peace and love and joy. I like to think that the gifting season began on that first night, and summons me to give gifts to those I love. As I wrap each gift, I think of peace and joy and love, and hope it is included with each gift, as our Father did so long ago.

Merry Christmas to you all. May peace and love and joy be your gifts this Christmas.

Santa Visits Sallisaw

I saw Santa Claus! Yes! Really! I saw Santa Claus. I was driving east on Cherokee Street last week when Santa passed me going west. “Hey! Wait!” I yelled. Didn’t do a bit of good. He just kept on going. What was so startling about his drive past was he was driving a tiny little foreign car of some sort. It was white, and the car matched his beard perfectly. And the car was so small he nearly filled up the front window.  His beard was snow white, but I couldn’t see his belly so I don’t know if it shook like a bowl full of jelly.

What’s Santa doing in our small town? I wondered. Where’s Rudolph? Is the most famous reindeer of all suffering from a power outage? Is Santa lost because that bright nose has flickered out? And where were those other eight reindeer? You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen and Comet and Cupid and Donder and Blitzen? Was Santa checking up on all the nice and naughty kids in Sallisaw? Which list was I on??? Oh good grief!

No, I am not hallucinating. I know this because I am not the only one who had a Santa sighting. I was present for the second sighting too. That’s when Delanna N., from here at KXMX 105.1, and I were driving somewhere, no doubt Christmas shopping. (I’m done, she’s not, HA!) Suddenly Delanna, who was behind the wheel, squealed, “There’s Santa Claus! Santa Claus is following us. He’s right behind us! I know it’s him!” I could relate, and explained my own sighting to Delanna. “I saw him last week. Was he in that little white foreign car?” Delanna didn’t know. But she reported, maybe a bit disappointed, “He had a gray beard.”

I countered, “Mine had a snow white beard.” Gray versus white beard? Made me wonder. But I have it on good authority, “His eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples: how merry, his cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.” Delanna was not to be deterred. “He’s right behind us! Maybe he’s checking us out. Maybe he’s checking to see if I’m naughty or nice. I’m nice. I hope he knows that. He’s following us because I’m nice. I know he knows I’m nice.”

But things change. “Oh no!” Delanna reported. “He’s turning the corner. He’s not following us anymore. I’m nice Santa. Really, I’m nice!” And so Delanna’s communication with Santa concluded. We hope Santa heard both of us declaring how nice we are. Really. And so I concluded, as was done so long ago, “And I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself; A wink of his eye and a twist of his head soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.” Thank you Santa. And for those of you who think Delanna and I may still be children, well of course we are. And we will always believe that Santa will visit if we are, for sure, nice.(Editor’s Note: Thank you to Clement Clark Moore, and a few others who, I hope, will forgive me in this giving season for corrupting their Christmas poems. Mr. Moore’s was published in 1823, and remains the original description of Santa.

So, quoting the author one more time, “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

It's Shop-til-You-Drop Time

Christmas shopping is now in full swing! And stores were packed to the gills from Thanksgiving evening on. Well, on Black Friday they were. Other nights, hummm? Driving back from Sunny Son’s house in Fort Smith on Thanksgiving evening, I was shocked when I checked out the parking lots in front of stores where I have never seen the parking lot full. These are stores I like to shop in all the time. But not that evening! Parking a quarter mile away from the store’s entrance, if you could find a parking spot a quarter mile away, is not my idea of healthy exercise. Do not want to walk or jog that far just to save a few bucks on a gift. I should have taken a photo for future reference. There was nowhere to park in one lot that I have never seen more than a third full in the past.

Central Mall? Cars parked clear out to the street! I couldn’t believe it! Walmart? Good gracious folks. Walmart was spreading the Black Friday sales out from Thanksgiving evening on through that Friday. Was there not a better way to gift shop? Well, I know one and I might tell, maybe. I could imagine what was going on in those stores, but I wasn’t going anywhere near them. I imagined moms and dads scrambling frantically for the one gift they need for the kid. And then moms and dads get into fights with other moms and dads who are not to be denied that same gift. I could imagine shoppers finally claiming their shopping prize, then having to use it to beat off other shoppers who wanted that same prize, and the result was the gift is ruined and no one gets it.

I may be wrong. Could be all those shoppers, even though shoulder to shoulder in the stores, were polite and more than willing to share. At least I hope it was that way. It’s how I would like it to be. But there’s still no way I am going to go shoulder-to-shoulder with other shoppers. So I ventured out alone on a dreary week night recently to do some shopping of my own. I confess. On Thanksgiving, found out my little family is expanding. “You’re pregnant?” was the question of the day. And all the answers were “Yes!” All I can say is EEK! I just thought I was done shopping.

But I have a secret shopping strategy, which I will share considering it’s the sharing season. I had coupons good for Black Friday, and (this is the good part) good for the following week. I like to shop on a Tuesday or Wednesday evening. And this year it was fabulous, so far. At my first store of choice, which was staying open to midnight (good grief!), the store clerks greatly outnumbered the customers, all two of us. Yep, two. Perhaps the other shoppers had enough of Christmas shopping on Friday. I kind of felt sorry for those clerks, all of whom were absolutely sure that I needed their help. Well they kept asking anyway, even though I declined the help repeatedly. One clerk even started shopping with me. She hadn’t had a chance shop for her young daughter. I offered a few suggestions. At the next store, it was the same. I got to park in the lot in the first space closest to the entrance. There was absolutely no one about. The only other customer I noticed was a co-worker who needed shoes. It was fabulous, not only because there were few fellow shoppers, but because those great prices advertised for Black Friday were still in effect. And I had coupons, and got deals too good to publish. That night might have been the greatest Christmas shopping night of all time.

I had to shop, there are a couple more great-grandbabies to add to my list. And, oh dear, I had to make a list. I’m losing track of great-grandbabies. But I announce that with pride, because, as one grandchild put it, “Well, it’s all your fault. You started it.” Yes, I confess. I started it, with a little help, and am very happy to Christmas shop for any and all grand- and great-grandchildren. Can hardly wait til I’m out there again, going undercover on dark and rainy week night, shopping til I drop for the greatest gift, a new grandchild. Yay!

Black Friday Temptations

Now that eating ourselves silly at the Thanksgiving table is over, it’s on to the Jolly Old Elf season. At last. Everyone else has been at least one, or maybe two, holidays ahead of me. And, you may have noticed, I complain at least once a year about that. Nevertheless, we’re on to Christmas, the gifting season. And I love gift giving. I love it so much, as I’ve reported before, I begin my Christmas shopping on Dec. 26 every year. The deals are incredible. The only problem is my dear family members rarely get what they want. Hey, if it’s not on sale, it does not get bought and parked in my spare bedroom for, at most, 364 days until the next Christmas. The only problem with that, of course, is I forget what’s in there. I’ll confess that on one Christmas a granddaughter got something she was supposed to have received for her birthday months earlier. I remembered that gift when she looked at me quizzically and asked, “What teddy bear?” when I asked her how she liked her new teddy bear. Had to tell her on Christmas day it was THAT teddy bear. And you know what? This fall I found another teddy bear in there. Oops.

Never mind. I am affectionately known as G-G (for great-granny) by four new little kiddies this year. It’s a name I proudly wear, and all those who call me G-G, get great goodies. It’s three-Gs from the 2-G. I am now the proud G-G of four new little ones. All my grandkids have dutifully delivered to us one child each. Yep, three girls and one boy. I am happy. And my role as G-G is to make them happy. And here comes Christmas. (Just made a mental note to check out the spare bedroom before any new purchases.) And right on the heels of Thanksgiving is the dreaded Black Friday! Followed closely for Cyber Monday! Oh no! But I love shopping! Shopping is my hobby! And Clearance Sale is the name of my game. Black Friday is already tempting me beyond sensibility. My gift shopping is done. I have bragged about that, not only here but to my friends and relatives who have not even begun that happy, to me at least, chore yet. (Insert image of me pointing finger at best bud Delanna N. I also love to gloat.) But wait! There are tiny little people out there who are related to me, and need many, many toys. Truthfully, on a recent visit to granddaughter’s house, I could not walk across the living room without setting foot upon a toy. “He’s got everything,” granddaughter moaned. But can I help it if this 18-month-old has a huge, extended family, all of whom dote on him? Nope. So I must shop on!

And this year, all the stores have started Black Friday early. EEK! I have always disdained Black Friday. I do not like the crowds. I do not like another grandma tackling me cause I got the last Woody, from the movie “Toy Story,” on the shelf. Literally. It happened at a K-Mart. Please folks, Go to www.disneystore.com. And if you look closely, some of those great prices can be had at other times of the year. But it’s oh so tempting. I argue with myself. ‘NO. NO. NO.” I recite. Doesn’t work. And ‘Great-grandkid already has enough toys,’ I argue with me. ‘No he doesn’t. NO. NO. NO.’

And it’s not just for the grandkids. Yes, I really want that super mixer on sale for a smidgen of what it costs normally. ‘And,’ I ask myself, ‘What’s to be done with the other two mixers you already own, one of which has never been out of the package?’ ‘Uh yeah,’ I answer myself. ‘But it’s on sale!’ ‘On what piece of kitchen counter space do you plan to park it? There’s none left!’ OK. OK. And I deleted the super mixer off that store’s website shopping bag. My heart is broken.

No it’s not. This particular early Black Friday sale, which is on the internet meaning I don’t have to deal with crowds, is going on through Monday. Ooh. Cyber Monday. I may revisit. And besides that, this particular store has the one and only particular toy my great-grandson needs. And it’s half price. And I make the promise to my four wee ones, “I’ll be back. For I am Super G-G!”

“Now, let’s shop,” I cry as I fly off into the sky, able to fly with my invisible Great-Grandma cape.