Articles

The Neighbors From Hell

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A few years ago, I decided I wanted to grow a vegetable garden.  I already had an assortment of flowering plants, a couple of nice citrus tree, and even some beautiful roses, but I wanted the satisfaction of growing plants that produce food items.  Maybe it was that part I inherited from my grandfather, who at 80, had a three-acre garden he cared for by hand or maybe it’s simply the joy in watching plants grow from seeds, but from that year on, I’ve had a garden.  I wish I could say it’s always been successful, but one year, thanks to some new neighbors, I ended up living a gardener’s nightmare.

It started plainly enough.  As usual, I started with seed trays in February under lights in my garage.  February is also my birthday month, so my family gives me gift cards to Lowes to buy seeds and gardening supplies.  I was ecstatic to be able to get seeds planted already and to have a new little greenhouse that my husband had already put together and wired with lights.

By early March, I transplanted 6-8 inch plants into containers and they were growing well.  Both pepper and tomato plants were green, healthy and putting on new growth at a good rate. By the end of March, most of the plants stood about three feet tall and were covered in blooms and small tomatoes and peppers. It looked like it was going to be my best crop yet which meant plenty of veggies for us and even more to share with our neighbors in our cul-de-sac.

April rolled around and the strangest thing happened and did so in just a few days!  The pepper plant leaves started to curl, thicken and turn a darker green.  The tomato plants suddenly started growing taller and thinner, but the trunks of the plants got thick and almost bark-like, then began to rot away.  The tomatoes that were already formed on the vines didn’t grow any bigger, but started to ripen and every time a new bloom appeared it quickly shriveled and died.  I had two dozen four-foot tall tomato plants and 17 pepper plants showing this weird damage. It made no sense.  My garden had gone from gorgeous to grotesque almost overnight. I was heart-broken.

Through teary eyes (yep, I was upset enough to cry), I noticed a small tree in the yard next door that bordered our fence. Its leaves were curling and most had already turned brown. I stood up on the block border of a flowerbed, looked over our fence, and was shocked to observe our new neighbors’ dead, brown yard. This was the source of my problem! A young couple had bought the small house next door and had carelessly broadcast-sprayed everything on their lot with herbicide. It had killed every plant in their yard, including their landscaping, and overspray had damaged every plant in my garden and even some of my flowers and shrubs. I was devastated.

When I spoke to one of my other neighbors about my damaged garden, she informed me that she had seen the husband standing in his backyard spraying something a few days prior, so we confronted them about what they had used.  It was a chemical called 2,4-D, but they denied that it would have caused the damage.  I did some research on 2,4-D and was shocked to find that not only does it cause extensive damage to plants, tomatoes are often affected the worst. And to make matters even worse, this chemical has been linked to cancer!  He exposed his own year old child, his pregnant wife, us and our three children, and the neighbors on the other side of him with three kids of their own to a cancer causing chemical! We were livid, but our only recourse was to take them to small claims court for the damage they’ve caused to the plants. At the time, we were strongly considering that option and even consider reporting them to anyone who could do something about it.

However, my husband wasn’t going to let me mope all summer, so for an early Mother ’s Day present, he bought some tomato and pepper plants about 8 inches tall and helped me start again.  We were still going to be able to enjoy a harvest that year.  It wouldn’t be as big, nor did I have the satisfaction of having grown my entire garden from seeds, but at least I could look at my backyard and see vegetables growing again.

And our new neighbors? They still had a yard full of weeds, and they managed to kill most of the new shrubs and flowers they replanted to replace the first ones they had killed.  They were, by far, the worst neighbors we’ve had, from having a dog that dug up my front flower bed, to mowing and skinning up our front yard because she wanted her friends to think her yard was bigger than it actually was, to even trying to lure and trap our cats and then calling animal control to complain. (Yes, we have cats, but there were several strays that lived in the woods by this neighbor’s house that liked to visit their carport.)  But I think the worst thing they did was after damaging my plants, they had the gall to tie balloons on OUR fence for their kid’s birthday party which tangled the ribbons in my NEW plants!  We removed them and the man used the F-bomb towards my 11-year-old daughter! He then snarled at me, “You can kiss those tomato plants goodbye!”  Lucky for me, my husband set that young idiot straight very quickly.  But the best news?  One day we came home to a “For Sale” sign in their front yard!  Oh, glorious day!  We now have much better neighbors and my garden is safe as well as our cats, our grass, and our ears!

Articles

When Teachers Get Ridiculous:  Math Homework using Slavery Questions

January 2012 – The headline, ‘If Fred Got Two Beatings Per Day…’ Homework Asks, immediately drew my attention as soon as I opened my web browser.  Of course, it would.  Why would any homework assignment have a question like that?

According to ABC News, third graders at Beaver Ridge Elementary School in Gwinnett County, GA received math homework with questions about slavery.

There were questions about slaves picking oranges, slaves receiving beatings and slaves picking cotton.

Parents are outraged.  Is that any surprise?  They well should be.  One parent points out that these questions show there are still racists.  Another parent stated they now have to explain to their 8-year-old why math problems were written about slaves and slavery.

The district claims the teachers were only attempting a cross-curricular activity by incorporating social studies into math problems.

There, folks, lies the problem.  This was merely a very poor attempt at cross-curricular instruction, not a show of racism’s ugly head.

Cross-curricular instruction is one of those recurring educational buzz phrases that teachers are often required to apply to their instruction.  Cross-curricular teaching is not a bad idea when done correctly.  In fact, years of research show that it helps students learn to apply skills taught in one class to subjects in other classes.  It is called “transference”.  Transference is the ability to take a skill learned at school, such as “measurement”, and then apply it to a real-world task like finding out how long the coach in their living room is.  It gives the students a knowledge base, which is important for making learning more meaningful and making that knowledge stick.

Cross-curricular instruction has also been shown to increase motivation and improve learning.  When skills are taught in isolation, students rarely see the value in learning those skills.  However, if those skills can be applied to more than one situation, not only are those skills mastered by the student, but also effective learning occurs and those skills are not forgotten.

Teachers may receive textbooks or materials that have some cross-curricular activities, but often these activities never fit in with what teachers in different areas are being required to teach at that particular time frame.  This leaves the teacher no choice but to come up with his or her own material, especially if their administrator or district office is requiring it.

However, that doesn’t excuse the slavery math questions, nor am I condoning the teachers’ decision to create and use them.  Any adult, teacher or not, should have been able to determine that these questions were inappropriate for students, no matter their age.  This appears to be a simple case of changing the words in a preexisting math worksheet, not a true effort at cross-curricular instruction at all.

(Originally published on Yahoo Voices)

Articles

Racy Yearbook Photo is a Bad Idea

January 2012 – ABC News reported that Colorado teenager, Sydney Spies, is planning to fight a ban of the photo she submitted to be published in the Durango High School yearbook, in Durango, Colorado.  The photo is not your typical senior photo in cap and gown or off the shoulder drape as featured in many yearbooks around the country.  Instead, she posed in a short yellow skirt riding below her navel and a black shawl that exposes her shoulders and sits low across her chest.

The five editors of the yearbook made the decision not to publish the photo because they felt it would “diminish the quality with something that can be seen as unprofessional.”  However, they are still willing to publish it on the student’s ad page in the yearbook.

The racy photo will still be published in the yearbook, just not as the student’s senior photo.

As a middle school yearbook advisor for the past 15 years, I have had inappropriate photos submitted for students’ personal pages in the yearbook.  However, those occasions have been rare until the last few years.

Due to the increase in the number of photos of teens in bikinis or tiny shorts and low-cut tank tops, we’ve had to establish photo guidelines. We also state that we have the right to refuse any photo we deem as inappropriate and every year, lately, I’ve had to refuse photos.

I am also the parent of 12-year-old daughter.  I’m very protective of her and look out for her best interests. It’s unclear to me as to why parents would be so willing to publish revealing photos of their children.  What is not published in yearbooks, however, can still be uploaded to Facebook and other social networking sites.  Anyone who has an account can log into Facebook at any given time and see photos of teenage girls posing with their shirts pulled up and their shorts pulled down.  Even the boys are adding their poses and asking for “likes”.  The boys’ poses usually consist of a raised shirt, with the stomach and a least one nipple exposed.

With more and more of these types of photos being submitted for yearbook publication and considered by students and parents to be acceptable to publish, schools are going to reach a point where they will have to establish policy as to what can and will be published in a school yearbook.  Those parents who want to publish racy photos of their teens should not be able to use a school publication to do it.  There are, after all, many other parents who would not want their own children viewing suggestive photos of their classmates, or anyone else, for that matter.

http://s493.photobucket.com/user/bayside4528/media/sydney_spies_2.jpg.html

Articles

Be Worthy of the Sacrifice: The Importance of Celebrating the Fourth of July

Most Americans are proud folks. We’re proud of our heritage and proud to have fought for and won our independence. People from other countries often call us arrogant, but do we care? Absolutely not! We are proud to be Americans and we’re not afraid to sing it to the heavens and we do!

Now, if you multiply the pride the average American feels by about 100, you have the sentiment veterans and current military members possess. Even those who reluctantly enlisted or were drafted are still proud of their service and what that service represents: Pride, Honor, Integrity, Loyalty, Sacrifice, Bravery and more. I’m willing to bet that even the most pessimistic of people have to admit that these are desirable traits for anyone to have. People who make our country exceptional possess these qualities.

Parades, barbeques, beach, river, lake or pool time, parties with family and friends and fireworks are the typical holiday activities, but to me it’s so much more. Amidst the revelry of parades, the boisterous voices raised in celebration and the boom of fireworks, I see this day as a time of quiet reflection. It’s a day to remember those exceptional people I served with during my time in the Air Force. It’s a time to be thankful for the ones who had the vision to declare our freedom and then sacrifice everything to obtain it. It’s a moment to remember and honor those who continue to guard our independence and ideals in this hostile world. It’s a chance to rejoice in what we so often take for granted: our FREEDOM! We are free to do, to live, to be what we strive to be, but don’t be mistaken. Freedom isn’t a God-given right. It’s an invaluable gift purchased with precious lives proudly offered up in the name of honor, strength, and love.

The Fourth of July is a chance to show our pride, our patriotism, our love of country and fellow Americans. It’s a chance to put aside all the politics, the hatred, the racism, the demons we still deal with as a society. This day allows us to focus, for a brief time, on what makes us good. And honorable. And precious. And worthy of the ultimate sacrifice.

And if we have any sense at all, we’ll realize, we aren’t worthy. Not yet! And we’ll strive to be better, to love more and unconditionally. We’ll speak up to protect the rights of all people, even those of different races, religions, social statuses, and orientations. We’ll work hard to lead by example. We’ll listen with objectivity and endeavor to put aside our hidden agendas. Our ultimate goal? To be the people worthy of the sacrifice so that the children we raise will grow to be the future worth saving.

 

Thought of the Day

Dear Daddy

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Dear Daddy,

I had that dream again.  I came to the house to check on something for Mama.  It seemed she had a duct leak somewhere in the ceiling and drops of water were dripping down on a little desk in the room, ruining God knows what. There were people there, cleaning or working on things.  I don’t know which.  But as I rounded the corner in the hallway to come into the living room, there you were again, just like the last time I dreamed about Mama and the house.

You were sitting in your chair with your slippered feet propped up and coffee in your hand.  I know it was my imagination, just wishful thinking or even my eyes playing tricks on me.  But you were there!  Your blue eyes bright and smiling, you face ruddy with health and your brown curly hair thick and slicked back as only you could wear it.  That spotless white t-shirt and blue jeans without a flaw completed my image.  There you sat, as if the last 20 years had never happened!

Yes, that’s what it had to be, just my mind playing a horrible trick on me. I was seeing you there because I wanted to see you there so badly. I closed my eyes and listened to your voice as you talked and laughed and I waited for the memory to fade away.  But it didn’t!

I opened my eyes and  you were still there, and Mama was just sitting in her spot smiling and looking like the happiest woman on earth.  Another worker made her path through the living room and passed right between yours and Mama’s chairs, nodding her head at both of you.

I was so shocked, I didn’t even speak to you, even though I had years of words I wanted to say, hugs I wanted to give and receive, and sweet whispered encouragement I needed to hear from you and no one else.  I walked right by you, trying hard to ignore my obvious insanity and not look where you sat. My logic insisted I was having a breakdown.  Facts were facts, after all.

You were gone from Earth in a blink of an eye, your body devastated for years by a cruel and relentless disease.  A weaker man couldn’t have fought as well as you did nor would he have had the inner strength to press on, even when it seemed God had forsaken you. You never wavered in your belief.  You never doubted God’s plan for you and for your family.  You were our rock and shelter, no matter what you were forced to endure.

But even the strongest of wills must eventually succumb to a frail body. You passed peacefully after a week of Hell, hooked up to more wires and tubes than I have ever seen on a single person.  You moved on to your well-deserved reward, but a piece of me was forever ripped out. I was now a fatherless child even though I have children of my own.

I couldn’t help but stare, and yes!  You were there, patting your cheek with one hand as if you, too, couldn’t believe it was full and smooth instead of sunken and wrinkled.  I asked Mama to follow me to the other room, but I never said a word to you.

“How can this be?” I demanded of her, “You see him sitting there too, don’t you?”

“Yes, Debra!  He’s here!” She was beaming with unmeasured joy and happiness. “I don’t know how, but I know he’s here and it’s not our imagination!”

“But how is this possible?” I asked and started to cry.  “This doesn’t make sense.  He can’t be here.”

“But he is!” she said as she held me by my shoulders and then hugged me tight as I sobbed uncontrollably, now believing the miracle I was seeing.

Then I woke up.

It’s the worst dream I’ve ever had.  It’s something inside of me that feels I should suffer, I guess. I think I’ve accepted your loss, and then my mind does a whammy on me, plays a cruel trick.

I live with guilt and I know it. I wasn’t the best daughter and I said things that I will regret for the rest of my life, and I wasn’t there in your life at times because I didn’t think you really wanted me to be.  I allowed my sisters to tell you things that simply weren’t true and I never defended myself.  I foolishly assumed you would believe them over me, so I didn’t bother to try.  I even listened to some of the mean words they told me you said about me, and I took them to heart, hardening that heart against you, the very man by which I measured all other men.  How stupid of me! Now I regret not just going to you directly.  I see now that you would never have done that.  You loved me and you were proud of me, no matter what.

But in my dream, I still don’t have the words to say.  I stare at you in shock, then leave the room to ask Mama if I’ve really gone crazy.  Both times I’ve dreamed this, she assures me that you are really there, but I know it’s too good to be true, so I wake up crying that wailing, heartbroken cry of pain from one who has lost someone they deeply loved, someone who made the world a better, brighter place.

I am too old to believe in Lazarus miracles, even though I did pray that God would come down and heal you as you lay dying.  I wanted to believe he would make an exception for you. I want to believe that God is here for each of us and isn’t too wrapped up in running a universe to care about the specks of dust we are. I want to believe it’s all gonna be ok.

As I sit here mulling over my dream of you, I wonder if you are somehow sending me a message.  Mama tells me each time, “He’s really here!” and she’s so happy, not just holding it together for our sake and her own sanity.  She’s happy beyond measure.

Do I hope that you are here watching over her, making sure she’s safe?  Do I read it as a message of faith that you are still in our lives in spirit, no longer suffering from the frailties of your human form? Is it a sign that you’re happy and content with the legacy you left behind?  I don’t really know at this point.

I do know one thing, however.  The next time I have this dream, you and I are going to have a very long talk.  I miss you, Daddy.

With love always,

Your eldest daughter Debra

 

Articles

5 Ways to Be A Better Parent For Your Teen* (Or How NOT to Kill Them!)

limitesenlapreadolescenciaParenting is a difficult job. It’s also one that causes the most self-doubt. No matter what you do as you raise your child, most parents end up wondering if they’ve been the best parent they can be. That, however, is not a bad thing. The doubt, those regrets, and the constant self-evaluation are all part of the process of being a better parent. As my father said long before anyone famous ever did, “Only a fool has no regrets.” I consider this bit of wisdom every time I feel I’ve really made a mess of my parenting skills.

With all that in mind and three teens in my house now that the youngest has entered middle school, here are a few tips that may help you be a better parent for your teen.

Tip #1: Stay calm. Even though you want to snap back at their sarcastic-sounding remarks, keep your cool and ask for clarification. Oftentimes teens aren’t even aware that those once sweet little voices are now seething with disgust, condescension or attitude. When my middle son was 15 years old, he was the worst about that with his deep “man voice”. When I questioned his tone, he was often surprised I took it the wrong way and highly offended that I would think he was being sarcastic. I still have to explain how he’s coming across at times, but at 17 now, he’s far less likely to use that tone we parents all come to know and despise.  Even now, I’ll still question his tone if I feel it’s necessary. At least with my questioning, even if he was intending sarcasm, it gives him a chance to amend his tone without having to take it any further.

Tip #2: Don’t ignore your teen. This may sound unbelievable, but as a teacher, one of the most common complaints I hear from my students is, “My mom just ignores me!” or “My dad doesn’t even talk to me!” Many even believe their parents don’t like them at all. Knowing how teens act, any parent will tell you there are times we truly don’t like our teens, even if we always love them. Even though teens can drive us crazy, they are still kids inside those grown-up bodies. They need love, affection, and attention, even if the signs they send tell you otherwise. Make time to talk to your teen, not fuss, but normal conversation just as you would with a friend. Ask questions about their day. Ask their opinion and don’t let them exclude themselves from your family activities. Be sure to include activities that you know your teen would enjoy. But even more importantly, don’t allow them to continually distance themselves from you. If they aren’t building relationships with you, they could be building them with others who don’t have their best interests in mind.

Tip #3: Be consistent and reasonable in your discipline. Because teens have a knack for really getting under your skin, it’s easy to let anger rule your actions. It’s painful to feel betrayed when teens rebel against your rules and, (this hurts the most), you. What happened to that sweet child you once had, the one who wanted nothing more than your attention? When your teen lies to you, (yes it will happen), doesn’t do what you’ve told them to do, or breaks your rules, keep your wits about you. You are the parent and in control. Make the punishment fit the crime. I’ve been so angry at times, I’ve wanted to take away all things he enjoys and then send him to boot camp! But after my sanity returns, I realize that my actions are really just a reaction to the hurt he has caused me because he didn’t do what I expected of him. And most of the time, it’s not really an attempt to defy me. He’s just being a typical teen and not thinking about his actions.

Tip #4: Don’t embarrass your teen in front of his or her friends. You may think it’s cute to bring up silly things he or she did as a baby or you might not even think twice when you fuss at them for not cleaning their room or doing the dishes. Yet, your teen could find it humiliating and worse yet, you could be setting them up for teasing from their friends. Teen girls, in my experience, are much more sensitive to this than boys are, but I’ve yet to meet a teenager who doesn’t mind being embarrassed by their parents. Consider yourself as your teen’s number one fan and always act accordingly when around their friends. They will be very grateful to you even if you don’t hear about it until they reach adulthood.

Tip #5: Be your teen’s advocate, even in high school. When my oldest started high school, I found that I was a little intimidated, not only by the idea of him being in high school, but by the teachers and staff as well. Being a teacher myself, I can assure you, it was nothing his teachers did or said. He had wonderful teachers during his freshman year. It was the thought of HIGH SCHOOL. Maybe I had convinced myself that my teen was a young adult and now capable of taking care of himself. Maybe I even felt that if I continued to watch over him at the high school level, it would cripple him socially or even cause his teachers to believe that I was over-protective.

Now I realize that I let go of the reins at a very fragile time. He went from being an honor student to almost failing eleventh grade! Ninth grade had gone so well, I thought the next two grades would be fine. They weren’t. His schedule was not the best for him. I left it alone because I hoped his counselor would adjust it at his request. She didn’t. He was in a few classes that had discipline issues. He wanted to be moved, but they told him no. I asked about the possibility when I should have been insisting. Nothing changed except my son. He became uninterested and he felt helpless to make things happen. He even became withdrawn. When I realized he was in danger of failing, the protective mother returned.

A couple of trips to see the principal and his guidance counselors took care of the problems and got him back on track. There were no ugly words exchanged or threats of any kind. They were more than willing to help, especially since I was there clarifying my son’s problems and concerns. He knew what he needed; he was just not quite able to get things taken care of on his own.

My middle child is going to be a senior this year and yes, we will definitely continue be actively involved as needed.  His high school experience has been much better thanks to what we learned with our oldest child and already having good relationships with his teachers and his guidance counselor. We’re also lucky to have a wonderful, more involved principal at the high school.  She’s done wonders for morale for teachers AND students.

My  youngest (and only daughter) is starting high school this year. That’s a little scary, but I’m confident she’ll have a good experience. She’s more prepared just because her two older brothers have already paved that road for her and as parents, my husband and I are as prepared as we are ever going to be.  Knowing her brother will be there with her makes us even more confident she’ll be just fine.  However, this won’t be our excuse to slack off.  We will be on top of things throughout her high school years.

I hope these tips will be useful to you and as your teen gets older, you’ll form an even closer bond. Just remember that no matter what, hugs and kind words are never wasted on those you love.

*Originally published on Yahoo Voices on 1/13/2012

Poetry

Fireworks on the 4th of July

fireworksOh, the Fourth of July in the sultry Florida heat!

Passion, anticipation; a day to remember.

A chance to live, a means to escape the confines of polite society.

We laugh and splash in our secret spot.

 

Nothing cools the fire as temperatures rise,

melting away all reason, all inhibition.

The slick water turns skin to silk; we savor each caress.

The fire burns strong in his eyes and reflects back in mine.

 

Alone in Eden, a stolen moment to treasure!

Here we put aside the masks, the pretending,

the game we play with the world.

Nothing held back, no reason to hide our obsession.

 

He spreads the blanket on the ground

surrounded by a canopy of trees.

With Southern Comfort on ice

we explore, discover, entice; the shadows stretch and darken.

 

Oh, the fireworks on the Fourth of July!

Soaring, bursting, exploding! We’re overwhelmed! Amazed!

The bright flashes, the million patterned stars.

We fly as high and drift back to earth, entwined in a languid embrace.

 

No words are shared as we lie there

watching the sky burst with stunning lights where we just soared together.

Poetry

The Bottle

I turned to the cabinet that hot summer night

with every intention of drowning my sorrows
in the bottom of a tall, long-necked bottle.

I grabbed a goblet, filled it to the brim
and raised it to my mouth to savor that first sweet sip.

Heat lightning silently lit up the dark sky.
Cicadas loudly hummed their encouragement,
their sound easily penetrating the closed windows.

I closed my eyes and waited for relief, release,
or perhaps even forgiveness from a higher source.

But like a bottle-rocket on a soggy Fourth-of-July,
my infallible plan simply fizzled
as I savored the last taste at the bottom of my glass.

Refusing defeat,
I put the bottle to my lips
And raised it high for an enormous gulp of numbness.

Liquid heat burned a path down my throat
And spread throughout my body.
My gut wrenched in pain
My lungs sucked in warm humid air
and released it in a whoosh
only to inhale another moist breath.

Then another.

Tears rolled down my cheeks
as the lightning outside gave way to fat drops of rain.

The Sorrows, smug and giggling,
climbed out of the bottle
and with a gleeful shake,
leaped atop my shoulders once more.

I quivered in defeat.
as the sorrows roared in victory.

Oh it brought them such joy and such delight
For my Sorrows had won.

They had beaten the bottle that night.

Articles

How Does Your Garden Grow?

IMG_7333In spite of space limitations, growing a garden has become a fun part of my spring and summer. I live in a north Florida subdivision where houses are built on lots, not acres, and outdoor space is used for landscaping with little room for vegetable gardens. After a little research about container gardening, I’ve grown different types of tomatoes and peppers in pots and grow bags and it’s been quite successful.

I bought Big Boy and Early Girl tomato plants. For the pepper plants, I chose different color bell peppers and sweet banana peppers.

I wanted to make salsa this year too, so I started a little herb garden container for Cilantro.

As soon I had enough tomatoes and peppers, I tried making salsa. I found a simple recipe and made a batch, but it tasted too much like raw tomatoes. My husband agreed. Maybe “fresh” salsa just wasn’t for us.

I looked for other recipes and decided there were certain tastes that I wanted. I like a sweet taste with peaches or mango and even pineapple. I also like it a little spicy. Garlic sounded good and I prefer using lime juice instead of vinegar.

It had to have Cilantro in it and I planned to throw in both kinds of tomatoes and the Bell and Banana peppers I had harvested. Oh, and sweet onion, of course! And if I had any plans for the kids to eat it, it better not have chunks!

The good news is I ended up with a recipe that my husband and children declared to be the “BEST Salsa Recipe Ever.”

Give it a try!

6 cups peeled fresh tomatoes
2 cloves garlic
4 medium sized bell peppers
4 banana peppers
2 med onions
juice from two limes
Salt to taste
½ to 1 cup of fresh cilantro
1 or 2 hot peppers to taste
1 can Hunts tomato paste
1 15 oz can of peaches in natural juice
1 small can of pineapple pieces

Combine first 9 ingredients in a food processor and pulse until mostly smooth. Pour into pan and cook over medium heat for 20 minutes. Lower heat then add tomato paste. In food processor, combine peaches, pineapple pieces and a ¼ cup of the peach juice. Pulse until smooth. Add to pan, stir well, and continue cooking 10 more minutes. Taste test. Add more salt if needed. If a sweeter taste is desired, add more pineapple juice. Allow to cool before storing.

Enjoy!

Thought of the Day

Old Email

I created this blog with the best intentions. I wanted to write and be able to share that writing with the one or two people who might happen to stop by. And then life happened.

Since starting this page, I’ve been through a few major “issues.”

  • my dad died. My mother and sister had him removed from life support and then called to tell me they had done so. He died before I reached the hospital.
  • my mother decided she didn’t want anything to do with me or my kids. It’s been 18 months since she’s spoken to me.
  • one of my sisters evolved from “pain in the ass” to “bitch from hell”. She’s the main reason my mother hates me.
  • one of my bosses set out to undermine me and came pretty darn close to completely destroying my self-confidence. She’s moved on to another job where she continues to make others want to die.
  • I came to the realization that old friends I had left behind should have stayed left behind (people just don’t change, you know!). I guess it would have helped if I hadn’t look like Shamu when we met in person after 20 years.

And in the process of all this, I sank into a deep depression that left me empty enough to consider calling it quits. It’s a little scary admitting that, even now. Thank God for a husband/best friend who never gave up on me and helped me get things sorted out to a somewhat “normal” life again. And without medication, I might add!

Today I decided to export some emails from one account to another, most of them work related. I have this fear that if I lose these contacts or the info in the emails, I’ll regret it. It’s just easier to hold on to things until you know for sure you don’t need them anymore.

These certain emails are ones I’ve sent over the last 5 years. I saw my replies to the many, MANY demands from that boss I mentioned. Every single time I answered as kindly as possible, but it never did any good. She hated me, but needed me to do the things she didn’t know how to do. (There were a lot of things she didn’t know how to do!) I even discovered how a document I spent hours and hours creating and editing ended up in the hands of a person who changed a couple of words and then shared it as her own work. My boss had forwarded to her. Thanks, boss. The person fancies herself a writer. I wonder who else she copies?

I found emails that reminded me of the time I was accused of not knowing how to do my job, by a person who was mad at me because I wouldn’t let her walk all over me. One day, I’m going to tell the world about that evil asshole. She’s had one daughter arrested already and the other is just as bad. Maybe that’s her own private hell? That could explain why she attacks others. But she’s earned an infamous place in my story. One day.

I found many, many emails I sent to our company’s tech guy. He’s made my life hell since he started with us. From blocking my websites to disconnecting my computer, running me down and lying to my boss and even cancelling an order for software I needed, he’s been on my most hated list for a while now. Reading those emails still makes me mad as hell. His arrogance finally cost him though! I recently got a phone call from a friend in the IT department letting me know that jerk had pissed off too many people and got his ass fired! I went out to celebrate that night!

I think I ‘ll hold on to those emails for a while just to remind myself why I hated that man so much. And the woman with the “sweet” daughters with arrest records. And the worst boss I’ve EVER had.

Yes, I’ll keep them for a while. You see, I’m one of those who wants people to be good and I’m far too willing to forgive. But… I can’t let myself forget.

I have this fear that I am a victim. I imagine have the word written on my forehead for the whole world to see even though I’ve spent my entire life trying to make myself believe that I’m strong, capable, and a protector of others. NOT a victim. MY biggest fear. The evidence seems to be there and yet I continue to deny it! I AM NOT A VICTIM!

And yet.

My emails say I am. The old letters from my mother sneer that I am. The friends who only call me when they need something SCREAM that I am.

And yet.

And yet.

I know my emails, my letters, help me guard my heart against future hurt. But do I really need to guild myself with the pain in those words? I AM strong. And most importantly, I have a family who adores me and I have friends who would show up in minutes if I only asked. Even if I’m not the happy person I would like to be.

I am not a victim, am I? I’m a kind-hearted, loving person who is loved in return.

Maybe I should just hit “delete” and let the words fade away.

I am not a victim.

Too many things to be done to be bored!