“Moms and Food go Together”

By

Gerry Niskern

We all know that the mothers we see on greeting cards with the saintly smiles aren’t really mom. She’s usually a complex set of contradictions. So I asked a few people a simple question. At least, I thought it was. “What food reminds you of your mother?”

I was expecting some sweet answers that would make a nice Mother’s Day Blog. Was I wrong!

One friend recalled with a shudder, that as a child in Chattanooga, Tennessee, “My mother believed in ‘When in Rome, do as the Romans do!’ Everyone in the South ate a lot of greens. Mother made plain boiled collards, turnip greens, and kale and water cress with no seasoning.  I do I think my father drew the line at dandy lions. Although he never objected in front of us, we only had them one time”

My own daughter tells me she never sees a Cheerios box that she doesn’t think of the time that she and her brother were happily eating their Cheerios as their dad was leaving for work. Grandma arrived and announced “I’m here to take care of you. Your mother is in the hospital because you kids are driving her crazy.” They both looked at their baby brother. Of course. It must have been him!

One man said that anytime he sees peanut butter he thinks of a disastrous Mother’s day. “My dad gave mom the Bentwood rocker that she had been requesting for years.  He took her out to dinner and we kids were on our own. I made myself a triple decker peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. My brother ran by and grabbed it. I threw my shoe at him just as he ducked behind the new Bentwood. All the slats in the back were shattered. The rest of the story is too sad to tell.”

I did get a couple of nostalgic stories. A friend said that she happened to be squeezing lemon juice and she had been thinking of how her mother used to make candied lemon and orange peels. Her mother was a Lebanese bride of an arranged marriage and among the many talents she brought to this country was how to preserve delicious citrus peel. My friend says that she’s never been able to duplicate it.

My resident historian always thinks of his mom when he has pinto beans. She cooked them in a black Dutch oven. He knew he was home again after yet another household move when he smelled the delicious beans bubbling away in the old cast iron pot.

“Sorry mom,” one of my sons replied to my food query. “What I remember best is Grandma’s pot roast in the pressure cooker, hissing and spitting steam. And of course, her string beans were delicious because I had helped to clean and snap them.”

You can’t win ‘em all!

Easter On the Porch

By

Gerry Niskern

Front porches are wonderful. You can gather there and stay far apart. Of course, when I say porch I mean patio, deck, balconey, or any outdoor space at your house set aside for enjoying the outdoors.

My early memories of sitting on a porch was when I was a kid and our family gathered there in the evening. The swing and chairs were wicker. My sister and I sold raspberries and black berries at our little road side stand. We had worked hard picking berries and if you have ever picked a raspberry you know what I mean. We were allowed to walk down the highway, RR Route # 1, and spend our hard earned pennies at the gas station. We bought Baby Ruth candy bars that we shared with our mom and dad while they enjoyed the quiet evening on the porch.

The sanctuary of the front porch was always where everyone gathered on summer evenings. If you sat on my Aunt Sarah’s porch down in town you could get the daily gossip bulletin narrated by her as people walked by. She commented on each couples marital status, who was expecting, and who was cheating on who.

Front porches were great for playing on a rainy day. They were also the place where the first kiss was stolen on the swing in the evening when the rest of the family had turned in.

My front porch now consists of a little brick area about 8 feet out behind a low stone wall. (mine is topped with Geraniums) In the evening I look north to the close by North Phoenix Mountains. I see tiny hikers up on top cavorting around. And below I see hawks circling with their eye on the bunnies that are everywhere! Sometimes a family of Quail stroll by or even a coyote will slink down the street.

We’ve all been isolated lately, so get out on those porches, patios, decks, whatever, and stay six feet apart and enjoy a “socially  Distant”, but Happy Easter!

This Time of New Traditions

By

Gerry Niskern

The poppies have bloomed and the giant Saguaro’s  are ready to create their crown of white flowers on top. Everyone’s thoughts have turned to Easter. But, expensive vacations and even pricey brunches are not in the plans for American families this year. Large Easter egg hunts have been cancelled and new family traditions are in the making.

But actually, the most important tradition at Easter will always be with us. Each baby’s first creative experience is usually when he get’s to sit up to the table and help dye the Easter eggs. The kids all start out with wax crayons, delicate designs and great expectations. Baby gets to wield a spoon and proceeds to happily slosh an egg around in a cup. After a few eggs are colored and the first cup of dye hits the kitchen floor, the job becomes a little rushed and it’s all downhill from there!

Did you know that the tradition of dyeing eggs in bright colors and giving them to family and friends goes back centuries? The Egyptians and the Persians practiced this tradition long before Christ was born. In the Middle Ages it was forbidden to eat eggs during the 40 days of Lent. However, no  one told the chickens! Because of the resulting glut, the giving of Easter eggs tradition developed.

The simple egg is perhaps the oldest and most universal symbol of rebirth and new life. Smaller family celebrations may be the order of the day this year, but the Easter egg will still be the centerpiece of the day. Of course, the splotchy little egg that the newest member of the family stirred around in the dye cup will be the most beautiful one of all!

G LIKE HUMAN CONTACT!”

BY

GERRY NISKERN

My Granddaughter thinks I am as old as Methuselah. She called me yesterday from a snowy land far, far away, to check in and chat for a while. She has a small business and so does her husband.  She asked me how long it took for this country to recover from the “Great Depression”, ‘since you lived back then.’

I replied, “Well, first of all, I was born in l932, so I only experienced it as a child. But I have learned over the years of the history of our country, that the depression didn’t really stop until military production started for World Warll.”

One incident that I remember vividly was my dad coming home when I was six and saying that his hours had been cut to two days a week. But remember, we were lucky. Many fathers were out of work and had been for a long time. We lived in the country and men would come hiking along our rural road every day, looking for work in exchange for a meal. We called them bums  like our playmates did, but our mother scolded us. “Do not call them bums. They are just men out of work and having a hard time.” She always scrambled them a big plate of eggs, piled slices of bread on top and made a fresh pot of coffee.

My caller also asked me about the Spanish flu. (which by the way, did not originate in Spain.) I explained that the Spanish flu started in 1918 so I could only tell her my mother’s memories. My mother was around eight years old at the time, but she talked about it often when I was a child. The flu diminished after a year but flared up again the following year and she recalled so many people in her neighborhood dying from it. I remember her telling the story often about how she kept my sister away from everyone for a long time when she was born, in l929, because she was so frightened for her baby.

After I answered those questions, we must have talked for over two hours about lots of things. Good things. Happy times. That phone call from my beautiful granddaughter lifted my spirits like  one of those hot air balloons and I soared thru the rest of what would have been another lonely  isolation day.

COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS!

By

Gerry Niskern

I have just one thing to say to everyone, the mantra that was intoned by my mother at least once every day when I was growing up. “Count your blessings, young lady.”

Yes , we are in the middle of a Pandemic. Yes, we have been asked to ‘Shelter inside’. And yes, it is scary. I know it can be boring. I got so frustrated being home that I broke into a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints that I was saving for my turn for refreshments at Bunco.

Those in their 80’s or even older might remember the whole country being on food rations during WWII. You needed a ration coupon to buy butter, meat, sugar or even a pair of shoes. Everything was sent to be used by the Armed Forces. Most all families were so worried about their family members fighting overseas that the few hardships of every day living was not important.

Now, everyone is being asked to Please stay home and only go out for work, Doctors App (and those are being cancelled mostly) and Groceries. People are trying to stay six feet apart when they are out. They are not to gather in groups of ten or more. Less is much better or not at all. I’m no covering everything here, but you know the drill.

There is just one problem. Everyone is not complying, especially the Seniors across our country. Yes,  The Seniors! The very people who are the most vulnerable. Their attitude is “If it’s my time to go, it’s my time.” Wrong. It’s not about you! The Sheltering request is to keep the surge of the sick down as much as possible, so the hospitals don’t get overwhelmed.

It is not much to ask everyone to do for your community. There is anything you want on TV. There is the Internet and your phone for communication. There are video games and online games too. And don’t forget books.

We can wait this out. And there is another activity you can do while Social Distancing. You can count your blessings.

I’m counting mine!

LOVE THY NEIGHBOR!

By

Gerry Niskern

I’ve lived in l8 neighborhoods, give or take a few. The one thing I’ve learned is that neighbors are a luck of the draw.  When Ken and I bought our first house, we assumed our neighbors would be around our age. We visualized new friends and great parties. Wrong!

Our’s was the first house built in the subdivision.  We watched in dismay as people old enough to be our grandparents moved in all around us. Turned out, their idea of Happy Hour wasn’t sharing parenting woes and the sound of  babies crying. Our entertainment instead was listening to  the Italian couple across the street arguing every night, even above the noise of the evaporative cooler and the TV. Seems  there was a question of what she did while he was overseas fighting in WWII that still needed to be settled.

Our next house had a big yard and we put in the only pool  in the area. Some preteens weren’t happy about that and decided to throw several buckets of paint into the water one night. It took a ton of Pot Ash to clear that up.

Don’t get me wrong. Some neighbors have been great!. I still remember the warm feeling of welcome when a couple from Alabama welcomed us to our new place in California with a wonderful chicken dinner. They introduced us to Shakey’s Pizza and shared lots of good times.

Once in another house the people next door regularly called the police when our two sons and friends were practicing with their band in the garage. Their children asked us quite frequently why we didn’t go to  church.

We lived in a condo in Costa Mesa once and the elderly lady above us rearranged her furniture every night. Another Senior stood and stared at our picture window for l5 minutes at a time. We weren’t sure, but thought she was the same woman.

For twenty-five years we lived on the side of the North Phoenix Mountain and had a fantastic view of the valley. I’ll admit we were kind of smug and  didn’t really worry about neighbors. Except for one.He lived down below and  stood in is garage and stared at his huge tool box for hours on end; not working, just staring. Turns out he wasn’t the one we should have been worried about. One evening the police set of a couple of percussion bombs that shook the neighborhood and raided the house next to him. They picked up several druggies. You never know.

I’m in another home now. I’m the new kid on the block. I’m very slowly meeting everyone; they are all super busy. Someone just bought the house across the street. When I came home yesterday a skip loader was hauling dirt out of their back yard. Seems they are building a pool.

I think it is  time to introduce myself.

WHAT IS RETIREMENT AGE?

By

Gerry Niskern

We had a retirement at my house the other day.

I was cleaning out my car and throwing away junk accumulated in the back. When I got to the bottom, there was my trusty, old friend. My aluminum lawn chair. You know the kind. It’s made of aluminum tubing and the seat and back are woven fabric slats.

The best thing about those old chairs is they are so light weight. There are all kinds of super deluxe chairs out now. They are made nylon, have cup holders and pockets and are super heavy. Ken bought two and insisted on carrying them too. But when he wasn’t along I grabbed my light weight friend.

Together that old chair and I attended baseball and soccer games when our grandsons played. It held me when I watched my granddaughter slide into home many times. Something I never thought I would see that girl do. Sometimes there were bleachers and sometimes not. And besides, those bleachers are hard!

I sat in that chair and watched my first Great-grandson play baseball too. I don’t think his heart was ever in it, but he did want to please his dad.

I saw my Great-grandaughter play softball for a while. She was good at it, but she soon changed her sport to volleyball and she excelled at that game for many years.

My chair went to her brother’s first base ball game at age three. He loved the game and couldn’t wait to start. Then, he bulked at the last minute and decided he didn’t want to play. Big surprise!  Pleading, bribes, nothing worked. Until his thirteen year old brother offered to go out on the field with him and then he went. The last game my chair went to was to watch him play for PVC.  Now he’s playing for Arkansas Tech on a baseball scholarship.

My chair’s sports days are over. So it’s taking a well deserved rest in the back of the garage…….but not too far back, you never know!

DON’T MISS THIS!

By

Gerry Niskern

My blog this week is short, but something I  wanted to call to everyone’s attention.

I recently watched the documentary titled “American Factory”. It is showing on Netflix and last week it won an Oscar for best documentary film this year.

I can’t get it out of my mind. It brings up lots of questions and not many answers about the direction our country is going. The manner in which it was done reminds me of the old writing rule, “Show, don’t tell”.

Watch it. You  will be glad you did and you won’t easily forget it.

THE DAISES WERE EVERYWHERE!

By

Gerry Niskern

The other day, as I parked in front of my favorite coffee place, I saw them; the “Dreaded Girl Scout Cookies!”

Every February the Girl Scouts invade the neighborhood. I believe the little tricksters are there for only one reason, to sabotage my New Year’s diet.

I’m always torn, especially,  when the little kids, the Daises, approach me. Well, of course, I want to support the girls and besides I’d  heard that the Thin Mints are even better this year.

I asked for a box of Thin Mints and handed the lass a ten dollar bill. She gave me the carton of treats and just stood there with an angelic smile. I waited for my change, but she just kept smiling at me. “Oh, okay,” I said. “I’ll take another box.” I don’t know which badge she was earning, but I’d give her a special one for high pressure salesmanship.

You see, I have a special spot in my heart for the Girls. When I was in the fifth grade at Jackson School, a Girl Scout troop was formed; called troop # Eleven. Yes! We were the llth troop in the whole Phoenix area. Our leaders name was Miss Curlee, a second grade teacher. I’m sure the poor lady got the short straw, but lucky for us, she was young and pretty. All the other teachers looked to be over 100 to this fifth grader. Our dues were 2 cents per week.

My main Christmas present that year was a Girl Scout uniform. They cost a whopping three dollars.  And since I was lucky enough to have one first, I got to represent our troop in the annual Rodeo Parade that year. We all stood on a wagon trying to keep our balance on a very bumpy ride down Central Avenue.

I enjoyed all the scouting experiences, but the thing that I was most excited about and truthfully I’ll admit now, my main reason for joining was that I was going to get to sell cookies door to door. They were plain vanilla, with the Girl Scout emblem on the top.

When I took my boxes home and my mother heard the price, (25 cents), she said, “Absolutely not! I wouldn’t think of letting you ask the neighbors to buy a box of cookies for 25 cents when they can buy the same for ten cents at the grocery store”

In those days, that was that. CASE CLOSED!

Sure you can find less expensive cookies, but that’s not the point, is it? Why not support the organization that develops girls of courage, confidence and character worldwide? The Girl Scouts don’t ask for donations. They get out and hustle.

The girls promise “to help other people at all time:, and THAT YOU WILL LOVE THEIR COOKIES!

Necessary Nuisance

By

Gerry Niskern

She arrived about a few years ago. I was happy to have her, but apprehensive and unsure on how to deal with this new little thing. I was dismayed to learn that I had to carry the demanding scamp with me all the time!

You see, I had already banished her older, lazy, cumbersome siblings because they said she was all I would need.  She’s really smart too, they also assured me.  I really didn’t mind carrying her all the time, but I wish she could fit easily into my jeans pocket. When I had no pockets at all to put her in, it was especially annoying.

If she’s in my purse, I think she intentionally whispers so I won’t hear her, but if I’m in a quiet place, she shrieks at the top of her voice. She is also very stubborn and sensitive. If I barely touch her she will do exactly the opposite of the thing I’ve asked her to do.  Most frustrating of all is just when she is about to earn her keep and cough up some valuable information, she decides she is tired and needs to rest and recharge.

The truth is, it turns out she really is smart and I’ve been able to train her to my schedule. I will keep carrying her because now I couldn’t live without her!