Glam It Up: Not For the Kitchen Anymore

            Do you currently own any of my one-of-a-kind, singularly designed hostess aprons?  Were you guilty of passing them by saying, “But I don’t cook anymore!”  The aprons are not designed for cooking, but for looking – and looking good while ordering take out or serving what was grilled by equally handsome hubby in his coordinating chef’s apron. Holiday Aprons add pizzaz to egg-nog and fruit cake. The Hostess Apron is not just for the kitchen, or so I hear.

Elizabeth Scokin, Blytheville, AR native and Nashville, TN resident, made Oprah’s list with her Haute Hostess Aprons. I first saw an article about her and her fancy stylings featured in the Commercial Appeal at least 10 years ago. In fact, I was so inspired by her designs that I tried my hand at something similar for a friend’s Christmas present. I designed and sewed for her an over-the-top, fancy-smancy, glitz and glamour University of Memphis Tigers Hostess Apron. It got rave reviews and requests for duplicates in Tennessee Orange and Razorback Red.

            Today’s ArkDem-Gaz reports that Scokin turned her aprons up a notch: “Think Giorgio Armani sleek ball gown…” The hostess apron described is shown under the heading Hostess Twinkle and comes in various colors with "silky bodies and deep flounces." Scokin stepped it beyond her original designs to Hostess Aprons 2.0, notes Helaine Williams in ArkDem-Gaz. The half-aprons have silky sashes, rhinestones and rickrack. 

           

     Her designs are handmade in Tennessee. Mine are handmade in a guest bedroom/princess bedroom/sewing room in Rector, Arkansas. My designs were featured at the Rector Crafts Fair for several seasons and sold for the bargain price of $20 or $25 (fully lined). Several still hang in the Community Center office and can be purchased as a donation to the Center. 

            I’ve filled several custom orders and get a great deal of pleasure from putting together the color and fabric combinations, adding just the right bling and glam for the customer's personality. The aprons are more expensive if I buy fabric and finishing trims for one design only…Just Saying  –Move over, Elizabeth!

An Experience We'll Never Forget

            Sand Dunes on the Pacific and a monster-ride in a 4-passenger dune buggy. Tiramisu and Cheesecake. Glacier National Park with aspens at every turn. Giant Sequoias, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Grand Canyon. The glitz of Las Vegas and the Power Plant tour at Hoover Dam, 26 floors below the main level. The roar of the Pacific Ocean's crashing waves at Cape Perpetua. Lombard Street, The Road to the Sun, and Route 66.

            Seeing my aunt and my cousin after a fifty year absence, not since we spent time together in 1966. Such wondrous adventures. Such a marvelous time: 6900 miles, 18 days, 15 states.

            Like Dorothy who traveled to the Land of Oz with adventures on The Yellow Brick Road, we saw many wonderful things, landscapes that were other-worldly. The giant sequoias defy imagination and confound the lexicon. The expansive beauty of the Grand Canyon hushes voices to a reverent whisper. A journey along Route 66 where it zigzags through old downtowns and back onto I-40 was something I always wanted to do, like Marvin wanting to drive down Lombard Street. He got to do that twice and it met all his expectations, except he might have preferred to drive a sports car.

            A ride along in a dune buggy on the coastal dunes near Florence, Oregon, showed us a different side of the Pacific Ocean National Coastline Recreation area. We got a ride that we’ll never duplicate. Sand was everywhere, a bucketful spraying Marvin fully, making him so glad to be wearing goggles.

            Culinary splurges included tiramisu and cheesecake, good ole chicken fried steak at a Route 66 diner. We had vowed not to eat our way across America! So excited to see and do the marvelous things on our list, food was not paramount.

            Nevertheless, it’s always good to get home. The ruby slippers clicked and we returned to AR-KANSAS, with its own natural beauty. Indeed, “there’s no place like home.”

            You might enjoy checking out my travel-blog at www.morethanabracelet.blogspot.com. 

Cooking: Eureka!

Are your evening meals for the month ready and waiting in your freezer? I'm not talking chicken nuggets or fish sticks! Join me in tracing my Joy of Cooking history and how I learned to modernize my efforts in the kitchen. Cooking: Eureka!

A truth I learned early on: fixing supper does not count as cooking.
Something warm on a plate, served at 6 PM does not equal appetizing, appealing, nutritious, or delicious.
Opening a can, warming up the contents, dumping it onto a plate - these strategies do not produce rave reviews.
Reading a vintage cook book puts preparing meals in perspective!

I did not come to the skill of cooking naturally.
I was not welcome in the kitchen because I made messes and was famous for disasters - using a hotel recipe for rolls, perking instant coffee, and dumping all pound cake ingredients in the bowl without mixing between each added ingredient. Also, I was not keen on baking a potato in the ground, so my Girl Scout cooking badge came from salads (pineapple ring, 1/2 banana, cherry on top placed on a lettuce leaf looks like a candle!) and desserts.

As a young married woman, I was expert at making...reservations.
I was usually in too much of a hurry to give time to a recipe. So, I opened a can, warmed up the contents, and dumped it onto a plate. That may be an exaggeration, but you get my point.
With children, I expanded my recipe collection. I enjoyed making specialty dishes like crepes, brownies, and crock pot roast beef. I made Rice-Krispie Treats and sprinkled flour on my face to impress the family.

Just as I planned out my wardrobe a week in advance, hanging the clothes together on the rack, I wrote out a weekly supper menu. Taster's Choice Instant Coffee by I.V. started my day. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
As the kids got older and became involved in after school activities, I became an expert at picking up Taco Bell on the way home. I clipped coupons for restaurant specials.
Breakfast consisted of Pop-Tarts, Leggo My Eggo, Do-nuts, Sausage Biscuit from the microwave.

Lunch came from a brown bag or a school lunch line. Supper - when I did cook, the kids said, "Mom, can we go out to Piccadilly tonight?"

So, what changed? I have time to experiment ...like with a local chocolate roll recipe.
I have time to cook, prepare meals, eat healthy. I work, but on my own schedule.
Also, I cook for a very appreciative diner. "MMMMMnmmm! That is so good. Thank you."  He lives to eat another day.

Here's the good part:  I attended a Freezer Meal Prep Workshop sponsored by the Women's group at church. The hostess sent a grocery list based on the Meal Plan I chose. My category was "everyday meals." I had also paid a fee so the hostess provided her brand (Wildtree) of spices, oils, and recipe enhancements. This afternoon, I prepped - prepared Freezer Bags: cut up chicken, and filled 10 gallon size freezer bags with beef, turkey, pork, shrimp, sausage, salmon, and chopped vegetables, according to the directions. At the workshop, we followed a printed recipe, used her spices and oils, added some canned seasonings like Rotel tomatoes and diced green chilies and filled up the 10 freezer bags with ready-to-thaw and cook bagged main dish meals. We double bagged the finished product and included the recipe for finishing the meal.

Since I cook for 2 most of the time, I have enough meals in the freezer that I may not have to Stew over Meals for months. All the dietary information that everyone focuses on now (non-GMO, organic, healthy, calorie and carb count, etc) is noted on the recipe.

I spent dollars at the grocery, dollars for the spices, and one afternoon of prep, plus 2 hours (socializing and Subway supper included) of combining everything for the meals.

That's how today's cook operates - grocery shopping - an hour; prep time- an hour; combining time- about 90 minutes. With that done on one day of the cook's choice, the rest of the weeks or month in the kitchen is a breeze. It's healthy and delicious, and no one has flour on her face!

I should have discovered this Joy of Cooking method years ago!

Red Ribbon, Red Ribbon!

     When cheerleading became more than "Beat Magnolia's Team, Yamma-Yamma," when athleticism in the form on a cartwheel was required for try-outs, I retired my black and gold beanie and pom-poms. While I can talk a good game, I have reached the ultimate conclusion: I am not athletic. Not at all.  Not in the slightest.
      I can not ski, Not snow -not water. I can not run a marathon; I can barely roller skate.
      I can, however, walk. Not and chew gum at the same time, though.
      My first, ever-in-my-whole-life achievement ribbon came at the conclusion of the Helping Hands 5K in Rector over the Labor Day weekend. I won a red ribbon, second place in my age group, plus a personal best in time.
      I was so excited - still am.
      The corker, though, is that I slowed down my pace because my walking partner (hubby) was struggling and we had vowed to finish together.
      My goal for the 5K: I was not going to finish last, not going to let a woman with a baby carriage finish ahead of me. And not be beaten by a dog running along the side of the road.
      I had lengthened my stride and was moving right along. My super competitiveness had me actually contemplating walking off ahead of hubby, but I thought better of it. I mean how would it look for me to leave a husband in the dust while he was pushing through pain?
     We finished together, arms raised, hands clasped. A photo-op for sure!
       
When we picked up our ribbons the next week, (we did not think either of us received a ribbon at all), I got my beautiful red ribbon - suitable for a shadow box frame and portrait lighting. Thing is - he got a blue ribbon.
       Something about that is just not right!

Hollywood Bodies with Black Lagoon Brains

             Recently I read a fabulous tidbit through FB, something about being a “sixty-and counting teen-ager.” Words to the effect: “At last, I have a driver’s license, a car, and no curfew. I can do pretty much whatever I want to do. I’m In Charge of Myself.”

             That reminds me of the time my older son experienced a heaping serving of “teen-age angst.” He was at the mercy of his father who ran late most of the time and drove the vehicle we allowed son to operate. While I wanted to strangle hubby myself, I was giving solidarity my best shot. Son yelled, “I just want to be in charge of my own life!”

            “So do I,” was my thought.

              This morning’s ArkDemGaz carries an article about the teen-age brain. The brain that yearns to make repeatedly bad choices and the body that wants to dress like a cover-model gets up every morning to face another day where up is down and vice-versa. Yes, there is a brain under that mop of disheveled glory. The ArkDemGaz expose’ skims the surface of the issue.

              Years ago, Time magazine carried an entire section entitled The Brain. We, in education, studied that article and conducted primary research, living hour-by-hour with these so-called “young adults.” What we found was nothing akin to “adult” in the teen-age brain.

            These goof-balls sport around in bodies that betray them. The bodies are far more adult-like than the brain. When teachers and parents glance at these teens, they see an adult body in fine form, but what lurks inside is dangerous. These hunks and hunkettes are impulsive, taking risks that defy logic. They spout off at the mouth, drive too fast, stay up too late, and make bad decisions on a regular basis. In fact, what we learned, and what I emblazoned onto a sticky-note is this: “Adolescence is a stage of Childhood.”

                There it is – in a nutshell. Teens are still children. Some delightful youth-monsters do have a genetic pre-disposition for early-onset-adulthood, but they will fool you from time to time. They won’t be grown, really, until they are close to 25 years old.

               Blame it on GMO or Rio, Monsanto, beauty pageants, video games, or selfie sticks, our teenagers are not as mentally mature as we were at their age. Their bodies are straight out of Hollywood, but their brains are somewhere in the Black Lagoon. The young person’s stature is on fast-forward while the brain is still in slow-mo. That makes for a risky combination.

             The article in this morning’s paper is worth reading, but it only skims the surface. Conduct your own research and be grateful that you are a teenager with good sense. 

Captured Memories: High School Yearbooks

            High School Yearbooks – there’s just something about them that captures a memory and loads it into forever.

            This Labor Day, my husband’s class is celebrating the walk to pick up the coveted diploma. It’s been 50 years. His school’s colors were black and gold, like Camden’s colors, so I’ve felt a connection to the class since I met them ten years ago. Marvin saved his black basketball sweater and a gold wool coat the team wore for basketball road games. Their Senior ring was far more stylized than our black onyx center stone design.

            Last night I thumbed through a copy of The Cat’s Paw, 1965, and found quite a number of people I’ve met over these ten years. Jane Kennedy Huffman, classmate, let me borrow her treasure for a few days. I recognized these classmates by their eyes and their smiles. And, of course, the hair styles – we had the same flipped up, side part for the girls. Styles showed more crew cuts among the guys in Rector, but they dressed up for senior photos in sport coats accented with skinny black ties. The style had 1965 written throughout the section.

            Cheerleaders, Majorettes, Choir, Student Council, National Honor Society, all the queens and athletes were pictured. And the teachers. Their memories and my memories are somewhat the same because High School in the mid-1960's rocked to the same tunes.

            This graduating class was the largest ever at Rector, I’ve heard, with over 88 receiving the diploma in May of 1965. The class started out with close to 100 members. The basketball team packed the gym and came in runner-up at the State Tournament. Later, as adults, the two rival teams had a ‘rematch’ which Rector won going away. 

            I look forward to the Class of 1965 Reunion because I have learned much about this class and have real fondness for the classmates I’ve met. It was 10 years ago that I accompanied Marvin to Rector for their Reunion and returned for the Labor Day Picnic. The town and the people charmed me, indeed, and I married into the Rector family. I got a great guy in the bargain.

Lessons from the Nail Salon

While at the nail salon today, I learned about risky color choices from a lady rather advanced in age. She was at the salon to have her "pinking about pink" color refreshed.
Her daughter suggested that the lady consider a change in nail color.
She asked what color I had chosen because "it looks pretty."
I waggled my drying fingernails painted a snazzy, new OPI exotic color, "ready for red," or something close.(see photo)
"Oooh, that's really nice, but if I wear that, people will think I'm a hussy!"
We all laughed and I replied, "Well, if this color morphs me into a hussy, my status will probably change in two weeks!"

Lessons in color: I learned that "blondes have more fun" when I frosted my hair in high school.
But, I did not know my nail polish color could catapult me straight to "hussy."
Wonder what she would have thought of the "peaking at purple" I have on my toes?