New Year’s Resolutions – 2020

December 31, 2019 – New Year’s Resolutions – 2020

         It is that time of year again when we think about making changes and I’ve given the New Year’s Resolutions many thoughts in the last few days and actually last few months.

         I’ve asked myself questions like:

               Do I need all this stuff?

               What do I really want?

               There are needs and wants and then there is

                   status quo, simply taking care of what is the 

                   core needs of your life.

               There is clutter and there is excess – 

                   decide what to keep and what to jettison.

               It is a new year, a new slate – 

                   what do I want to accomplish?

               What did I accomplish last year that 

                   I can build on?

         I imagine you have pondered many of the same things, or maybe about your health, or your career, or your stock portfolio.  Me, I am the simple one now that I am retired.

         What will make my life easier?  Well, last year I worked on my gardens –out went the shrubs that required constant attention and cutting.  The front yard now looks sleeker, neater, and cleaner.

         Also, last year, I took the idea of my dream driveway – vehicular traffic quality pavers and accomplished it.  I had two 18-wheeler truckloads of pavers delivered.  Darn, it was empowering to lay one brick at a time and I laid them all by myself – little old me.  It was great exercise.  And the creativity – the figuring out how to accomplish jumping over the roots, and how to fit the work into my day schedule.  I am not completely done, I would say 5% more to do.

         My New Year’s resolutions:

1.    Finish the paver driveway and include a lovely path to the birdfeeders.

2.    Cut bulbs or flowers in along the edges of the new gorgeous driveway.

3.    Celebrate the driveway with a neighborhood party and invite everyone on the block – a way for all of us to learn who our neighbors are.

4.    Drag those 6 ft. x 8 ft. green house kits out of the shed and put them up this year – before the spring growing season. Maybe even grow my own tomato plants from seed. That would be fun.

5.    Do smaller loads of laundry as I can put a smaller load away quicker.

6.    Use the dishwasher more often – less hand washing makes my nails look better.

7.    Realize that food is not my enemy, one must eat – just choose something better for my health.

8.    Plan meals ahead.  My big hurdle is breakfast. I don’t want to mess up the kitchen making it so I grab something that isn’t healthy. I need to plan ahead.  This will be the year of the Quiche – a slice each morning for breakfast – simple – make it ahead – takes care of 5 or 6 days at a time.  Then, I will work on planned lunches and figure out what my husband wants to actually eat – he is a fussy eater – just like me and two fussy eaters in the house – doesn’t make for much solitude and creates too many leftovers.

9.    I’ve interior room painting this year – make a plan and follow the plan.

10.  Figure out a “retirement” wardrobe to run to the grocery store.  Upgrade my gardening wardrobe to be more comfortable.

11.   Invest in a portable sound system so that I can hear classical music out in the gardens.

12.  Watch more sunrises with Jasmine my cat.

13.  Watch more sunsets with my husband.

14.  Admire my own work product.

15.  Be nice to me, be nice to everyone else, and simply be me for a change.

16.  Write more. Essays, stories, novels and personal letters.

17.   End every blog with an UP Beat quotation.

          This morning I listened to an expert on making resolutions and one thing he said:  Go big! Go for whole health, not just losing 5 pounds. The bigger the plan, the more you will accomplish.

         It sure sounds like I will be attempting many things. This way I will probably accomplish more this year. 



Think of yourself on the threshold

of unparalleled success.

A whole, clear, glorious life lies before you.

Achieve! Achieve!

– Andrew Carnegie

Pink Grapefruit – healthy eating

December 30, 2019 – Pink Grapefruit – healthy eating

  

       I might have blogged about this before, but the art of sectioning grapefruit is something everyone should at least try to see if they can perfect.  There is nothing like this “art form” as the citrus smell is intoxicating, the plump ruby red flesh of the grapefruit is unadulterated with any white bits and the excessive juice runs down your wrist and drops into the bowl.

         I choose grapefruit that have shiny tight skin and are heavy.  Trust me, on this, lift one from the front of the bin and then one from the back – you will discover which ones are left overs and which ones are the freshest.  You want the heaviest of them. When you find the heavy ones, then look for the tight shinny skin.  Shriveled equals less juice.

         I lay out a dishtowel and then put a small carving board on top of that.  This helps with a cleanup.  I have a serrated vegetable knife with a thin point – example pictured below.

         I place a bowl to catch the fruit as I section it.  With the grapefruit on its side, I slice off the top and bottoms – healthy slice so that you see all the pink with no white pith – ½ inch to 3/4^th inch slice.  Then I set the fruit on its end and slice concavely down the side, lapping as I go around it so that only pink is showing. Nip off all those little bits of white pith – they will get in the way as well as ruin the flavor.  You are taking a healthy slab off as you rotate the fruit.  Turn it over and do the other side.  What you want is the interior of the grapefruit with nothing but pink exposed.  No, you are not wasting anything.  If you think there is too much pink fruit in the skinned off slices – hold each over the bowl and run your thumb nail across them to “juice” it into the bowl.  See – nothing is really wasted – the juice is just as exciting as the sections.

         Next, you hold the wet pink fruit in your non-dominate hand.  As I am right-handed to write or cut with, I hold the fruit in the half-open palm of my left hand.  With my right hand, I pierce the tip of the knife close to the center along a membrane, pull the knife outward so that it slices the white membrane from the fruit section. Return the knife to the valley [center] and then press down scraping along the other side of the white membrane and flip the section into the bowl.  Continue around the fruit, relieving each section from white membranes on each side of the sections as you slowly roll it in your left hand. 

         Get comfortable with your knife.  Learning this technique takes a bit of time, as you slide the sections into the waiting bowl. This process does take a few minutes, be patient with yourself. I suggest you do it the night before you need it. 

         You will get better the more you do this.  If you wear reading glasses, I suggest you wear them as you do this so that you can see clearly.  When you get to the end, you will have all the membranes in your hand and you squeeze the juice from that into the bowl.

         Cover the bowl and chill.  I usually cut them the night before or hours before I need them. I always use a glass bowl with a snap on plastic lid.  I have a favorite bowl that will hold about two grapefruit.  Any extra sections that don’t fit in I simply pop in my mouth during clean up – I earned them.

         Next morning, spoon some into a small bowl and let the pink fruit explode in your mouth.  With no white pith it is sweet, cold, and refreshing.

         It is cold and flu season;  put some real Vitamin C in your body – your body will love it.

         Below is a wonderful website that shows you how if you can’t figure out my instructions.  I get a yield of about 1 ½ cups per large pink grapefruit, including the juice.  That is the best part, lift that little bowl up to slurp it with a “AHH”.  [Who is looking?  I am at home in my pajamas!]

http://foodperson.com/2008/12/15/grapefruit-sections-without-membranes/

December 29, 2019 – Mystery of the overhead light

         We are both getting up in age, so we use more lights, more often and then at night have to go around and turn them off in our wake to bed.

         I’d already gone to bed, I was tired, too much raking of wet fallen leaves the day before.  The next morning is a routine, just as everyone has a routine.

         I pad out to the kitchen and take care of Jasmine the cat and she settles down to her fresh food and fresh water and chirps.  I now make coffee by the cup with a K-cup machine.  I had misgivings about it at first. I still think it does cost twice as much for a cup of coffee.  However, you compare that with the convenience of only one cup at time and not having to empty and wash and polish, yes, polish the inside of the glass coffee pot when you clean it, so time equates money and saved time means you pay for it some way or another.

         Coffee in hand, I take it to my computer desk where I take care of my husband’s A.M. and P.M. pills.  I go to the wall switch, and flip and “nothing!”

         My mind flashed back to my childhood remembering that my Daddy built the house I was raised in as a child. That house had switches at both ends of the hall so that when we went to bed, we would turn the corner from the living room, switch off the living room and turn on the hall light to the bedrooms, and then at the end of the hall, turn off the hall light and turn on the bath or bedroom lights.  He planned it that way and I thought all houses had this leave one room, turn off that light and turn on the light to the next room – but in my many moves and many houses I have lived in – that is not how it is in the real world out there.

         I sip my coffee to get the cobwebs out of my brain.  The computer light is on, the computer printer light is on.  That proves I have electricity in this room – that is not the problem.  I go to the front door and check the switches there – well knowing they do not control the overhead light – but, I open the front door and check that the outside light comes on and then turn on the one outlet that is controlled by the switch near the door and flip that and the entry way lamp comes on.  So, it is not a case that the rest of the electricity on all sides of the room is random or not working.

         Another sip of coffee and I check the second switch beside the center light switch and the fan blades start to turn.  Well, it is on the same double switch, one for the fan and one for the light – what is going on?

         I move the morning pill project to the kitchen counter where there is light so I don’t miss the tiny pills.

         Later, almost done with my first cup of coffee of the day, I am still pondering, perplexed, and walk out to unlit computer room and switch both switches up.  The fan comes on, and the three light globes do not.  No. it wasn’t brain fog – still no light.

         You are supposed to change the fan direction a few times a year between heating and air conditioning – I will admit I never do and I looked at the fan and the three ridged globes.  I noticed, we have two chains – a center chain and a side chain.  The side chain is for the fan, I assumed, and the center chain is-   

         I pulled it and LIGHTS.  I have never used the center pull chain as long as I have owned this house. When we had these fans/lights installed, the electrician said – it is all on the light switch here and he showed me.

         Funny what my husband’s geriatric mind did on the way to bed last night. He turned out lights the old-fashioned way.  My husband’s mind must have wandered back to his child hood days when he lived with his grandparents in that ancient house in New Hampshire with the high-up-on-the-wall water closets and the center-room light pull chains.

         The mystery of the center ceiling light in the computer room solved – by an old fashioned pull chain.

        

December 24, 2019 – Huck-Poo-ie! Good morning Christmas Eve Day!

         It’s 6:45 a.m. and I am listening to my cat wretch up a fur ball.  Welcome to Christmas 2019 – it is a great start.  Looks like it will be a sunny dawn.  Now, let me see – which side of the bed should I clamber out of to avoid the disgusting mess . . . Oh, got lucky, missed the fur ball by twelve inches.

         Sunrise was gorgeous with a cup of fresh coffee, the Christmas tree lights on and nothing else.   Pink horizontal swaths interlaced with powder blue swaths – eventually fading together making all the tree barks tinge in a rosy glow. Yes, well done God, a good start of Christmas.

         We have had driving rain for several days and how wonderful it is to see sun again.  I’ve more wet fallen leaves to get up before late afternoon, and probably make that Quiche I pondered about for Christmas brunch.  My husband calls it quince [the fruit] – let me tell you the story about that.



         We went to Charleston, South Carolina for a long weekend near my birthday one year and stayed at a bed and breakfast down toward the waterpark fountain. Sadly, I can’t remember the name, but it was a lovely place.  The outside had hunter green shutters, our room was on the front of the building on ground level, and we could watch the pedestrian traffic from the bed – so of course, we closed the inside window shutters for privacy.  That part I hated, I like to see out windows.  But, I did admire the interior shutters.

         We are not ones to haggle prices and we drove to Charleston on a complete whim having made no reservations.  Mind you, this was before smart phones and the internet, not like today you can drive anywhere, find accommodations with your smart phone, and compare prices. But, this time, I actually asked for a better price and got a reduced price without much of a haggle.  Surprised me, I had learned a new skill.

         Our room was on the first floor and had a mahogany 4-posted bed, posh bathroom, and a pair of lovely wing chairs in a gorgeous print fabric flanking a small oval mahogany table near the full casement window looking out onto the street.  It was a lovely room worth the price.

         The dining room was in an interior room, beautifully appointed tables and chairs, with crisp linens an upscale breakfast buffet set up along one side.  I located a table for us so that I could put my purse and heavy camera bag down and allowed my husband to serve himself breakfast first so that when he came back to the table I could go up without having to worry about my valuables, as he would be at the table.

         There were a few other older couples talking quietly and when my husband came back to the table he said, “You will love it, they have quince and nice fresh fruit.”

         “Quince?” I said as I rose from my chair. The next table overheard my remark and the couple snickered.  I couldn’t imagine that my husband had identified the fruit, quince, as I doubted I could identify it even though my grandmother had a huge flowering quince to the left of her front steps on Russell Street in Littleton, Massachusetts, that I admired as a youngster.

         Lovely buffet and I smiled when I saw the warm Quiches on display.  Of course, I had a piece and some fresh fruit and a couple pieces of perfectly crisp bacon and came back to the table and sat down.

         “I knew you’d get the quince,” he looked up from his breakfast as I sat down.

         “It is Quiche, darling, not quince,” I said with a chuckle and smiled.

         “Quince, quiche – what’s the difference,” he replied.

         I exchanged a soft smile with the next table couple and they snickered at us again.

         So, I will be making, quince – ah, no, Quiche – for Christmas breakfast. 

December 23, 2019 – The old flannel shirt

         Years ago, a college classmate wasn’t in her designated seat in World History class, the next seat to the right beside me on the front row.   The Professor motioned to me after class. 

         “Vickie’s mother died, she went to attend to things in NYC. I imagine you will want to share your class notes with her.”

         “When did-” he cut me off.

         “I got the call this morning.”

         When my friend Vickie came back into town, we had coffee and chatted.  Her mother had dropped dead right on the street walking to or from her apartment.  The NYC morgue phoned her.  I was at a loss for words imagining the scene, the chain of events. Sometimes silence is better in these situations.

         Next, she said something I will never forget.

         “I let myself into her apartment and hanging on the back of the kitchen chair was her sweater, I put it on.”

         Just that simple sentence, has stuck with me all these years.  I could picture her mother’s kitchen and I’d never even been there.

         She had to deal with it all, the funeral, the apartment – all by herself. Having not experienced what she had just experienced, alone, I kept silent and merely nodded trying to comprehend her loss.

         But, it was an understanding I never fully realized until it was my turn.



         It is chilly in this house when we don’t have full sun.  The morning sun and afternoon sun glint into this house and warm it up a bit. So, when it is overcast and rainy, I reach for something to take off the chill.

         The last time I visited both of my parents, my Dad and I worked in his gardens.  We pulled up the overgrown iris rhizomes in the front garden around the boulder and replanted the best ones.  I boxed some iris up and shipped them home to my garden.  Dad did a lot more supervising and directing than any real garden work that day; I ended up with the dirty hands, his stayed pristine.  He was 88 at the time, and unknown to me then, it would be the last time we did anything together as he died the next June.

         It was cool that day and Dad retrieved a grey plaid flannel shirt from his closet for me as he noticed I stopped a few times and rubbed my arms to warm them.

         “You can have it, doesn’t fit me anymore,” he said.

         I pulled on the well-worn flannel shirt, soft from years of washing. It was western style with snap front buttons and double breast pockets.  As I snapped the buttons, it instantly cured my chill.  

         It has been since 2010 since Daddy died, and his grey plaid flannel shirt is still in my closet, up front so that I can snatch it when I catch a chill.

         I snatched it just now and mentally said, as I always mentally say when I pull it off the hanger and pull it on, “Thank you Daddy, it keeps me warm”.  It's like a warm hug from Dad every time. 

December 22, 2019 – Envelopes in the Christmas tree

         When I was successfully married to my husband, the corporate executive, who wore wing tip shoes and elegant ties to work daily, we moved residences seven times in our first eleven years of marriage.  That is seven different states – not across-town moves.  We were chasing the dream jobs that would ‘go south’ on more than one occasion.

         We packed and moved and tried our best to put down roots and then, the company would fizzle out and we would buck up, put on a brave new face, and head on to the next new job, in a new city or town in this crazy merry-go-round of corporate life.

         I learned so much about life during this process; you are ‘home’ where your empty suitcase is propped in the back of your closet.  You make the best of what is offered to you. You stretch out and try new things, new food, new experiences, but it all comes down to the paycheck. Do we have enough to live on?  You make acquaintances, but only a year or two in one place does not make for many lasting friendships.

         During all those moves, there was one consistent thing that kept my chin up, my Mom’s weekly letters and at Christmas time, the “packages across the miles from home”.

         Christmas was fun back then as postage was reasonable, and you could buy lots of fun things, wrap them special and shove them in a big box and your Christmas would arrive at Mom and Dad’s and there would be ‘surprises’. 

         Always I found something from where we lived for my parents to enjoy.  I sent them the glossy coffee-table book of Kansas City with its beautiful full-page photos when we lived in Overland Park, Kansas on the outskirts of Kansas City. 

         Several years I filled the crevices between the presents in the Christmas shipping box with unshelled pecans.

         “Oh! Pecans,” Dad said when Mom handed him the telephone to say Merry Christmas. “Every night I crack a bowl full and put them in a container so that Mom can make us a pecan pies.”

         Then, one year I planted sweet potatoes and had a bumper crop.  I tossed in a half dozen.

         Dad commented, “I see that red clay soil is good enough for sweet potatoes.”

         It was easy back then, Christmas and Christmas shopping.  I knew what were treats, or for fun, or necessities.  I miss the hunting for perfect gifts and the shopping, wrapping, and packaging. Mostly the coming up with surprises.

          Now, I am like a row boat lost from its mooring, swashing in and out of bulrushes, afloat just barely, scraping bottom, almost beached.

         I miss the “the spot-on gifts” that Mom used to send me.  I miss the “gardening” gifts Dad used to send me.  I miss the clever gifts tagged, “For the both of you.” And, most of all, I miss the two envelopes that were always found at the top of our box of Christmas presents along with a small package wrapped special with a big tag that said, “Open now, for the tree”.

         When I phoned to tell Mom their packages had arrived, she always said, “Put those envelopes on the tree and open them on Christmas Day.”  We never opened any presents early – what would be the point – then there would be no Christmas for us. 

         I’d slip the envelopes into deep recesses of the branches of my Christmas tree knowing there was a little bit of green stuff for us as they often didn’t know what to buy us.  The open-now box was always a Christmas ornament or Christmas decoration, now cherished.

         This morning I noticed a card tucked between a stuffed polar bear and a wooden rocking horse – things I put under the tree for interest – under our Christmas tree. It is a card from my husband.  I retrieved my card to him and slipped it up against it, and then I bit my lower lip trying to check the tears as there are no envelopes in my Christmas tree this year from my parents, those ceased a few years back. 

         It is surprising how happy memories can sometimes hurt.

December 21, 2019 – Winter Garden Notes

         It has been too cold to go out and finish the raking of the leaves – or perhaps I should re-phrase that as I have a leaf blower and a leaf chopper now.  It is noisy, by I like to suck up the leaves and then put the leaf mulch in the flowerbeds.  Time consuming, like all leaf raking, but at least the flower beds will like the extra mulch.

         The last thing I did when I was walking around my property today was check on the dried Maidenhair grasses, now corkscrewing and bronzy, check on the defoliated jungle of Kudzu, now a tangle of brown vines that will need to be dealt with in January or February, and check on my Camellia bush down behind the Zen garden.  

          The camellia bush is covered in buds – on just about every tip and should have good late winter blooms this year – if the temperatures are not too harsh.  I have only that one bush and it is large now, probably a 12 foot diameter footprint and is chest high.  It is a red, a pinky red.  I don’t worry about it anymore, unlike the first few years I thought it needed to be coddled. What did I know – having been brought up in New England.

         Later, thawing out with a cup of hot tea I pull the magazines on my lap and I was delighted with the December edition of Southern Living that had both Magnificent Magnolias by Ann Patchett and Camellias, Winter’s Surprise by Frances Mayes, on pages 187 and 193 respectively.

         As an avid gardener, I appreciate garden writers.  Sometimes they put into words what I can’t.  A perfect example is writer, Ann Patchett, who opens her article, Magnificent Magnolias, with the following:

         “It’s thought that magnolia trees were here before bees. Sit with that for a while.”

         Let me repeat that short little sentence that is a masterpiece, Sit with that for a while.  Let that line seep into your soul.  What better way to describe a gardener’s awe at God’s hand in the garden, in your garden.

         Later on she discusses they planted a “Little Gem” in their backyard which is threatening their garage.

         When we arrived at this new house, my Mom sent me money for “trees” so that I would “put down roots”.  I, being raised in New England, was unfamiliar with Magnolia trees when I first moved to the South.  Their large shiny leaves on one side and brown velvet likeness on the other side, I fell in love 'at hello'.  

         With my Mom’s tree money, I too bought a ‘Little Gem’ as Mom was small in stature and she was a Little Gem in her own right.  But, I gave my Little Gem the whole side yard to look magnificent.  I can glimpse it from my master bath window and no one can miss it when they drive past my house, unless they have their eyes closed.

         To this day, I have been unable to describe its blossom’s fragrance, so I simply snap off the first blossom from my tree every spring and hand it to my husband.  

         Now that my ‘Little Gem’ magnolia is 21 years old, I dare to snap off a couple end branches to tuck into the live green arrangements that decorate the front of my house at Christmas time.

         Meanwhile, the article by Frances Mayes entitled, Camellias, Winter’s Surprise also had the depth of an avid gardener. She lives in a 1806 North Carolina farmhouse.

         “They still bloom brilliantly but tarnish quickly, gracing the ground with a tapestry of fallen flowers.” 

         Frances Mayes has captured the after bloom splendor of the camellia blossoms that have fallen on the leaf litter below the shrub.  I thought it was just me noticing how pretty that is, but, alas, I am not alone.

         She also captured the sound of the birds with “bistro, bistro” and “T-shirt, T-shirt” that are spot on.  For years, I've thought one bird which sings in my yard calls out, “beef-eater, beef-eater”.

         As we head into the first day of winter on December 22^nd, I look forward to the not too far off day that I will be cutting of an armful of blooming Camellias branches, bringing them into the kitchen and trimming them to fit into a stout vase that I will set on the end table beside my easy chair.

         Good gardening to you, and if it is too cold outside, good garden reading to you.

        

December 20, 2019 – Scattered Notes and Christmas

         Lost and Found Department:

         I found those little wooden pumpkins in a ginger jar that resides on the bottom shelf of an end table.  Why I put them in that is beyond me – but I had to move it to another room temporarily in order to get the Christmas tree up.  So, it was a case of remove the Thanksgiving decorations – put them up in that ginger jar – then forgetting about where I put them.   When I moved the jar again this year – I took off the top to dust it and found the pumpkins.

         Now, I lost a letter I tucked away in my “notes” folder and now I can’t find it.  That is where I jotted down the temporary address of a friend, Diane, who is visiting her family for several months and now her Christmas card will not get there on time.  I doubt it will arrive at all – I sent it to her home address with “please forward” – but who knows what the Post Office will do.

         Lost – or rather I have misplaced, as I doubt I have thrown them out – a pair of 20-inch tall Nutcrackers which are hard to store.  I remember I took them out of a suitcase I needed for a trip and they were wandering around in the bottom of a closet until I cleaned the closet.  Then, I put them somewhere safe – so safe even I can’t find them.  Maybe they will show up at Easter time – who knows.

         So – I am still three items lost again - if anyone is keeping score.

         Christmas cards – Why do I send so many out?  It is not as if I have hundreds of relatives or friends in the area – it is more of acquaintances here and there.  That old adage “networking” comes in to play.  And, when asked about why so many compared to the cost of it – I had to admit, “Yes, it is a little insane . . .”

         But, I got a call from a dear couple who have the same exact wedding date we have.  We live a long way apart, but we keep in contact with a note or card a couple times a year and a few phone calls.  My card prompted a call from them and the news was not good.  We call her “Bitty” and “Little Bitty” because she is petite standing beside her huge John-Wayne-size husband.  “Little Bitty,” is her nickname, her name of endearment.  Things are not well with her, she is having brain surgery next Friday.  She is my age, she has so much more life ahead of her. I hope this new surgeon has an angel sitting on his shoulder helping him be successful.  Meanwhile, I’ve put her on the prayer line, our church's prayer line is such a powerful thing, makes miracles.



         During the holidays, I get a lot of reading time in, trying to sit quietly and not mess up the house. [Usually I am doing something, some craft, or some project and I have the house half dismantled.]  But, at this time of year I sit and fold my hands or I read and shred magazines – keeping out articles or recipes.

         If you happen to have the December 2019 issue of Southern Living, I’d like to point out a few lines from the story: Uncle Ed’s Christmas Carol by Rick Bragg.

         “ . . . some Christmases are kept better than others.  Some flash in and out of our memories, like a short in an old string of lights.”

         “ . . .and the grocery store, where frozen turkeys and smoked hams piled up like cannonballs.”

         “Our mistletoe was procured the old-fashioned way, by blasting it out of the trees with a Remington.”

         “I should have told him this when he was alive, but things get awkward the longer you live.”

         “And, it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well.”



         I hope everyone who reads this blog today, takes the last line to heart and puts it in this year’s Christmas plan: 

Keep Christmas well.

        

        

December 19, 2019 – Special gifts

         Years ago, I can’t even tell what state we were living in at the time, but my Mom sent us the sort of gift that if you don’t need now will use in the future, a keepsake gift, a gift of elegance, a gift for the person that has just about everything.

         I see I’ve captured your curiosity.  Silver pillboxes with our initials engraved on them.  At the time, neither of us were taking any medication. Both of us were more than surprised and we fingered the silky smoothness that only silver has under your fingertips. We opened and closed them with their push in clasp and admired our initials.  We both said in unison, “Nice”.

         Each was our special gift that Christmas as we knew they were sent with love. I even remember asking her where she found them – ordered from one of her favorite catalogs.

         I tucked them away in my jewelry drawer and they have been with us for many years. A few months ago, I was straightening up and I pulled them out, polished them up and put them into use.  The first day my husband fingered them and mentioned, “Your Mom gave us these, even put our initials on them.”

         I was delighted he remembered as he lovingly opened and closed the case and again fingered the silky smoothness of the silver.

         Last Spring, we, yes we, switched over to a pill pack type thing for my husband’s medications, as he was dropping pills on the floor and I guessed he was not filling his little plastic cases properly.  He refused my help even though I could open that little plastic pill case of his and see that dosages were not consistent – as in WRONG.  I forced his hand on this one so that he was getting his medication consistently and timely.

         He now has trouble getting the little pill packs open.  He cuts them with scissors and they spray out everywhere.  He no longer has the dexterity or vision to handle the tiny pills.

         I’ve gone a step further and I daily open the pill packs and empty them into the two silver pill boxes which I tagged with little yellow sticky notes cut to size indicating AM or PM. 

         His medications are in hand now along with a bit of old world elegance.

         Every morning, during this process, I admire my Mom’s unusual and special gifts that I’d tucked away until we needed them. 

         Thank you Mom, they are a great gift.