Sweetness and Sorrow

My Uncle Bob has passed away.  No nicknames here, as he truly was "Uncle Bob."  His wife, Aunt Eleanor, passed away a few years ago, and you could not have asked to meet two of the sweetest people on earth.  They just exuded kindness.  

Uncle Bob was actually Dads' uncle, making him my great uncle.  He was ninety-nine years old.  Imagine - ninety-nine!  This reveres up one of those discussions of "Can you imagine all that he saw in his years?"  He was alive for two world wars.  He experienced the entertainment industry grow from radio to television to hand-held devices.  Can we even fathom the changes that took place during his lifetime?  I had to have the kidlets explain to me how to turn off the Crackbox.  Uncle Bob saw the aviation industry go from the Wright Brother's short flight right near the time of his birth to the mighty Concorde to the new Boeing 787 Dreamliner.  And well into his nineties, Uncle Bob was flying down to the Florida Keys.  

When people pass away, we tend to forget who they were and simply remember what their personal relation was to us, the memories we have with them.  Uncle Bob would fill our times with his yard sale tales.  Oh, he always had a find to share, and would pass along something or other that he had come across.  The joy was in discovery, not so much the bargain itself.  Of course, that was always an added benefit, but seeing exactly what the uniqueness of the item was seemed to intrigue him most.  

I can still see Uncle Bob and Aunt Eleanor's house in Stoneham, always so particularly neat and perfect inside.  To this day I try to replicate Aunt Eleanor's sugar cookie recipe, to no avail.  I just can't seem to get it right.  I've tried this Martha Steward recipe, but despite my own adaptations it still does not possess the softness of Aunt Eleanor's holiday treats.  Perhaps a part of herself was always present in the cookies, and I need to learn to soften myself up, add a bit of sweetness to my own life and make my days more simple.  

If I could jump back to those holidays as a little girl, climbing up the steps to of their house anxiously awaiting cookies, I would.  Who wouldn't?  My cousins, now with beautiful lives of their own, would race me up to the front to see who would be the first to the door.  My poor brother, the only boy at the time, would be pushed to the back by all the girls.  I would be wearing the jeweled Christmas tree pin Aunt Eleanor had given me, as was my tradition. I'm sure Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Bob, who always seemed in a good mood, were well prepared for our visit.  In came five noisy children, already revved up from spending all day at Nana and Papa's house.  Good spirits they were.  For each of us was a bag of the special sugar cookies, shaped like reindeer and elves.

My Great-grandmother White had a saying, "Never say goodbye.  Say "So long."  I think Uncle Bob, a man of strong faith, would like that.  So long, Uncle Bob, until we meet again...

Welcome to the CrackBox

Vacation week is coming to an end.  What did the kidlets and I do?  Pretty much relax.  They enjoyed snowboarding, sleep overs, awesome homemade breakfasts of French toast with whipped cream and chocolate, and an overload of technology.

Muwahahaha.  Mausi Gal is on a techno spree.  She is not a good role model at all.

I have an excuse to go out and upgrade from my slider-old-school-phone that all my middle school students laugh at.  "Oh, Senorita Mausi Gal!  You are so year 2000!"  Is that bad?  I am allowed to splurge into the world of my youthful students who tend to break their phones on a weekly basis.  I now have...a blog!  I can blog from my phone, right?  And tweet Twitter messages about blog updates!  And check school email!  And take photos for the blog and send them RIGHT AWAY to my beloved Chromebook Baby (where the techno addiction began around my birthday).  

You see, I also justified the expense this way.  I put my iPod through the wash.  Um. yeah.  So the cost of a new iPod went towards a new phone.  Makes sense, right?  Plus, I can get Pandora on my phone.  Right now as I blog I'm jamming out to Pandora on my phone.  Yes, yes, yes, I know I could play all those groovy tunes on the Chromebook Baby!  But I don't want to!  

"Mom, you'd be all over me if I put my iPod through the wash!" Kidlet B rolled his eyes.  Oh, I so would.

Dads, who always comes to his daughter's rescue, jumped in, "Yeah, but who's making money?  Who's making money to pay for things?"  Haha. Take that, Kidlet B!  You are just jealous because MausiGal now owns the CrackBox, and you have...

SliderSquidMan!  What is that on your phone, KidletB?  Albeit it's cool, but huh?  You are not touching my CrackBox, for fear it will end up being decorated with who-knows-what.  People say you take after Mausi Gal.  And now you want your own blog.  Oh my...

Now SliderSquidMan sits in my office.  Why?  Oh, KidletB and KidletA had issues with their phones.  The joy of twin boys at times.  I picked them up from a sleepover at FootballKid's house and was immediately greeted by Kidlet A's complaint.

"KidletB took my phone and started messaging girls."

"Oh gawd.  I've told you two so many times," here goes my lecture, "that text messages go on and on forever!  Never put anything in a text message that you wouldn't want sent out to anyone else!"  Listen to your own advice, Mausi Gal.

"He sent awful messages to people WITH MY PHONE!  People think IT'S ME!  IT'S ME!"

"OK, what did he say?

"That I'm all alone in this world."  His voice, on the cusp of change, breaks my heart.  I want to scream at Kidlet B right now from inside the Volvo.  

"Kidlet B, give me your phone.  No phone, no computer - two weeks."

So, he's unconnected from his peeps until about Easter, right?  I took this photo for him to remind him of that:

Perhaps he'll put his effort into a blog, and improve his writing at the same time.  Should prove interesting.  In the meantime, I'm off to tweet.  And text.  And Facebook.  The apple doesn't fall far from the tree...

Delta Gamma Rises!

I was in distress with my bread. That was obvious from my last post.  Oh, so frustrated!  Who reached out and came to my rescue?  Of course, a Delta Gamma sister!  BadKittyBreadWoman sent me a great recipe for white sandwich bread, and off I was to bake again.

Let me first say something about wonderful BadKittyBreadWoman.  She is amazing!  I introduced her to her husband - one the greater moments of my life.  They now have three beautiful children.  I've always thought her husband was such a great guy, even though he detests Starbucks.  Poor BadKittyBreadWoman; no grande salted caramel mochas for her.

OK, armed with her recipe for the white bread I set off.  Four am.  Ready to roll.  Cats sitting nearby, keeping me company.  The yeast poofs like a cloud, one of my favorite things in baking to witness.  I love to watch the little bits of yeast come to the surface.  First rise of the dough - awesome!  Yes!  I actually shout out.

But here comes the next step.  I can hear Breadman's words.  It's almost like a taunt.

Tension.  Tension.  Tension.

I throw the dough back into the Kitchen Aid mixer this time.  Oh no no!  I am not even going to try to knead the rubbery ball by hand.  This requires a machine!  The churning of the dough hook makes a loud sound, and all I can think of is I'm going to make this cobalt blue machine (how I love it!) burn out.  But still, I keep it going.

I separate the dough into two loaves into the pans, well oiled.  I wait one hour, and then another.

And then another.

And then another.  I wait four hours.  And it happens.  Just like the recipe, the loves rise an inch above the pans!  YES!  I am pumped!  Into the oven they go.  And what did they look like?

I made bread!  It rose!  Oh am I excited!  Little did I know when I took that Delta Gamma oath years ago that it would include study cramming sessions, late night talks over problems with men, trading dresses for formal dances, and yes, even bread recipes.

I Feel Pretty!

Vacation - time for some R&R.  I planned a half day of beauty treatments for Thursday.  Oh yes. Time for MausiGal to get all prettied up!

First on the agenda?  Eyebrows and bikini wax!  Now, it truly isn't like this funny video that Mama shared with me a few weeks ago.  In no time soon will I be running to my closet with a bowl of hot wax.  I know right now there are women out there who are screaming, "Ouch!  How can you do that?" Hot wax.  Rip.  There ya go.  Better than shaving.  And better than, as the video shows, standing in a closet with a friend waiting nearby.

There I am, exposed.  Of course I'm a talker.  The conversation turns to losing weight for spring.  My aesthetician begins.

"Dr. Oz says that eating arugula helps get rid of the fat on your thighs.  Everyone could use that this time of year!"

Hot wax goes on my skin.  One two three.  Rip!  I'm not even going to think about how she may think my thighs are fat right now.  

"Arugula, huh?"

"Yeah, and squash will get rid of back fat."

"Back fat?  Squash?" The thought immediately excites me.  "So, I love squash raviolis.  Perfect!"  

Rip!  Wait!  That's pumpkin!  What am I thinking?  

I needed more than just having the underworld ripped apart.  Oh, no sirree!  Next stop?  Cut to the Chase Salon where CoolChica was about to give me a haircut and color.  Grey is not my friend.

My mood?  Cut it all off!  SisInLawS helped me pick out a style and I showed it to CoolChica.

Let me begin by saying that I adore CoolChica.  Dating stores abound between us - it's a hoot!  She showed me Skout, which for all you single people far outweighs online dating.  It's hooked up to your phone!  

Highlights for me this time, and after the color was set, time for the chopping.  Inches fell to the floor.  I was pretty much wiggling in my seat with excitement.  My hair hasn't been short in seventeen years.  

What do you think?  Me?  I love it!  So, so happy!  No more frumpy look for me!  Oh so ready to be snarktacular!  

Oh, Mama! Don't Look!

I have no pictures today.  Why?  My mom has my computer, and all my photos are stored on my main laptop, not the Chromebook Baby.  

My. Mom. Has. My. Computer.

Access. Unlimited.

Did that just send a chill down your spine?

My mama (said with a French pronunciation), and I are very close.  We talk every morning, and she helps me so much with the kidlets.  In so many ways, Mama is always there for me.  Through thick and thin.  So, when her computer recently became infected with a virus and was rushed off to the computer hospital at Staples, I offered (gulp) to let her borrow mine.

You can imagine there's quite a pletora of items on that laptop.  Of course there's the usual tax information, school rubrics, and cat photos.  I've mentioned before that I'm a writer, so there's a number of rough drafts of various fiction works
on
that
computer.

Now, I'm no Anais Nin.  Erotica?  Nope, can't seem to write it.  But there are silly letters written to guys I've broken up with and then lamented over, words never sent.  Drafts of fictional stories during my whirling dervish moments in which I'm high up and then let down,

All at the fingertips of my mama.

I trust that she will not look at them.

There's a story in that alone...

Failing at the Staff of Life

Breadman inspired me to take up once again those little yellow packets of Fleischmann's yeast and try my hand at baking bread.  He makes amazing bread - cheese bread, olive, and my personal favorite, plain old white bread which is fabulous with Vermont Cabot butter and orange marmalade.  On our first date he brought me a loaf of bread, and I thought that was incredibly sweet.  I had been given Burdick's chocolates before on a first date and thought that was quite the gesture, but yes, the homemade bread did top that.

At one time I made amazing cinnamon bread for Grampy.  I used a cookbook from the 1960's, and the recipe was perfect.  The cinnamon would just ooze out - just the right amount - as you had a piece of toast.  It wasn't like the new cinnamon bread from Sally Ann's where the cinnamon gets all over your hands and ruins clothing.  Oh no no!  (I still love Sally Ann's bread, though.  Yum!)

Each time I've tried my hand at making bread lately it's been, as Kidlet A and B state, an "epic fail."  Kidlet A will eat it, and proclaim it good, but the loaves look more like quick breads.  They don't rise. I wait and wait for the second rise. So, here's my entry on my latest endeavor about my war with the flour and yeast.

Things always start of good.  I followed a recipe from Fleischmann's Yeast Beginner's section for Basic White Bread.  Sounded easy enough - easier than the cinnamon bread I used to make.  I even used a thermometer to make sure my water was THE PERFECT TEMP FOR THE YEAST!  Yes, I'm doing all caps because I'm yelling.  Here is my perfect rise yeast in the bowl.  Doesn't it look like an egg?  Hee-hee:

Next, I put it in with the water, milk and butter - again, USING THE THERMOMETER TO MAKE SURE THE TEMP WAS RIGHT!  I know that too high a temp can kill the yeast, right?  I was using my Kitchen Aid mixer to GENTLY mix everything up as I put in the flour as well.  Mix, mix, mix.

Here's the bad part.  I forgot to take a pic of the incredible rise I got after I put in the flour!  Please take my word for it - it was rising out of the bowl above.  I greased the bowl first, turned the dough, yadda yadda yadda.  And it rose.  It was beautiful.  I wanted to eat it right then (ok, maybe not).

I followed the directions, and here's where I heard Breadman's advice as to where I was going wrong with my bread.

Tension.

Tension.

Tension.

So, I folded those little loves of dough again and again and put them into the loaf pans.  There they are above before being put into the oven, after resting for four hours.  Yup, they never rose much.  So much for tension.  I must just not understand tension.  I used to find baking bread relaxing - the kneading let me release a lot of stress.  Hmm...  I feel a poem coming on.  Tension. Bread. Stress.  Where is that fountain pen?

The final product?  I threw the above loaves in the oven regardless, in the hope that they would have a final rise and look like something the Breadman made.  A girl can have hope, right?

Meet Mausi Gal's original FlatBread!  Well, Kidlet A loves it, so who cares, right?  I think I may give it one more try - this time instead of folding the second half I'm going to throw the dough back to the throes of the Kitchen Aid mixer and let it grind.  Muwahahaha.  Take it, Mr. Loaf!  You want tension?  I'll give you tension!

I'm going to go enjoy some of that white bread with Vermont Cabot butter with marmalade.  I need energy to gear up for my last foray into the world of bread!

It's all about the shoes...

I'm a lucky gal in so many ways.  I have amazing family and friends, and cats who keep me warm while I write.  This past holiday season was so bountiful, and guess what Christmas and Valentine's Day brought me?

Oh yes.

Gift cards from the local shore store, DSW.  Auntie L and Breadman gave me gift cards for this all holy of places, and was I ever excited! Yesterday, despite the snow and wind, off we traveled in the mighty Volvo up north to the land of shoes.   I've been thinking of boots - you know the new type.  They have little buckles at the top, look like riding boots.  So in right now.

Who are the fashion police in my family?  My sons.

"You're not a boot person," stated Kidlet A quite sternly as I drooled over soft, supple leather, almost to the knee.  The buckle was in the perfect spot, right at the back.  However, my son is my style expert, even at the age of twelve.  His opinion I trust.

Kidlet B had other plans.  "Can I buy some sneakers?"

"No," I put my red, Dansko clog-ed foot down.  "These gift cards are mine!"

I spotted the clearance section.  This section has always been where I have been known to yell out "Score!"  However, at DSW it requires some math.  A percentage of the original price is taken off based upon the color sticker on the box.  Math.  Shoes.  Not a good combo for me.  I'm too excited to think of percentages and division.  Kidlet A pointed out that there is now a chart there to calculate out the savings for math idiots such as myself.

Good thing.  Then I know how many more shoes I can buy.

The first pair?  Zebra striped with red heels.  Per usual, I tend to find a shoe, love it, buy it.  Here they are:

Kidlet A: "You still have money, why don't you buy these?" and begins to pull out every shoe on the shelf.  

Kidlet B: "Are we going soon?  Can I get the sneakers?  Please?  PLEASE?!"

MausiGal: "Oh, Littles!  Mummy has shoe issues, and  you have to deal with them!  One...more...pair!"

Then I spot them - perfect!  Black, thin suede with a tortoise shell back.  Perfect.  Strap across the front - one of my favorite looks.  Oh so sexy.  Cannot wait to wear them.  

They look grey above, but they really are black.  They so rock.  I'm so, so happy.  Many thanks to Auntie L and Breadman for feeding the addiction.  Now I think it's 72 pairs.  One day I'll organize that shoe closet!

Starting with Mousey...

Yes, I'm back with a blog.  I've had blogs over the years, but just didn't keep up with them.  The longest running one was Volvomom.com.  Ah, the car blog!  But, worship of a vehicle can only go on for so long now, can't it?  The purpose of this blog?  Simple wanderings.  Who knows where it will go.  When I attended the Young Writers' Conference at Middlebury College years ago an author there stated that the best way to become a writer was simply to write every day - no matter what the subject.  This is what I intend to do in this blog.  Simply write.  Unedited and without stress.

Why MausiGal?  Well, I was trying to think of a name, and just by chance Mentee (yes, the cast of characters in my blog will have nicknames, not real names), gave me a list of German Valentine's Day words.  Wow!  Zaubermäuse was on there, and how did I love that! It meant "Magic Mouse."  Fabulous, right?  Perfect name for a blog. Supreme.  Yes, already taken.  So, Mausi Gal it was.  When I was little I had imaginary friends who were mice.  To this day every time I fly I bring with me the stuffed mouse my mom bought for me when I was seven years old.  Mousey.  When Kidlet B turned about one and a half years old, he picked up Mousey and adopted him as his own for awhile.  We adore Mousey.  He's a special, magical little fella.

Yup, the goof above is me, along with my crooked smile that my amazing niece, Miss E, inherited.  Who am I?  I could be like everyone else and make that list of mother, daughter, sister, friend, girlfriend, teacher, mentor, yeah, like that.  But isn't that defining myself by everyone else?  Wouldn't you prefer to get to know me by all the crazy stories I'm about to tell?  I think that will be a bit more exciting!  Some will be funny, I'm sure some will be snarky (snary is as snarky does...), and some may just be sad.  Who knows where the road will take us.  But come along!