Girl Sprouts

In my sister's 1955 Girl Scout handbook are nine proficiency badges listed under Agriculture -- Animal Raiser, Beekeeper, Dairying, Farmer, Fruit Raiser, Home Gardener, Landscaper, Poultry Raiser, and Truck Gardener.  With the rise of backyard chicken coops, knowing how to candle an egg is regaining importance.  But knowing the difference, in females, between a calf, a heifer, and a cow, and the quantity and type of feed for each?  Not so much.  I haven't seen many backyard Bessie's.

As in the general society, Girl Scouts are returning to the land.  One of the new badges is Locavore.  Girls will become knowledgeable on everything from the business of food to what’s in season in their area.  Eating local and in season tends to be cheaper and better for the environment.  If the produce is trucked in from a farm three counties away rather than a country in the other hemisphere, you'll save money because you won't be paying for all the various modes of transportation between farm and table.  Less transportation means less pollution.  It's a win-win.  Even better would be just walking out your back door and harvesting your own turnips.  But back to the Girl Scouts...

To earn the Locavore badge, five steps are required:

1. Explore the benefits and challenges of going local
2. Find your local food sources
3. Cook a simple dish showcasing local ingredients
4. Make a recipe with local ingredients
5. Try a local cooking challenge.

Each of the steps includes specific challenges such as interviewing chefs who specialize in locally grown foods, taking a favorite recipe and making it local, or, for the local cooking challenge, preparing a three-course meal based on local ingredients.

The Girl Scouts are returning to our roots.  Think it's easy?  I challenge YOU to the five badge requirements.  I'll participate as well and report back with my progress.  Can YOU earn the Girl Scouts Locavore badge?

De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da

Look at the calendar.  It's Maundy Thursday.  Not only did Jesus partake of the Last Supper with his disciples, He washed their feet.  Then He told them to do the same amongst themselves.  His new commandment was to love one another as He loved them.

In the late morning, Deirdre and I trekked to the Army Medical Center where the wounded warriors from Afghanistan and Iraq are sent to heal to the point of returning to their families.  The purpose of the visit was to deliver Girl Scout cookies from several troops in the city.  Some of the younger troops made signs and cards for the warriors.  Deirdre, being older, was allowed onto the floors to interact with the warriors themselves.

The first warrior we met had no legs, as did the second.  The third was in a neck brace and two full length leg casts.  Our escort prepared us at each room with the injuries and the length of their stay up to now.  Our fourth warrior has been at the Medical Center since July.  He has no legs and only one arm.  During our visit, waves of pain washed over his face but he tried not to express it.  Instead we talked about the planes he used to jump out of.

The last warrior we saw in that wing had been shot and can't move his arm due to the nerve damage.

"How long have you been here?"

"I got shot on the 11th."

Ten days ago.  And here he is, thousands of miles away from the fighting.  Having a Girl Scout give him cookies.

At the evening service, the seminarian preached about being in a clinical pastoral internship last summer.  In pedagogical terms, the internship was "do, reflect, do".  He quickly learned, in his life, that could also be phrased as "receive, give, receive".

The sermon was poignant in its timing.  In doing something that I considered to be giving of ourselves, Deirdre and I received untold riches in a few brief moments with those men.  In doing, we receive.  I want to do and do and do some more.

[Blog title taken from this song.]

Menu Plan: December 6 - December 12

A day late and a menu plan short; or, better late than never.  My plan of getting the weekly menu plan done yesterday went up in smoke on Saturday night when I received an email requesting an interview. 

I am the cavalry.  I'm the one who gets called up to the front when the financial need arises.  The need arose when Finola got into such a prestigious private college.  College was in our budget plans.  But we just need a little extra for the private school part.

My job search had not been going very well for several months.  It's very difficult to get to the interview stage when online applications sort potential candidates based on certain words or phrases used in the answers.  It's like a guessing game to figure out what the computers might be looking for. 

Finding a job is always about who you know.  Mr. Gaelic's colleague (Mr. A) passed along a copy of my resume to the son-in-law (Mr. B) of the colleague's (Mr. A's) former boss who passed it along to the chief of staff (Mr. C) of the man (Mr. D) I want to work for.  Since I have been a full-time mother for the past 13+ years, I needed to find out what has changed in my field in the meantime as well as find out a bit about Mr. D so that I know what he's looking for in an employee.  After church yesterday, the afternoon was spent researching all sorts of information and biographical sketches.  Never go to an interview unprepared. 

That's my excuse for not getting my menu plan posted on a Sunday as I have in the past.

• Monday
• Breakfast:  grapefruit, toast
• Supper:  potluck (where did all that food come from?)
• Tuesday
• Breakfast:  cereal
• Supper:  meatloaf, mashed potatoes, broccoli
• Wednesday
• Breakfast:  oatmeal
• Supper:  steak, baked potatoes (meat co-op delivery day!)
• Thursday
• Breakfast:  cinnamon toast
• Supper:  baked beans, dirty rice, fried okra, cornbread
• Friday
• Breakfast:  cream of wheat
• Supper:  cedar-plank salmon, roasted root vegetables, lentil salad
• Saturday
• Breakfast:  cereal (have to be at church at 7:30 for meal delivery at a retirement home)
• Supper:  pizza for girls, eat out with Mr. Gaelic (date night)
• Sunday
• Breakfast:  bacon, eggs, grits, toast
• Dinner:  roast chicken, green peas, mashed acorn squash, dinner rolls

Wow!  I didn't realize just how busy this coming Saturday is until now.  7:30 a.m. meal delivery (similar to Meals on Wheels), 9:30 Deirdre's Girl Scout troop cleanup (at a different retirement home), also at 9:30 Deirdre's Girl Scout home-baked cookie drop-off (as a fund-raiser but not the official boxed Girl Scout cookies yet - those are being sold by our troops beginning December 22nd), 11:00 local charity pick-up of our old mattress and box spring (same group as is organizing the early morning meal delivery), 6:00 p.m. Deirdre to babysit, and finally Time To Be Determined date with Mr. Gaelic (whom I haven't seen much of lately due to his travelling on business). 

Whew!  I'm tired just typing that.  Good thing it's potluck tonight and I don't have to think about cooking.

Just When I Thought I Was Out . . .

They didn't pull me back in.  I willingly stepped into it. 

It all began 12 years ago when my desperation plea to get Finola into a Brownie troop was my offer to be the Troop Cookie Manager.  Seems like no one wanted to take on that job. 

As the girls grew, Finola moved on to Junior Girl Scouts and Deirdre became a Brownie.  Somehow they suckered me into doing the Troop Cookie Manager job for both troops.  Then came the fateful day when the Junior leader needed a co-leader.  Guess who was asked to volunteer?

My stint as co-leader lasted about half a month, because at the Service Unit level (Girl Scouts in the U.S. are divided into geographic Councils which are divided into Areas which are divided into Associations which are divided into Service Units which are divided into Troops) they needed a Service Unit Cookie Manager.  This must have been a phase of not being able to keep my hand in my lap at meetings.

But when the Junior leader moved up with her daughter (and Finola) to Cadettes, the Junior troop (now with Deirdre) needed a leader.  Yes, me.  Again.  And the Service Unit Cookie Manager for two more years.

Then the Service Unit Manager wanted to move on to other things.  The SUM leads the Troop leaders' monthly meetings and attends Association and Area meetings and works with the (paid, not volunteer) Field Director at the Council office.  The outgoing SUM presented it to me as "Be the Service Unit Manager or XXX will and she doesn't follow Girl Scout procedures as she should."  In other words, do it or the Service Unit will fall apart.

Now that that's under my belt, as well as six years as the Junior leader (rather than move up with Deirdre, I stayed until Maeve moved to Cadettes), last year was mine.  Mine, I tell you!  No cookies, no troop meetings, no Service Unit meetings, no paperwork, no continuing training, nothing.

Until last weekend when Maeve's Cadette troop leader sent out a desperate plea for a Troop Cookie Booth Coordinator because the person who was to do the job moved out of state.  Oh.  My.  God.  The email reply was short and to the point.  "I can do it."  Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.

A Month of Birthdays

October:

5 - Maeve, 13
9 - John Lennon, 70 (as if that tidbit had managed to escape anyone's attention)
11 - Deirdre, 17
12 - Colin, 46 (Mr. Gaelic's brother)
13 - our proposal anniversary and marriage renewal (not a birthday, but still)
20 - Viggo Mortensen, 52 (be still my beating heart)
26 - Jaclyn Smith, 63 (she was the Angel I most wanted to be)
29 - Kate Jackson, 62 (my second favorite, I didn't want to be blonde)
31 - Juliette Gordon Low, 150 (because where would we be without Girl Scouts and Girl Guides)

It's Been a Hot Day's Night

Hit the ground running and don't stop for love or money. That's the way our tour company planned out our days in Savannah, Georgia, with my Girl Scout troop. With the ambient temperature reaching 98°, even a drop of moisture in the air was enough to send the heat index into the triple digits. We were all glistening, and not in a good way.

The tour company geared everything, everything around the girls. At Old Fort Jackson, we had a private Girl Scout militia session complete with a War Between the States-era drill sergeant wearing his wool uniform and barking orders for us to perform. At least standing on the parapets one could get a breeze off the Savannah River. There was the 178-step climb to the top of the Tybee Island lighthouse. Thank goodness for ballet!

There were the tours of Savannah - a walking scavenger hunt, a horse-drawn carriage ride, a walking ghost tour. Bonaventure Cemetery wasn't on any of the tours, much to my chagrin.

Where dead souls didn't make the cut, live dolphins did. The three-hour cruise took us into parts of Georgia and South Carolina where some dolphins live in the brackish waters feeding in the abundant waters. The boat captain was able to get a whole slew of mamas and their babies to surf in the wake of the boat as we cruised back towards Georgia. Those dolphins were having a blast, jumping out of the water and playing.

The troop got to play in the water at the hotel pool, complete with a pizza party and birthday cake for our birthday girl and everyone else. Even three adults got in the pool in front of the privately hired college-boy lifeguard.

All that fun and excitement wasn't what we were in Savannah for. The city is Mecca for Girl Scouts because of one woman with the foresight to announce to the girls of Savannah that she had something special for them, the girls of America and the world. Her name was Juliet Gordon Low. Her birthplace is where we spent our last full day in Savannah with a program to let the girls and the "tall ten-year-olds" dress up in 1870-style dresses and practice arts and crafts from the period when Daisy, as she was known, was ten years old.

The girls brought back many memories of Savannah. I just wanted to bring back my beloved Spanish Moss. And boiled peanuts. But that's a blog for another time.

Million Collar Babies

My last official duty as a Girl Scout leader is coming up in two days. A trip to Savannah, Georgia, with 17 people. After seven years as the leader of a Junior Girl Scout troop, it's time to pass the mantle. (I just stayed at the same troop level and the girls would move to a Cadette troop as they aged out of Juniors replaced by girls moving up from Brownies.)

Looking back over my tenure and remembering all the girls that have been in my troop reminds me of just how much we did through the years. Beach camping twice, amusement parks twice, camping in the woods at least ten times, ice skating five times, skiing seven times, horseback riding once, New York City once, getting people to vote twice, participating in parades five times, etc. etc. etc. Even though I'm totally burned out on being a Girl Scout leader, after thinking about all the things we did together I feel like George Bailey.

Every trip we took, the girls were required to drop off their gear at my house at a "packing party" before the actual departure day. Even though we don't leave for Savannah until Saturday morning, tonight is the packing party. There's nothing worse than getting to our destination and a girl telling me she can't find her shirt.

"Didn't you follow the packing list when you packed your gear?"

"My mom packed for me."

"Is this your trip or your mom's trip?"

With so many people wearing identical albeit different sized shirts, I just hope the moms put names in the collars as they should. I don't even want to think about the post-trip lost-and-found.

A Bathroom Stall Built for Two

How embarrassing!

Last night every room in the house was occupied with kids and noise. With my husband working late and my pain meds’ keeping me from anything very productive like my PTA or Girl Scout paperwork or finishing the next chapter in my latest book, mindless online puzzles were the way to go. After finishing three puzzles within ten minutes, my attention turned to something even more mindless in hopes of putting me to sleep for the night. Online quizzes.

According to those scientific gems of personality discernment, I am 15% Bitchy, 12% Girly, if I were a Green Army Man, I’d be the Machine-Gun Soldier, I’m attracted to both good boys and bad boys, my true zodiac sign is Leo (which it actually is), my ideal mate is an Aries or a Gemini, and, here’s the shocker, guess where I should have sex next? (Yeah, I know, it’s a weird quiz but, hey, the TV had been commandeered by the kids.)

A Public Bathroom! I’m sorry, I always considered myself more of a Carrie than a Samantha.

Curious Georgia

Am I crazy to take my Girl Scout troop of fourth and fifth grade girls to Savannah for five days? Three years ago, the troop of fourth, fifth and sixth grade girls went to New York City for four days and had a blast. It's more bravery than insanity. Well, maybe a combination of the two.

At last night's end-of-the-year Leaders' Meeting, one volunteer (who is celebrating her 50th year in Girl Scouts) reminded the group that for the longest time the city of Savannah didn't like the Girl Scout troops coming to visit the Birthplace because the citizens thought the Girl Scouts were too rowdy. (Juliette Gordon Low, the founder of Girl Scouts, lived and began the first Girl Scout troop in Savannah. Her house, known as the Birthplace, offers programs for troops and is also open to the public for tours.)

The Birthplace closed for renovations for a while and guess what? The tourist dollars vanished. When the Birthplace reopened, the city was much more inviting to Girl Scouts, welcoming us with open arms, even catering to us with tour packages created specifically for Girl Scouts.

It's funny how powerful the Almighty Dollar can be. I guess money can buy happiness, or at least acceptance.

Observations from a Stationary Bike

What is it about the gym and men? Just this morning, there, on either side of me, were two rather smelly guys. The one to the right was pedalling at such a slow rate that it surprised me that he had broken a sweat. However, when the guy took the bike to my left, whoo, you could smell him a mile away, the kind of which made me debate whether to cut my workout short and move onto another machine.

To keep my mind on something other than the stench emanating from both sides of me, my eyes wandered across the main floor. On the row of weight machines were five older women who kept preening for each other when they finished a set.

I'm better at this than you are.

Well I look better than you do.

Moving on... on the elliptical was a teddy bear of a guy. You know the look, shaggy three-day beard, full head of hair, big round belly.

Not much there either. On the weight machine in the middle of the floor, finally! Something to look at! A gym rat. Complete with a tee-shirt with the sleeves cut out to expose muscular upper arms, and tight biceps while he was doing his curls. Too old to be a college kid home from school. Not one of the local public servants like police or firefighter who work out there. Hard to pinpoint his story.

But enough of a distraction to keep me occupied until smelly guy on the left finished up. But his leaving brought my mind back to the bike. And the conclusion that it wasn't worth it having to be next to smelly guy on the right. Time to move on to the lone, solitary, isolated but very aerobically effective rowing machine.

Nope, nothing to look at there to keep me going after the first 500 metres.

Moving on again to the stretching area... One of the personal trainers was chastising a client for not stretching. He complained about travelling too much, and hiking, and biking. If anyone needed a personal trainer, he did.

Okay then... let's just finish the stretching and get out of here. Until a firefighter acquaintance stopped to talk on his way out. That led to an opportunity to have the fire department talk to the Girl Scout leaders' meeting sometime next year.

Perhaps if the Messrs. Smellies hadn't forced me away from my workout, then a Roundtable talk for the Girl Scout leaders wouldn't have been planned. Serendipity. Don't you love it?

Writer's Vamps

Ever had one of those days when the universe seems to be throwing so many monkey wrenches into your meticulously planned schedule that nothing will get done when you thought it would? Welcome to my world!

A nice aerobic workout following by my arabesque and pirouette turns at the gym was first up on the agenda, followed by errands, and possibly a leisurely lunch outside before picking up the kids from school for tonight's activities.

But no! First my Girl Scout co-manager stopped by to drop off 75 letters of appreciation that needed to be signed for the leaders' meeting tonight. Then my dog's best doggie friend stopped by while I was outside bringing in the trash cans from the street. The doggie's human and I spent the doggie play time catching up on life. Then another doggie friend stopped by for doggie day care - uninvited. Unfortunately, I wasn't outside when the other dog's human dropped him off or I would have told the human that my doggie day care center is closed until after the fall harvest.

Sitting down to sign the 75 letters, what better way to help fill the monotony than with Facebook and some Pandora playlists? That's when Facebook Former pinged me with the morning news, gossip, and just plain chitchat. He was flattering me with compliments of brains and..., well, just brains; and contended that if I had stayed in the state I could have been on the Supreme Court by now and every lawyer and lower-court judge would have the fear of God in them.

Yeah, right. Me as a justice? Don't think so. Until I get all those f'n letters signed, I'll take it under advisement. But me in long black flowing robes? What color lipstick would go with that?

Mulligan Goo

I'm taking a do-over on today. Complete with crawling back into bed with the covers over my head. Let's recap the day so far:

• It's raining.
• While on the phone, I walked out to get in the car not remembering that I was on the land line not my cell phone. I promised my husband I'd call him back on the cell phone when I was in the car.
• At ballet on the first plié, my tights ripped in the crotch seam.
• On the second plié, my knee popped and I ended up wearing a knee brace during the rest of class.
• After class in checking my email on the Blackberry, my lech of an archery coach wants me to deliver his Girl Scout cookies tomorrow morning.
• I finally remembered to call my husband back while running errands.
• On the way home, I drove right past the pharmacy and forgot to drop off my daughter's prescription.
• As I was changing from my ballet outfit back to my civvies, the cat pushed the door open right when I was buck naked and the three guys working on the gardening next door got a cheap thrill.

Methinks I should stop while I'm behind.

Do You Want Cheese With That Whine?

The back pain began with a vengeance two years ago. Was it residual sciatica from my third pregnancy? Was my four-time-a-week running schedule creating a tight piriformis muscle or SI joint? Time to find out.

After numerous MRIs, x-rays, nerve tests, muscle tests, six months of physical therapy, deep-tissue massage, and two rounds of epidural steroids, the pain still radiated down my leg and tingled my toes. If my toes are going to be tingling, I’d prefer a different method. The doctor put me on a nerve medicine and two pain medicines which are enough to stop a horse. No wonder I feel like I’m walking in a fog all day that never lifts.

Today’s office visit was to discuss other options than living on meds the rest of my life. However, five minutes into the conversation and it was becoming clear to me that he wanted to do another round of epidural steroid shots. Thank goodness my husband was with me to drive me home.

So instead of heading off to the gym for some cardio and strength training, I ended up walking gingerly back to the car for a not-too-pleasant ride home. Um, did I say home? I made the unfortunate mistake of checking my email on the way home. My Girl Scout troop’s cookie manager needed me to pick up cookies for today’s cookie booth. (Yesterday was a wild goose chase for cookies in which I ended up driving two hours roundtrip and still didn’t come back with the two biggest selling cookies without which a cookie booth is basically useless – Thin Mints and Samoas (coconut and caramel with chocolate drizzle).)

Today calls for a medicinal latte. If it’s medicinal, then partaking won’t be breaking Lent. Ten o’clock was too early for anything harder. Although it’s four o’clock somewhere. Europe, perhaps? Stilton, anyone?