Food memories

I was talking with Don yesterday, over breakfast at Hamilton's, about how food keeps some memories very alive.  I remember back in 1971 traveling with a girlfriend from Phoenix to Monument Valley to the Grand Canyon and back to Phoenix with me eventually ending up back home in San Diego.  Leaving Monument Valley behind us, we made a short stop in Jerome, AZ.

Neither Linda nor I knew anything about Jerome but it didn't take more than an instant to decide to stop and take a look around.  Remember this is back in 1971 and at that time Jerome was more ghostly than gilded.  Yes, there were the requisite antique shops and art galleries but for the most part there was not much development.  You drove in from the north. You parked. Your walked the entire Jerome experience in a matter of a few blocks. And you left heading straight down (literally) the mountain into the Arizona desert. But . . .

. . . before we left we stopped in at a little old fashion soda fountain (and I do mean old fashion) and I had one of the taste experiences of my life.  I had my first Peanut butter/Chocolate milkshake.  Not only had I never had one, I had never heard of the combination.  It was, in a word, SUBLIME.  To this day, I remember the flavor and since then, all other PB/C shakes have striven to meet the Jerome standard  . . . and failed.

I perused the chamber of commerce link for Jerome and I really can't tell if the little shop is there anymore.  I have a vague memory of the appearance of the building and from what I saw, I suspect it has been replaced by another food shop.

Somewhere in my stash of pre-digital photos I have pictures from our visit there.  Eventually they'll surface and get scanned.  When that happens, I post those memories too.

And speaking of food memories, is it just me or does anyone else remember how GOOD Jack in the Box onion rings used to be?  I was living in San Diego (where JITB started) when these delectable treats first hit the scene and they look pretty much like this.  






I was 15 years old at the time and I can count that age as the age that I learned that some food things are just plain sacred and should not Never, Never, Never be changed.  And of course many years later, sometime in the 80's, they did the unthinkable.  They changed the recipe.  Now they look like this and they don't even taste the same anymore.  In fact, they are pretty much like most every other onion ring - commercial, flat tasting, and with a dusty of that corn meal like stuff.  I rarely ever get their onion rings anymore but . . .

. . . to this day, I love, love, love their tacos. Crunchy on the top, soft on the bottom, greasy and flavorful - they are the best.

 So JITB, be warned, if you ever change up your taco recipe, we WILL have words!!

Reminisce Interlude

For about 25 years, I didn't have a bike. Then I got the idea, a few years ago, to buy a bike.  I picked one up at Target, a cool cruiser, all pink and girlie. Then I proceeded to TRY to ride the bike.  

One month later, I was still a total scaredy cat trying to actually get ON the bike.  My sense of balance was totally shot.  I did get up eventually and then took a few trips to the store and back and cruising the neighborhoods.  It beat walking and felt a lot more effective too.

But just when I started feeling fairly confident on a bike, the tire went flat.  So, I fixed it.  It went flat again.  That was it.  Enough was enough. 

First I couldn't get on the bike.  Then I found my balance. Finally.  Then the back tire went flat.  I fixed it. Then it went flat AGAIN.   Upshot?  I gave the blasted thing away.  My fancied love affair with bikes was so DONE.

Anza Borrego Collage 1971

Anza Borrego Collage 1971, a photo by AnnieElf on Flickr.

I have found two new photo editing software sites this week. PicMonkey, which is a great replacement for Picnik, found it's way to me late last week. Last night I ran across something called ipiccy. I thought it was an app for phones only. Then I checked it out more carefully and found that it was like PicMonkey on steroids. I played with one of the collage templates this morning using pictures taken of me back in 1971. Sepia, a touch of pink on the cheeks and airbrushing softened the overall effect.

Highlighting the Low Moments

9-11-12, a set on Flickr.

After attending yesterday's 9/11 memorial services at Fire Station No. 3, we visited for a short while with the firefighters and police in attendance.  For a moment, everyone knew each other.  Everyone held this moment in common.  Conversation held one question in common; where were you when the towers were hit?  As we shared our stories, I found myself thinking of the national low moments in our personal histories.  We all recognized that these are the things that hold us together as a unified people.

For me, the first memory is a memory I hold for my father.  He was at Pearl Harbor and was stationed on the USS Nevada.  As you know, the Nevada was tied right next to the USS Arizona.  This moment in history is my history.  When I consider that it was only a matter of a few feet making the difference on which ship was hit, it is sobering to know that had the Nevada been hit, in all likelihood, I would not be here writing this.  My children would not be here contributing to making this a good society.  My husband might be a very different man today.  How striking to consider what a difference a matter of just a few feet made.

Growing up in the Cold War Era, many of us remember duck and cover.  The threat of nuclear war was very real.  My first personal memory of the fear and loathing of war was April 17, 1961, the Bay of Pigs Invasion in Cuba.  I was 13 years old and living in San Diego, CA.  My dad was retired from the Navy by then and we often went to Miramar Naval Air Station located not far from us.  Low flying jets (remember Top Gun?) and sonic booms were a normal part of our daily life.  But on that April day I was just a 13 year old girl and I remember driving by MNAS, seeing more that the usual complement of jets circling and thinking "Do we have enough water?  We need to get water."  Water.  The ultimate symbol of life.  While we stood poised on the abyss of a show down with the old USSR, I was worried about water.  Looking back, it seems a pretty decent symbol to bring to the table because questions of life and death were pretty clear cut back then.  No water?  No life.  Nuclear Bomb? No life.  There really wasn't much difference between the two.

Two years later, in 1963, I was four days passed my 15th birthday.  November 22, 1963, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.  I was in 10th grade in high school and was just out of my history class with Mr. Rochambeau (the to die for history teacher that all the girls had a crush on).  The halls and corridors were filled with crying students and I had not heard the news.  It didn't take long for me the learn what had happened.  I don't remember much after that.  I DO remember that I felt frozen.  I didn't cry.  I didn't GET the importance of what had happened.  I don't remember if school continued that day or not.  It was a very confusing event.  Shocking.  Our leader was gone.  I still look back on that day and can't grasp any real feeling.  Perhaps it was really one of those moments that transcends feeling.

Four years later, I was 18 years old.  Virgil Ivan Grissom (April 3, 1926 – January 27, 1967), (  Lt. Col, USAF), better known as Gus Grissom, was one of the original NASA Project Mercury astronauts and a Unite State Air Forcepilot. He was the second American to fly in space, and the first member of the NASA Astronaut Corps to fly in space twice.  Gus was also my favorite astronaut of all time.  He still is.  From Sputnik to now, I watched all the space launches.  For a while, I wanted to be an astronaut.  I wanted to fly to the moon.

Grissom was killed along with fellow astronauts Ed White and Roger Chaffee during a pre-launch test for the Apollo 1 mission at Cape Canaveral Air Force Station (then known as Cape Kennedy), Florida. He was the first of the Mercury Seven to die. He was also a recipient of the Distinguished Flying Cross and, posthumously, the Congressional Space Medal of Honor.

Then in January, 1986 the space shuttle Challenger disintegrated during launch.  We lost our first civilian in space, teacher Christe McAuliffe.  I was 39 years old and sitting in the front room in our small apartment in married student housing.  After seeing countless lauches, I watched the Challenger disintegrated with millions of other Americans.  I remember sitting on the floor.  I was leaning against the sofa and I remember having one of those "What?" moments.  I remember cocking my head to the right.  I remember watching the reruns over and over.  And, I remember it finally sinking in and crying.

I cried again on February 1, 2003 when the space shuttle Columbia disintegrated upon reentry into our atmosphere.  We lost seven astronauts that day including one from India and one from Israel.  And finally, I mourned when the space shuttle program ended in 2011. 

The 1993 World Trade Center bombing, the 1995 Oklahoma bombing  and the 2000 bombing of the USS Cole live in my memory.  And what I hope is the bookend to tragedy, September 11, 2001.

From Pearl Harbor to 9/11, I hold so many low points in my heart.  Yesterday I prayed that 9/11 would be the bookend to Pearl and would hold these memories tight with none more being added.  This morning I awoke to the news that the U.S. Ambassador to Libya, Chris Stevens and three other Americans were killed by mobs rioting on the grounds of the American Embassy.  This just a day after the mob riots in Egypt at the American Embassy there.  There really is nothing you can say about this that political talking heads won't try to explain, excuse,  twist or God help us, apologize over. 

So - as I look at my pictures from yesterday and think of the shared memory of strangers who for a moment were not strangers, I can't help but wonder how I manage to keep in mind that I don't want to be a stranger to the world but really - I don't have any idea of how to accomplish that anymore. 

Postcards from Paradise (and also MYM)

When I was a little girl, we moved between California, Wisconsin, and Illinois on a fairly regular basis.  The moves were often accomplished when my dad was overseas or on his way overseas.  Mom, my sister and I would ride the" Santa Fe All the Way" train all the way cross country.  I would spend my days in the dome car, meal time in the dinner car, and evenings in a sleeping car.   Years later, with our own children, it was miniature train rides at Christmas, history trains going from Point A to Point B and back, and for the grown ups dinner/mystery trains. 

To this day, counting train cars at a crossing is an irresistible impulse.  Of course, when the train is going 5 miles per hour at a crossing, well, that's not so great and the impulse to do a 180 becomes irresistible. 

Today I was hit with another irresistible impulse.  This one had me doing a 180 on my way home.  I've passed this train engine literally hundreds, maybe thousands of times.  Every time I drive through Geer and Santa Fe, I pass this engine secured by a fence and barbed wire . . .

. . . but I've never photographed it.  So,

1.)   180 at the grain elevator entrance;

2.)   cross over onto the shoulder running next to the orchard;

3.)   up a makeshift dirt road and park;

4.)   Ignore the "Trespassers will be prosecuted" sign, and

5.)   make an end-run at the end of the fence. 

Would they prosecute?  Really?  I decided the sign was for nogoodniks (definition: A worthless, disreputable, or malicious person). And after taking several pictures, that theory was put to the test.  There came security in an electric cart.  I grinned.  I waved. I remained poised to take my last picture. 

Fortunately for me, the nice, young, curly haired man could see that I was an admirer of the old beauty.  The object in my hand was a camera, not a paint can capable of long range spraying.  We were instantly bonded in our shared admiration of the grand old engine.  Here are a few more pictures for you to enjoy. 

Engine #2260 details are below.

Original Owner - Atchinson Topeka and Santa Fe

Model:  Rebuilt EMD GP9u  Built as: AATSF 700 (GP9)

Serial No:  21570   Order No: 5450

Number: 5450-1  Built: 5/1956

Current owner: Nuwest Milling, Since technically the engine is no longer a Santa Fe (or BNSF) engine, as it is owned by a grain elevator company, they have yet to paint out the Santa Fe markings.  I think after all this time, the Santa Fe will stay on the side of the engine right where it belongs.

Link here as well for Mellow Yellow Monday

A Lovely Day - Haiku My Heart

I have some upcoming alone time on my calendar and I thought I would practice being along today.  As plans go, it was a complete failure.  Reality was much, much nicer.

Alone time beckons
Prep time an  epic failure
Reality smiles

My friend, Elaine, has been slowly relocating herself back to the Bay Area.  First she moved 35 minutes up the road.  No big deal but then she lost her job.  Two months later she was blessed with a much better job and travels now to San Francisco.  In another week she moves to Walnut Creek and she'll be about 80 minutes away.  Again, no big deal except that it's out of the valley, into the traffic, and over a set of low coastal mountains.  But, the good news is that I can take a short train ride from Modesto to Martinez.  No traffic stress, cheap ($30.00 roundtrip) and FUN.

So we met for lunch, caught up on the past three weeks and then went our separate ways again.  I picked up Delaware and headed over to Pet Extreme for a pet carrier.  He is so small that at his biggest, he will still be easy to take out and about.  A proper pet tote will make it easy and for the most part more acceptable when I go into business establishments.  And then, of course, I had to stop by Elaine's house she owns here so she could meet the little guy.

But soon enough I was home again and thinking about heading over to the fairgrounds to meet up with Don and friends at our Tea Party booth.  It was so hot and I don't do well in heat but off I went, leaving Tanner and Delaware at home.  Tanner has turned into a good big brother for the little guy so I knew things would be fine.  But three hours later, I was distracted and worried about the dogs.  Fireworks, though far off, can be startling to our furry friends and sure enough they've started and Tanner isn't happy.  It is a good thing I came home.

One of the things I like about fairs and festivals is the wild colors and designs of the food vendor booths.  The colors and designs, combined with the taste and smell of the foods they offer, make them  a true feast for the senses.  So I started walking down the food aisle and started my series of food vendor instagrams.  Doing this is such a great way to meet people.  Asian, Hispanic, black, old, young, families, friends - everyone has an instant mini-story and loves to share their lives with you at least if just in that moment.  I took it one step further and got Facebook address and emails so I could share the pictures with them.  With the Facebook pages, at least, I'll be able to follow them and what events they will be at.  I already know I'll be seeing the Pablo's Salsa familia en el mercado del viernes por la noche los agricultores Turlock.

One place I'm looking forward to visiting in Modesto is J's Coffee House and Grill.  They serve a seafood gumbo that I hear is killer.  I'll be making arrangements to meet up with my friend, Bev, soon so we can enjoy this unusual (for Modesto) treat.

I'll leave you now to enjoy your fireworks.  If you are 2 or 3 time zones away, you have no doubt enjoyed them by now.  I love watching the Macy's Fireworks over New York City Harbor and they've just started for me on the West Coast.

Wishing you all the blessings of freedom that is our God-given right. Use the grace that resides within your hearts.  Reach out to others.  Build bridges with the values that you hold most dear and most of all . . . LOVE.



Life in a Coffee Mug, One Sip at a Time

I was looking around at a local thrift story a few days ago and spotted a mug from Expresso Café in Modesto.

The café isn’t there anymore but a lot of personal memories are. After I brought the mug home, I realized that I actually had three mugs that represents very specific points in our family’s life.

When my folks were alive, dad used to drop mom off at the old Mervyn’s department store on McHenry. Then he would drive across the road and settle in at the Expresso Café and shoot the breeze with whoever was there. When dad was hanging out anywhere, everyone was a potential new friend.  After about an hour, dad would go back over to Mervyn and find mom.  I too used to visit the cafe a lot.  I had an acquaintance who worked there and the atmosphere was casual and friendly.  The coffee was good, the food memorable and, Jan ( pronounced "yahn"),  the owner, was a soft-spoken gentle giant. 

Bubb's Big Burger and Breakfast Restaurant in Turlock was a local landmark for decades.  They had the BEST burgers and shakes.  When we lived in Modesto but the kids were going to school in Turlock and I was working there, I used to drop Quanah off at high school for a  7a.m. jazz band class and then Kris and I would stop in for breakfast before I dropped her off at school and I went to work.   Oh yes. Did I mention that their breakfasts were the best too?  Then I stopped in one day and they were closed.  Just like that. No warning.  I later learned the owners moved to Arizona and that was that.  Later, Bubb's became a Mexican Restaurant.  Good food, good service, and a parrot (read about Pancho HERE) who was my best birdie for a while.   The old Bubb's location is now going through it's fourth incarnation since its closure and I'm looking forward to seeing what the old place will become next.

 My final mug is from Hamilton's Café.  When my mom moved to Samaritan Village (before her stroke) I used to take her there all the time.  Hamilton's is in Hughson and it wasn't unusal for us to show up there together.  After her stroke, it was, even moreso, our place.  The waitresses have been there forever and they loved taking care of their older and sometimes much slowed down customers. 

I still go to Hamilton's a lot.  I've introduced out of town friends to Hamilton's and shared meals there with other devotees.  Don and I were eating there when I told him about a china cabinet and sideboard I had seen at Goodwill and off we went to get it.  Krista, at 18, won the drawing for a 6 foot Christmas stocking.  She kept a few of the goodies and the kids next door benefited from her good luck.  I love Hamilton's so much that I even put a book together about the place and sold a few copies to locals. Click here to see the  Book.

I've got the odd mug from here and there as well.  I have one from a cafe in Williams, Az.  There is another from a pub in Portland celebrating Rogue River beer and one more from a restaurant somewhere in the Columbia Gorge.  As souveniers go, this is a fun one to collect.  So if it's a magnet, spoon, or mug, and I've been there, I probably have  one of these momentos to remember the moment.

At rest on Father's Day.

At rest on Father's Day., a photo by AnnieElf on Flickr.

Today Kris picked up Don and they resurrected a tradition from her childhood - sharing a banana split together.

I ensured that there would be a photo memory by reminding Kris to take a picture of the sweet treat and a picture of her and daddy. What she brought home to me was evidence of her forgetting. The one picture she took was the empty dish. Oh well.

I gave her the eye. You know the one. The one that says "really?". "Really!!?" Her excuse?  Daddy was talking the whole time. Okay, as Don would say - any excuse is better than no excuse at all.

At home, Don spot-treated his shirt with stain remover (chocolate ice cream) and changed. He licked his lips, happily enjoy some remains and settle down on the loveseat resting his hand on his very satisfied tummy. Hmmmm, good.

The Best Laid Non-Plans

Halloween has slowed down at our house considerably on a couple of levels - 1.) our kids are grown and mainly gone; and 2.) the location of our home does not foster a lot of door knocking and bell ringing.

Krista had this plan to hand out candy this year - she and Tanner in costume ready to say hello to the princesses and warrior and goblins and ghouls that might land at our door. Reality took her off to Starbucks to balance her checkbook and then home early after the misadventure of bad coffee (at Starbucks????) and the lack of a pen.

No one had come to our door yet so off she went to Pet Extreme with Tanner to return an item. No soon was she gone than the kiddies started arriving. And of course, not too much later we got a call from Kris say she was heading over to Meg and Art's house but she would not be late. Door answering was now in our hands. uh huh.

I took first shift but 30 minutes later DH took over and THAT is when the fun started. Don can strike some people as sort of a dour and serious guy if you don't know him. But there is something about October 31st and all that changes. DH loves the holidays. He decorates. He goes all out on gifting. He doesn't buy the cheap candy. He takes every opportunity that comes his way to be spontaneous. Don spontaneous????? Oh yeah. The king of think it out and look before you leap can really get into the swing of it with the best of them.



A first that happened this year was a hay wagon and horses all lit up in fairy lights going around our neighborhood. The wagon was filled with laughing children and after the last knock at our door apparently the wagon rolled through again. Next thing I know, I'm hearing lots of goofy laughter and shouting going on in front of our house. I amble out and what do I see but Don giving out the rest of our candy to the kids in the wagon (thank you God, no one else knocked) and one little goblin, in the excitement of the moment, asked DH if she could have the pumpkin bucket. MORE laughter as the bucket changed ownership. DH was the hit of the night and for a moment he was the Kandy King.

I love October 31st through January 1st. There is always something funny happening with my man and each year is different.

Remembering George in Prayer

Pictures from Stock.xchng