by jphilo | Jan 26, 2015 | Uncategorized
Since the end of October, my newly released Caregiver’s Notebook has been getting plenty of positive attention at this website and The Gravel Road’s sister site, DifferentDream.com and in Amazon reviews. But in the interest of full disclosure, this post describes my epic fail as a caregiver using the notebook I authored.
The epic fail occurred in December during the month long Camp Dorothy Extravaganza held here at Winter Camp HQ. After a road trip for a doctor’s appointment in Ankeny, the nurse called to inform the camp chauffeur/director/cook/nursing assistant that a certain specimen needed to be collected–I’m trying to be discreet–but that the specimen could be analyzed at the Boone County Hospital lab, much closer to Camp Dorothy HQ.
“I’ll fax the orders to the lab,” the nurse said, “and you can just run it into the hospital lab.”
So after the camp chauffeur/director/cook/nursing assistant enlisted the Man of Steel to assist in the collection process, I “ran the specimen to the hospital lab” just as directed. With the specimen bottle discretely tucked in my pocket, I asked the nice lady at the information desk how to get to the lab. She pointed the way, I trotted over to person at the lab window, and pulled out the bottle v-e-r-y discretely. “Here,” I said.
“Have you registered at the desk?” the nice lady at the lab window asked.
“No,” I said. “I was told to run this to the lab.”
“You have to register first.”
She pointed the way, I tucked the bottle back into my pocket, and trotted over to the registration desk.
Once the nice lady at the registration window had keyed in Mom’s pertinent information, she asked, “Do you have her insurance cards?”
I blinked. “The nurse told me to run…something…to the lab. She didn’t say anything about insurance cards.”
The nice lady’s attempt to not level a are-you-kidding-me look in my direction was her epic fail for the day. “Well, do you have her numbers? Anything?”
That’s when I remembered Mom’s copy of The Caregiver’s Notebook. Which I would have brought with me if the nurse had mentioned it. Or if I’d watched any of the vlogs in The Caregiver’s Notebook Vlog Series. Which I haven’t yet. But that is on my to do list. I promise.
Anyway, I knew exactly where the notebook was at home, so I called the Man of Steel who was filling in as Camp Dororthy activities director while I just ran a little something to the hospital lab. “Would you check the insurance section of Mom’s Caregiver’s Notebook that’s on the table beside my chair in the living room?”
He found it, I handed my phone to the nice lady at the registration desk, and she keyed in the information as the Man of Steel read it off. Then she handed the phone back to me, I thanked the substitute camp activity director, and turned off the phone.
“Do you know what’s really bad about all this?” I inquired of the nice lady at the registration desk.
“What?” she asked.
“I teach people how to organize caregiving information, and I wrote that notebook.”
She giggled and handed me a piece of paper. “You can take this to the lab. Do you know where it is?”
“Sure do,” I responded and then trotted over to the lab window. I fished the well-traveled bottle from my pocket and v-e-r-y discretely placed it on the counter. “This is for you,” I whispered the nice lady at the lab window.
A few minutes later, I was driving home, mulling over my epic Caregiver’s Notebook fail. Until I realized that perhaps it wasn’t really an epic fail. After all, without the completed insurance section of Mom’s Notebook, a trip home to dig through Mom’s purse to locate her cards and a trip back to the hospital would have been required to get the information for the nice lady at the registration desk.
And who knows what might have happened to the discretely hidden specimen bottle in my pocket with all that extra running to the hospital lab. I really don’t want to think about it. Do you?
by jphilo | Dec 17, 2014 | Uncategorized
With Camp Dorothy in full swing, and its namesake not too excited about getting 5 servings of fruits and vegetables, I was delighted to pick up a half peck of Golden Delicious apples from the cart of clearance produce at our local grocery store. Each piece of fruit had a blemish or bruise, perfect for making homemade applesauce. Also, homemade applesauce means the cook can control the amount of sugar added. Which in this case was very little since Golden Delicious is a sweet variety of apple. Here’s how to make it.
Ingredients:
1/2 peck of apples
sugar to taste
cinnamon to taste
Steps:
First, wash, peel, quarter and core apples. Or use a handy-dandy apple peeler-corer to make the job easier.
This much easier. Just cut the peeled apple in two, and you’re hand will be full of thin, beautifully sliced apples
Second, rinse sliced apples. Cover bottom of a large pot with 2–3 inches of water and add the apples.
Third, put the pot on the stove over medium-high heat. Bring pot to a boil, turn down to simmer, and cover. Cook for about an hour, stirring occasionally…until the apples are cooked down and fall apart.
Like this.
Then, turn off heat and mash the apples with a potato masher to the consistency you desire.
Finally, add cinnamon and sugar to taste. Consider engaging a taste tester for quality control.
Pour into a serving bowl and serve warm or cold. Store in the refrigerator. Or ladle sauce into freezer containers. When thawed, frozen applesauce tastes as fresh as the day it was made!
by jphilo | Nov 11, 2014 | Uncategorized
The Top Ten Tuesday list will be back next week. This week’s Tuesday post is dedicated to remembering the veterans in our family with an updated version of a piece written for Veteran’s Day, 2012.
Yesterday was Veteran’s Day, and in my world it went out with more of a whimper than a bang. However our state’s major newspaper, The Des Moines Register, in a moving salute to World War II vets, had the soldiers tell their stories in their own words.
That story, combined with the passing of my husband’s Uncle Harold, a World War 2 pilot in October of 2012, was a reminder of how little time remains for our nation to say thank you to the men and women who risked their lives in that great war. Here are the heroes in our family–some still living and some gone in the past few years–I am proud to call my uncles, and for whom I am grateful today.
Harold Walker, Hiram’s storyteller uncle, and pilot in the Pacific Theater near the end of the war. He died in October of 2012.
Marvin Conrad, my piano-playing and very musical uncle. I believe he served in the Navy in World War 2. He died in 2010, only a few months after visiting Washington, DC on one of the Freedom Flights.
Ordel Rogen, my cattle-raising uncle. He served in some branch of the armed forces in World War 2, though I’m not sure of the details. He died several years ago in December.
Leo Hess, who told harrowing tales of fighting during the Battle of the Bulge in World War 2.
Jim Hoey is my history-loving uncle. He was also a dedicated friend to my dad during his long struggle with multiple sclerosis. Jim served as a Navy medic in the Korean War. He turned 80 in June of 2012 and still loves to travel and write letters to his grandkids and great-nephews and nieces.
Dear uncles, our thanks for your service is not enough, but it’s all I have to give. Thank you for fighting for freedom.
Because of you, our shared family histories continue.
Because of your sacrifice, our family is able to reunite in the summer to reminisce about old memories and create new ones.
Because of you, little children play without fear.
Because of you, elderly men and women are cared for and safe.
Because of you, we live in peace.
Because of you, we are who we are.
Because of you, we are blessed.
Because of you.
by jphilo | Sep 29, 2014 | Uncategorized
You know those pictures about the good old days that keep making the rounds on Facebook? The ones about kids playing outside more way back when? Or about how we ate raw cookie dough and didn’t die? How the present generation has been coddled by their parents?
But not us.
No, siree.
Not us.
We’re tough.
Because we grew up in the good old days.
With emphasis on the word good.
But how good were the good old days really? Maybe not as good as we remember. Or as our parents remember. Or their parents, for that matter, as this recipe for wash day shows. Mom found this 1900s washday ‘receipt’ as they used to be called, in the 1970s. She’s taken our grandparents to Illinois on a genealogy trip. The ‘receipt’ was in an old church cookbook from Lenarch, Illinois. Someone was throwing the cookbook away, so Mom tore out the page and brought it home.
My sister found it in 2008 while helping Mom sort through her treasures before selling her house. Recently, she gave me a copy, complete with the original spelling. Which got me to thinking about how good the good old days really were. See what you think:
Grandma’s Washing Receipt
- bild a fire in the back yoard to heet kettle of rain water.
- set tubs so smoke won’t blo in eyes if wind is pert.
- shave one hole cake soap in bilin water.
- sort things, make three piles: 1 pile white, 1 pile collord, 1 pile work britches and rags.
- stur flour in cold water to sooth then thin down with bilin water.
- rub dirty spots on board, scrub hard. Then bile. Rub cullord but don’t bile–just rench and starch.
- take white things out of kettle with broom stick handle then rench, blew and starch.
- spred tee towels on grass.
- hang old rags on fence.
- pore rench water in flower bed.
- scrub porch with hot soapy water.
- turn tubs upside down.
- go put on cleen dress–smooth hair with side combs–brew cup of tee–set and rest and rock a spell and count blessings.
I don’t know about you, but that receipt and front loading, water and energy saving push button washing machines make the good new days look mighty good!
Photo Credit
by jphilo | May 28, 2014 | Uncategorized
Today’s recipe has it’s roots in a post written way back in April about planting cilantro seeds. For several weeks, the chilly weather kept the seeds safely tucked in their dirt beds. But a couple weeks of warm days set them to sprouting and growing and waving their cute little scalloped leafs in the warm breeze.
So many cute little scalloped leaves, in fact, that the frantic search for recipes that require massive quantities of cilantro has begun. Between needing to give the cilantro a haircut and a recent craving to recreate the flavors tasted in a Thai soup served at a restaurant we visited a few weeks back, my inclination was to give a chicken-coconut milk soup recipe a try. If possible, a very easy recipe for a first foray into a new cuisine.
The recipe I worked off of comes from My Recipes, and it turned out to be a good choice. Next time, I’ll spread my wings a little by adding noodles, more chili paste, and a few other culinary bells and whistles. Or maybe not, because this soup was very easy and tasty too.
Thai Coconut Chicken Soup
1 can (13.5 oz.) coconut milk
1 can (14 oz.) chicken broth (I used homemade broth)
6 quarter-size slices fresh ginger
1 stalk fresh lemongrass, cut in 1-in. pieces
1/2 pound boned, skinned chicken breast, cut into 1-inch chunks
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon Thai or Vietnamese fish sauce (nuoc mam or nam pla)
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon Thai chili paste
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves
1/4 cup fresh cilantro
In a medium saucepan, combine coconut milk, broth, ginger, and lemongrass and bring to boil over high heat.
Add chicken, lime juice, fish sauce, sugar, and chili paste.
Reduce heat and simmer until chicken is firm and opaque, 5 to 10 minutes.
Discard lemongrass. Garnish servings with basil and cilantro.
by jphilo | May 13, 2014 | Family, Top Ten Tuesday, Uncategorized
Mother’s Day was a very special time in my childhood home. Every year we celebrated Mom’s extraordinary efforts to provide for our family. But when Mother’s Day fell on May 11, as it did on the day of his birth in 1929, we celebrated Dad’s birthday, too. Since his birthday again fell on Mother’s Day this year–and because I’m madly editing page proofs for The Caregiver’s Notebook and don’t have time to blog much–today’s top 10 list gleans from two posts from the past: What My Mamma Taught Me and Top Ten Things About My Dad.
10. Never allowed discussions about politics to become cut throat. Dad’s most barbed political statement referred to his right arm, severely weakened by multiple sclerosis: It’s my Republican arm. Not good for much of anything.
9. The library is an excellent place to hang out. Mom checked out a lot of books and taught her kids to love to read. And go to the library where books can be checked out for FREE!
8. Birthday and Christmas presents matter. Dad picked Mom’s birthday and Christmas gifts carefully. He looked through the newspaper ads and phoned the store to quiz the clerk for a long time about whatever gift he wanted to buy. Once he made his decision, he arranged to have the gift delivered when Mom was at work.
7. Every woman should get an education so she can support herself and her family. Mom went back to school to finish her 4 year degree after Dad was diagnosed with MS in the late 1950s. She went on for her Master’s Degree in the mid 1960s. Our lives would have been very different had she not pursued those degrees.
6. People matter more than winning does. Dad loved to play cards with friends, but he didn’t play to win. He played to talk.
5. A strong family will be a constant support throughout life. As a teenager, Mom babysat many of her nieces and nephews. Those nieces and nephews open their homes to her whenever we travel back for funerals or reunions. Their love and respect for her is a touching tribute to her influence on their lives.
4. Proximity matters. Having Dad close by in his wheelchair always made me feel safe.
3. Teaching Is more than a job. Mom’s passion for her work demonstrated that teaching is not just a way to support your family. It’s a way to inspire a new generation and help them realize their own potential.
2. No matter what happens, find a reason to laugh. Dad’s constant sense of humor and thousand watt smile taught that lesson time and time again.
1. True love never fails. Mom cared for Dad at home from 1959 when he was diagnosed with MS until 1983 when he required nursing home care. Once he moved to the nursing home, Mom visited him daily, unless she was visiting her kids and grandkids, from 1983 until his death in 1997. Every time she walked through the door, his face brightened and his eyes shone.
Every now and then someone asks why I drive 45 miles to visit Mom Tuesday after Tuesday. The answer is simple. It’s what my parents taught me.
Love bears all things, hopes all things, believes all things, endures all things.
Love never fails.
1 Corinthians 13:7–8
What lessons did your parents teach you? Leave a comment.
