Thinking about it…

My early bird husband (AKA macho logger tree farmer) may not be a coffee drinker, but he knows the first place I head each morning is to the coffee pot.  If he wants to leave me a note, that’s a good place to leave it…smack dab in front of the coffee pot.  This time, he left a note in the form of a bunch of very ripe bananas.  I got the message loud and clear:  “honey, please make me some banana bread”. 

I finally got around to making two delicious loaves of banana bread today.  I used Paula Deen’s recipe with a few moderations.  For one thing, Paula does love her butter.  Two sticks were too many!  So I cut it in half.  I substituted applesauce for the other stick of butter.  You’d never know the difference and it’s delicious.  I also cut back on the sugar.  Still sweet and oh so good.

I couldn’t resist having a slice of warm banana bread right out of the oven…with a drizzle of Glory Bee Pacific Northwest Clover Honey.  Yummm….

Banana Bread (my version)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Spray two 9 x 5″ loaf pans with Pam or other vegetable spray.

1 stick butter

1/2 cup applesauce

1 and 1/2 cups sugar

4 eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

3 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking soda

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

6 ripe bananas, mashed

In a mixing bowl, combine the softened buter and sugar and mix well.  Add the eggs to butter and sugar.  Add the bananas to the butter mixture.  Combine the dry ingredients and whisk together.  Add the wet and dry ingredients together and mix gently.  Pour into prepared pans and bake for about 50 minutes.

I was standing in the “twelve items or less” line at the local Fred Myer store waiting to pay for my few items when the person standing behind me said, “I’ll never have to buy one of those again”.

Apparently, he was speaking to me.  I turned around and he pointed to my Rubbermaid laundry basket on the checkout conveyer belt. 

“I’ll never have to buy one of those again.  I have so many of them.  The only problem is they’re in a storage unit in California.”

What was I supposed to say?  I smiled, nodded politely and said something like “oh, I see”.

About that time, it was my turn and the checker began ringing up my purchases. 

This time, I heard him speaking to the person in line behind him…the customer holding a 50 pound sack of grass seed slung over his shoulder. 

“I see you’re getting ready to do some real yard work,” came the observation.

The muscle-bound fellow with the grass seed mumbled something that sounded like “not really” and moved quickly into the adjacent line which had just opened.

I was paying for my purchase when I heard him speak to the next customer who stepped into line behind him, this time an elderly lady with a basket brimming full.  

“Oh, I see you like the same flavor of ice cream I do!” 

I was laughing as I left the store.  I couldn’t help it.  Was he lonely?  Was he a compulsive talker?  Was he just a keen observer?  How about a keen observer and a compulsive talker? 

At any rate, I should have thanked him for my chuckle of the day…

If, by some chance, you have not had the privilege of hearing Michael Grimm…take a few minutes, sit back, relax and ENJOY this real treat.  Listen as he talks about his life.  Listen as he talks about the real hero in his life – his grandmother.  Just listen.  I think you’ll hear it – heart, soul and pure talent.   

I don’t usually watch America’s Got Talent, but I’ll be watching this talented young man.  He has made it this far and I hope he goes all the way.  The winner, I believe, is determined by the voting American public.  So, I’ll be voting for Michael Grimm!

Don’t forget to scroll down to the bottom of the page and PAUSE the blog list music first!

You can learn more about Michael and hear more of his music on his website here.

It’s officially “Elvis Week” in Memphis now.  Although I grew up in Memphis and have been a fan of Elvis’ music for many years, I’ve never been to Graceland.  For some reason, I never had any desire to visit Graceland.  I did, however, see a very young and quite handsome Elvis in concert many years ago.  The following post is from my blog, My Southern Heart.  I thought this might be an appropriate time to post it here.  I hope you enjoy it! 

A Saturday in Memphis…with Elvis

It was February 25, 1961 – a bitter cold Saturday in Memphis – and one I’ll never forget. It was the day of the “Special Matinee Memphis Charity Show, starring Elvis Presley”!

I had just turned 15 and, like every other teenage girl in America, I loved Elvis and his music! My 15 year old best friend Kathy, my 12 year old niece Sharon and I were going to the concert, and I’m sure we’d talked about nothing else for days. Thankfully, Kathy and Sharon still had their ticket stubs, so we’re sure of the exact dates. Between the three of us, I believe the story is quite accurate.

Sharon remembers that Daddy drove us downtown that morning, most likely on his way to work, so it would have been early – much too early for the concert. Kathy remembers that we walked to Goldsmiths (a large department store) to purchase our $3.00 tickets. I remember that it was COLD…with the winds coming in across the Mississippi River, carrying with them the type of damp cold that truly goes right through you. What we needed at that point in time were the L.L. Bean down jackets you could get today, but certainly none of us had them.

The tickets were printed: “Special Matinee Memphis Charity Show Starring Elvis Presley, Auditorium Amphi Theater, Admission $3.00. Doors Open 1:30 p.m. No Refund. No Exchange. (as Sharon says, “like we would have wanted to!”)

I have a very vivid picture in my mind…yes, even after all these years…of the three of us girls standing in line early at the Ellis Auditorium. The doors didn’t open until 1:30 p.m., but we were in line much sooner than that…standing there waiting and freezing to death in that bitter cold. Ellis Auditorium was on Front Street – as in river front – so you can imagine how cold it was. So, there we were…standing there waiting to see Elvis with our little sack lunches in our hands. For some reason, I love that particular part of the story!

As I recall, somewhere around 11:30 a.m., the janitor or some other angel who worked at the auditorium had mercy – or pity – on all of us (and by that time, there was a pretty good-sized crowd) standing in line. He opened the doors for us, and we RAN! The three of us ran like the wind, and amazingly managed to get seats on the THIRD row! Yep! The third row. THAT I can remember. Seems in my mind, it took a good while to warm up…but then we enjoyed our sack lunches.

A young, handsome Elvis Presley sang his heart out and the show was incredible. Yes, just in case you were wondering, Kathy, Sharon and I did our share of swooning and screaming – just like the hundreds of other teenage girls there. Since we were on the third row, it stands to reason that somewhere in the dusty archives of the former Memphis Press Scimitar, the Memphis Commercial Appeal or maybe even the A.P., there is a photo of three young teenage girls who had braved the bitter cold that February day in 1961.

I’m reminded, once again, that life is altogether too short.  I am also reminded that life is a precious gift.  

A few days before I began this blogging journey, over two years ago now, we learned that my husband’s dear sister-in-law, of many years, had cancer.  She fought a courageous battle but went to be with the Lord this past Sunday morning. 

I was blessed to meet her two years ago at my husband’s annual family reunion in Tucson.  What a fun week we all had together!  I loved her ready smile and kind, gentle spirit.  She had spent many years working in health care as an occupational therapist.  It was easy to see that she would have been a source of genuine encouragement to her patients.

Now, I pray for those left behind – her husband, their three sons and their wives, those precious grandchildren, her dear mother and the rest of the family.  We will all truly miss her.

It’s county fair time and times like this that make me wish I’d grown up on a farm.  I would love to have had the experience of showing my livestock and hopefully winning blue ribbons.  It’s impressive to watch the kids who own these animals.  They stay in the arenas with them.  They haul in fresh cedar bedding and clean up after their animals.  Consequently, the livestock arenas are actually a very pleasant place to visit.  I think there’s something to be said for the character of the kids growing up on farms today.

Enjoy the pics of some of my favorite faces from the county fair… 

Smiling while he absolutely refuses to let me have a horse!

Patiently waiting while I visit with every baby goat (kid) in the huge barn...

The Umpqua ice cream truck...our favorite.

The macho logger tree farmer waiting in line at the Umpqua ice cream truck. He came back with blackberry for him and strawberry cheesecake in a waffle cone for me!

I hope you enjoy this recent post from my blog, My Southern Heart… 

Dianne and Sharon on Mamie Road in the 1950's.

It had been fifty-five years since we had lived in that little house on Mamie Road. It was bound to have changed – together with the neighborhood which had been in the countryside when we lived there. During my recent visit home to the South, Sharon and I both wanted to visit that house again and see the neighborhood. We knew, of course, it wouldn’t be the same, but we still wanted to see it. We wanted to see where we had lived so many years ago…

She reminded me that, now, it isn’t the safest neighborhood – definitely not one we’d visit after dark. I still wanted to go and so did she.

I can’t remember what I bought at the grocery store for supper this week; but, in the recesses of my deepest memory, I found the street address for that little house – 3972. Strange, isn’t it? As we drove down Mamie Road, however, nothing looked right. Time had brought so many changes and none for the better. There was a used car lot on the corner now and the little grocery store on the other corner where we used to walk to get things for Mama was now a rundown business of some sort. All too sad. There was some sort of compound behind an elaborate fence where one of the houses used to be and there was one too many houses.

The South Umpqua River, slowing down a bit here but there are still pools deep enough for a baptism as they had here yesterday after church.

On Sunday mornings, we head to the park on the river – the perfect place to meet for church during July and August.  It seldom, if ever, rains during the summer months here in Oregon so we’re pretty much assured of a dry spot to place our lawn chairs.  There is a half-shell bandstand for the musicians and speaker.  Everyone gets there early, trying to find a shady spot beneath one of the huge trees.  The sun shifts over the span of an hour, of course, and people can be seen moving their lawn chairs to whatever slant of shade can be found.

For a confirmed people-watcher, and one as distractable as I am, it’s a challenge not to be focused on the scenes around me…especially when they include puppy dogs and adorable children.

Here the North Umpqua River and the South Umpqua River converge into the Umpqua River...just a few miles from our home actually.

Sometimes, as we all stand on that hillside singing, I wonder how far our voices carry.  Watching the river flow steadily by, I can’t help but remember one of my favorite songs, I’ve Got Peace Like a River.  I came across a wonderful instrumental version of this song on YouTube.  You won’t be able to listen to this without tapping your foot! 

 (Scroll down and PAUSE the playlist music at the bottom of the page first.)

I passed the huge logging truck as he was coming down the two-mile, winding gravel road next to the deep canyon.  I was traveling up that narrow road, thankfully on the inside away from the canyon, headed home.  He was carrying a full load of Douglas fir, one of the few I can easily recognize from their classic pink rings.  I raised my car windows as the enormous trail of dust followed in his wake.  I had heard the early morning logging operation for the past few days and realized I was definitely not enjoying the break from the usual quiet on the mountain.

I know this is a tree farm.  I know that most of the farms near us are tree farms.  Trees are the crop.  Until the disruption in our normal quiet life here, I didn’t realize I had an opinion about it – one way or the other.  I’ve discovered, however, that I do.

The first thing I noticed as I turned on to the two mile drive to our home were the bare mountaintops where they had been logging.  It was downright ugly.  I knew it would only get worse as they continued taking down the decades-old trees.  The scene would also contribute to the dust we fight during the dry season here.  I had just taken my Camry through the car wash.  That now seemed like a lesson in futility.

There is, of course, nothing I can do about it.  Those trees belong to another farmer.  I can only deal with the noise and dust.  Thankfully, we cannot actually see that part of the mountain from our house.  My husband reminds me that he has been a tree farmer and logger for most of his adult life.  I also realize that he logged a few acres of this farm several years back to pay for his older daughter’s degree from a top-notch engineering school in this country.   I was amazed that there is that much value in trees.  I’m glad he, and trees from this mountain, were able to do that for her.  

The macho logger tree farmer assured me that they will replant at least 500 trees per acre.  That sounds good.  The only problem is that it will take those seedlings 50 to 70 years to, once again, become a mature forest…much like the one that used to thrive on the, now, bald mountaintop.

Perhaps I’m looking at all of this the wrong way.  Maybe I should think more like a farmer.  I could borrow a few of my farmer’s tree tags and tag a few trees of my own.  Let’s see now.  Maybe I could specify a few trees for:  a new SUV, a Mayan cruise, a few more flights South and a new wardrobe.   

Nah, I don’t think so.  I like the green mountaintops…

P.S.  ~  Check out Life on An Oregon Tree Farm for a closer look at why I love the green…