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~ The adventures of Richard and Julie Lary

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Monthly Archives: June 2015

Rose’s Index Cards: Appetizers

30 Tuesday Jun 2015

Posted by rajalary in Rose's Writings

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appetizers, cooking, Julie Lary, rajalary, rose ridnor, scribbles writing

Deviled eggsMy grandmother was a list-maker so it was no surprise when I found a stack of index cards among her papers, containing lists of how much to tip someone (bellboys 25-50₵ per bags), painting and household advice, uses for vinegar, and what to make for meals. Below is what she wrote down for appetizers, followed by her recipe for deviled eggs. 

Fish: Preserved

  • Kippered salmon
  • Lox
  • Bismarck [herring]
  • Anchovies
  • Sardines

Fish: Fresh

  • Boiled
  • Gefilte

Meat

  • Sweet & sour meatballs
  • Sweet & sour chicken
  • Chopped liver
  • Liver and eggs scrambled
  • Brains [beef, boiled, mashed, and mixed with onions]

Other

  • Chopped egg
  • Deviled egg chilled
  • Eggplant [Russian caviar]
  • Fruit cup

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Invocation #41: The Writer

29 Monday Jun 2015

Posted by rajalary in Invocations

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Donald Trump, invocation, Julie Lary, rajalary, rose ridnor, writing

April 1985

The writer, in goodwill and intent, sets downs words with the purpose of conveying a message, an idea, a thought, an opinion, a whatever.

The reader reads the words, and puts an interpretation on them. Depending upon the mood of the moment, or attitude towards the writer, or subject matter, the reader can catch the writer’s meaning and accept it as offered, or read into it what he/she doesn’t want to know, or search between the lines for a hidden meaning. Also, the reader’s reaction to the words can run the whole scale of emotions from anger to laughter to yawn of boredom.

Upon whom should fall the blame for a misunderstanding?

Ironically, while the interpretation of a writer is done by the reader, upon the writer falls the burden of proof-of-innocent for conveying the intent of the wording.

But, could it be, O Lord, we inadvertently reveal in our words what we cannot recognize in ourselves and are therefore reluctant to face? In that case, are writers not innocent victims of their own writings?

When I first read this invocation, written by my grandmother 30 years ago, I quickly concluded most people face this dilemma in that their emails and instant messages can easily be misinterpreted. After all, it’s challenging to convey emotion in written communication unless you state how you’re feeling, such as I’m upset at the way you handled ___________ situation or I’m delighted at the outcome of the ______________.

The other options for communicating mood and subtle inflection is by using UPPER CASE LETTERS, exclamation points, and emoticons 8=) _ :-*!!

Indeed, the blame for the misunderstanding is almost always targeted to the writer, and not the reader, who depending their mood, could deduce a fervently written email is good news, sarcasm or worse.

What my grandmother wrote, however, is much deeper. It infers we sometimes write what we’re subconsciously thinking. While we might believe our wording is clear and effectively communicating our present thoughts and opinions, it may be conveying something entirely different.

This brings to mind a campaign slogan I once wrote, “When accuracy isn’t an option.” In my mind, I was inferring accuracy is imperative, not an option. However, others concluded I was saying accuracy isn’t important, and therefore not an option. Needless to say, the slogan was discarded.

A slogan, however, is just a couple of words. What happens when you write a lengthier piece? Before the Internet, the number of people who might read and misinterpret a personal or business letter, magazine or newspaper story, professional paper or newsletter was confined to recipients subscribers, and members of organizations.

Today, 140 characters or a couple of sentences can be heard or read by millions, turning an off-hand remark into a firestorm. Case in point, Donald Trump’s derogatory statements about Mexican immigrants during his presidential announcement speech, followed by his backpedaling, “I’m not just saying Mexicans, I’m talking about people that are from all over that are killers and rapists and they’re coming into this country.” In spite of this marginal explanation, it quickly became clear he truly said what he meant, issued the statement, “Mr. Trump stands by his statements on illegal immigration, which are accurate.”

Eck!

For most of us, we do occasionally write content, which can be misinterpreted or reveal thoughts we probably wouldn’t have expressed if our fingers weren’t typing lickety-split. It’s the hazards of technology that make it easy to dash off a comment, Tweet, email or blog with scarcely any effort.

Death Row Roses

05 Friday Jun 2015

Posted by rajalary in Gardening, Health and wellness

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Cecile Brunner, Julie Lary, rajalary, roses, setbacks

When Rich and I met, I was living in cute three-bedroom house in Sherwood, Oregon with a yard full of flowering bushes, spring bulbs, ornamental grasses, creeping pyracantha, and a giant rose bush, Cecile Brunner, locate in the far corner of my front yard. Once it took root, Cecile Brunner grew profusely, needing to be aggressively trimmed every year to prevent it from cascading over the sidewalk.

Year later, when we moved to Kirkland, Washington, I purchased another Cecile Brunner to commemorate our anniversary. This plant, however, wasn’t particularly healthy. I kept it in a pot, which probably contributed to its lack of vigor. Nevertheless, it finally took off, growing two or three branches, which were four to five feet in length.

In the fall, not wanting thorny rose branches stretched across the deck, Rich wielded a pair of clippers. I was devastated, believing Cecile Brunner represented our relationship, and by cutting off the branches Rich was dampening our lives together. Adding to my belief, the bush barely grew the next year.

It was a death row rose. Death row rose 4

Disappointed, I brought it to our Mount Vernon house, sticking it in the ground, and placing little faith in its survival.

I placed the same faith in the roses we transplanted from my mother’s house. She always had dozens of rose bushes. When we lived in Tarzana, California (San Fernando Valley), she’d purchase experimental roses from Jackson & Perkins. They were identified by a number on a metal tag. Occasionally, she’d learn that one of the roses was given a formal name and released to the public. One of these was French Lace, which was bred from R. Dr. A. J. Verhage and Bridal Pink™.

When she moved to Sherwood, Oregon, she dedicated the front of her house to roses and bulbs. She prided herself on keeping them trimmed, but as the years passed, they were neglected, and incorrectly pruned by numerous gardeners who haphazardly hacked off the branches. In addition, because the gardeners “raked” out the weeds, the front year turned into a mish-mash of straggly rose bushes, rampant sedum ground cover, bloomed-out bulbs, swatches of miscellaneous, unkempt plants, and bare soil.

After she moved out of her house, we tidied the yard, laid bark dust, and hoped the tenant had an interest in gardening. She didn’t, and two years later, implored us to remove the rose bushes and plant grass.

DNA to Thrive

In December, we showed up with boots, shovels, clippers, and tarps. We crudely trimmed and dug out the roses. Some we had to leave because their roots were intertwined with those of a large maple tree, which the tenant wanted cut down because of the amount of leaves it dropped in the fall.Death row rose.5

Sliding in the mud, with rain pouring down, we dug out over a dozen full-sized roses, and around two dozen miniature roses. The latter, my mother had probably purchased from grocery stores, and plunked in the ground after they bloomed.

We had to wait a week to plant the roses, which were in horrific shape with large, gnarled bud unions (at the bottom of the main stem), hacked off branches, and ripped up roots. Like Cecile Brunner after Rich had chopped off the branches, they were essentially death row roses with little probability of surviving.

Cecile Brunner2With jaded optimism, we planted the roses against the back fence of our Mount Vernon house, heavily fertilized them, trimmed out unnecessary and dead branches, and waited. As the weather warmed, little petioles started to appear on the bare branches. By spring, most of the roses – including the miniatures – were showing positive growth. In May, to my surprise, they started to bloom.

Like Cecile Brunner, once placed in the ground, and given nutrients, they thrived. Today, Cecile Brunner has grown up our two-story deck, and annually rewarding us with sprays of petite pink roses. I suspect the other death row roses will continue to flourish.

Reawakening Like a Rose

Cecile BrunnerWhen faced with challenges and setbacks it’s easy to throw your hands in the air, and give-up. It’s human nature. We want to continue to move forward in our job, relationships, quality of life, and reaching our goals. When we’re deterred, it hard not to feel defeated.

However, like a struggling rose, we have the potential to once again bloom, given time, persistence, and nourishment. Sometimes, we need to temporarily lean on others to help pick us up, draw our attention to other opportunities or point us in a different direction.

Often, it take longer than expected to bounce back. But, if we recognize the power of revitalization, then we can start to realize the possibilities, growing, blossoming, and reaching new heights.

… yes, the photos are of Cecile Brunner, and the blooms are from several of the rose bushes from my mother’s house.

Disguising Who You Are Has Consequences

05 Friday Jun 2015

Posted by rajalary in Invocations, Rose's Writings

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aging, Julie Lary, rajalary, rose ridnor

Written by Rose Ridnor, September 1963

There is this woman, five years old than I, she looks ten yearRose s younger.

A real glamour gal, hair bottled blonde, lovely creamy white skin, daily cold-creamed, lotioned, manipulated and patted woman with a flair for clothes and figure to show them to advantage, all finished off with beads and bangles to charm the eye. Sound catty? You betcha’ I am.

I look at her, then look at me. Dumpy, blah, clothes that shriek homemade by a shaky-scissored, ten-thumbed, blurry-eyed seamstress. I sigh with pity for myself.

Now then, I was gossiping with a young woman of late twenty, and in course of conversation, I asked Miss Twenties how old she thought Madam Blondie was, and to my utter amazement, she guessed her age within two years.

Evidentially, the young see age with clearer eye than we oldsters. They know but two ages, young and ancient. Their eyes do not gloss over wrinkles, sags and pouches, whereas, we oldsters become so accustomed to them with the passing years we skip over them.

Of course, I didn’t ask Miss Young Smarty-pants to guess MY age. Think I’m nuts or something!

Which brings to mind, a night quite some years ago, a woman came to the door selling religion. We asked her in. She talked for a couple of hours, and at one point, asked Grandpa quite coquettishly, “How old do you think I am?”Tammy Faye Bakker

He peered at her appraisingly. She had ghastly red hair, streaked with orange, sag lines on her face, but slim and trim in a full skirted black dress with large red flowers, girlish cut and gay.

Now when a woman like that asks a man to guess her age, she thinks she’s a spring chicken with a capital “S” for sexy.

Before I could pinch Grandpa in warning, he jumped in with both feet and opined she must be about sixty.

Well, that woman almost keeled over. When she recovered her composure, her lips parted in a sickly smile, but she was gracious enough to admit he had guessed right and complimented him on his astuteness. She put it down, however, as a lucky guess. For no one else, she finished, had ever guessed her to be more than forty-five.

If that makes her happy when she shuts her eyes and looks in the mirror, hurrah for her. But it seems to me, when you try too hard to fool other people, you focus more attention on what you’re trying to hide.

And guess who told who that he should take a course in etiquette and diplomacy. And if he ever volunteers the age of you-know-who, he better remember to lop off at least ten years!

www

After almost a year, Grandpa had an appointment with the doctor. The sign of the pretty young nurse reminded him that during his last visit, she’s mentioned getting engaged and was to be married shortly thereafter.

Now he offered her belated congratulations and good wishes. She thanked him, then added, “But I’m already divorced.”

Divorced! Engaged, married and divorced, all in less than a year. What a pity, what a waste.

As I sat there pondering the state of human affairs, while Grandpa expressed proper words of sympathy and understanding, the thought occurred to me: Whatever it was that tore them apart so quickly, must have been present even at the altar. It was not something that developed and grew in time with the stress of adjusting to each other, and to their own still evolving natures.

Not out of sheer curiosity, but rather to gain a little understanding I asked an asinine question, “Why could you not have discovered during courtship that you weren’t suited to each other?”

She provided a very sensitive answers, “Because then we were on our best behaviors.”

A rare bit of insight that comes too late to too many.

Invocation #40: A Ray of Sunshine

05 Friday Jun 2015

Posted by rajalary in Invocations, Rose's Writings

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invocation, Julie Lary, optimism, rajalary, rose ridnor

O Lord, we know that in your scheme of creation the sun rises faithfully at its time to announce a new day, bringing warmth and light and sustenance to all your beings.

But some days, your sun is hidden from view, the sky is clouded over. Some days, our eyes cannot see your sun, they are welled up with tears.

And some days, we cannot feel its warmth, our souls are troubled. We have closed off our senses and immersed ourselves in sadness.

On such day, O Lord, when we are lost within ourselves, remind us that even the longest, darkest night ends with a sun bursting into glory, beginning a new day with new promise, bright with hope.

And remind us that if we look beyond our fears we will find a ray of sunshine. We must grab it, hold on, use it to light our way through the day.

My grandmother, Rose Ridnor wrote this invocation on July 17, 1985. It was a Wednesday, and according to the New York Times, Moscow had offered new arms ideas in the Geneva negotiations. Today, they’re the aggressors in Ukraine.

On this day, over thirty years ago, President Reagan had a cancerous tumor removed from his colon. Today, Reagan would probably be appalled at the continuing arguments over the need to provide healthcare to those who can’t afford it or don’t have it offered through their work.

The Congress in 1985 was at an impasse over spending. The resulting compromise was for an additional $24 million over three years for non-military spending, and a $5.4 billion increase in the military budget in 1986.

Thirty years later, $24 million is a pittance compared to the $1.1 trillion estimated cost of the 2003 – 2010 Iraq War. The Department of Defense reported spending at least $57.8 billion on the war.

In 1985, Morton Bahr, the new chief of the Communications Workers of America called IBM anti-union, and announced a worldwide drive to organize the company’s employees. His efforts didn’t materialize and today employees are shuffled out the door with every dip in earnings, and those who remain are furiously competing with cheaper labor in Brazil, China, and elsewhere.

In 1985, the computer industry was in its infancy, nevertheless, seven people under the age of 18, who lived in New Jersey, were charged with conspiring to use their computers to exchange stolen credit-card numbers, and provide information on how to make explosives, and make free long-distance telephone calls and call coded-phone numbers in the Pentagon. They’d also obtained codes that would cause communications satellites to change positions, interrupting intercontinental communications.

Computer espionage is considerably more sophisticated and destructive today, targeting not just government entities and businesses, but individuals.

With the only constant in life being change, it makes sense, as my grandmother wrote, to look beyond ones fears, and a find a ray of sunshine that lights our way through the day.

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