My Other Mother

One of the kindest, dearest people in my life died this weekend. I've known she would go soon, but it still catches me with such a tight, hard knot of pain that I'm almost unable bear it.

This is Doris Roberson, mother of three, wife of the late Marvin Roberson. Marv died last year and left his beloved Doris to soldier on without him. She made it just 11 months.

She was a wonderful woman. I met her as a result of her daughter, my college best friend, Echo. Echo told me from the start to "call her Mom, everybody does." And sure enough, Doris became a second, sort of "Other Mother" to me.

She was, as many of her generation, a stay-at-home Mom. She had to be, because Marv worked as the trainer for the football team at Brigham Young University. Which means during football season, and often during the build-up to it, she was Mother, Father, Drill-Sergeant and trainer to the Roberson team. She brought her daughters up with a sense of decorum and her son up to respect ladies with such sensitivities.

But she was also very much her own person. She was a member of a book club that was better read than most people these days. When computers became popular, she was on them like white on rice. She loved life and as it progressed, she went with it.

She had a great laugh, a wonderful smile and a satisfying way of saying "oh, Marti." This photo shows how I see her in my mind: her eyes gleeful, with the lashes turned in "upside down smiles" that form because someone is an unusually happy soul.

She also had a calming sense of stillness that seems lacking in the current milieu. (She would love my using that word.) She cheered on my career, calmed my wildly beating heart when I thought it would break and whenever I was in town, would make time to go to lunch in order to ask what I thought about various events and turns in national and world politics. She had questions that showed a keen insight, particularly for someone taking life at her own pace in Provo, Utah.

I remember one day a few years ago when I came home after a long business trip. I had been reporting in New Orleans about a hurricane that I waited three days for, only to see it veer to the north around my location. It fizzled as a story for me. But as I arrived home, there was a phone message:

"Marti, this is.... well, this is Your Mom. Call me when you get a minute and tell me what you're up to."

I called her back that time and every time. I have no regrets about that. Except that there will be no more long phone calls. No more "call Mom for advice and long talks." No more "sit with Mom over a long lunch."

I mourn Doris Roberson. She was lovely. She was beloved. I am better for having known her and so deeply saddened at her loss. The only thing I find comforting is that she left such a great legacy of her heart and soul to her daughters. And I'm fortunate to have been counted as one of them.

The Moo, The Mouth and Me...

So I've mentioned here before that I struggle with drinking water. There's a tussle going on between me and municipal water systems everywhere. I can't drink tap water treated by municipal systems. If I drink it, my mouth peels and I get an assortment of other symptoms. I've checked all the way from Los Angeles to Washington, DC, with the same results.

I don't like this. Having grown up on a farm where Mom and Dad raised a lot of the food we ate and encouraged vast amounts of self-sufficiency. But here I am, all grown-up and I'm at the opposite end of the spectrum. Not self-sufficient.Not in drinking water. Not in growing food or anything else that I know of, to be honest.

But the bottled water issue looms large. Because not only can I not drink tap water, I can't drink anything but DISTILLED tap water. Buying, paying for, dragging home and drinking distilled water has become the most annoying household chore I regularly take care of, but at least I thought I had the issue handled.

Except lately the inside of the mouth seems to be sensitive again. So maybe the tap water problem is a symptom, but not the problem?

I've decided to try drinking organic milk. Maybe the hormones and steroids used in milk and beef production are affecting me. So today I bought $20 worth of organic milk. For my twenty-spot, I didn't get as much milk as I wish, but I did buy enough for two weeks, so that I could give it a substantial try-out and get all the dairy production chemicals out of my system.

I don't like that it's come to this, but... well, if this little test of mine works, then I guess then I get to decide: organic milk or organic water?

Dear Congress...

And by "Congress," I mean everyone elected to serve the public in the U.S. Capitol.

As this week drags on, please remember that we're not going to remember the "tit for tat" of this week if you screw it up. We won't remember who got what or said what or offered what in six months. It's our nature, as the American public, to be both forgiving and forgetful in relation to a lot of things.

If you mess up on this one, we're going to be blanket-full-on-whup-@$$ angry for a very long time. At you and him. But unless we see some agreement soon, it's mostly on you. I don't mean to say I know which proposal to do what is best. I see it's "rock and hard place." I've got the idea that a lot of compromising is in order. Neither side will end up with a clear win. None of us are going to be completely happy and heaven knows we're likely to be poorer. But if you don't do something, the downside will be huge, lasting and unforgivable.

I mean if you don't get this done (and preferably immediately) we're going to remember exactly where you sat while this happened. And you won't be sitting there in the future. Because we'll be reminded every time we go to the grocery store. We'll be reminded every time we make a mortgage payment... and that'll be the lucky ones. We'll remember every time we look at our children. We'll feel it all the more when we're the grandparents of the next poorer generation.

I suggest you get off the party line and get to it. Whatever that does or doesn't mean, it boils down to this: it's time to make a deal. It's time to find some common ground. I don't have the answer because I'm not in the discussions, but I know pettiness when I see it.

So get in that chamber and get to work. Please don't come out, don't come home and don't look for sympathy until your job is done.

Celebrating July 4, 2011

I celebrated the Fourth of July a little early. Here's how I did it:

That's right; I cut up a credit card.

Nothing to get excited about. This was my "spare" American Express card. I still have another one. I closed this account because I don't need two and spreading credit around like that isn't healthy for my credit rating.

Do you want to know what American Express' response was? They immediately doubled the credit limit on the one I didn't close. Yeah. Helpful, aren't they?

Obviously I don't have "problem credit." I pay off my monthly credit card bills in full. I never carry a balance and I don't want to go down that road.

So I invite you to join me. What's in YOUR wallet? Maybe it should be a little less? And look what I found online:

Bold letters and small mirrors, tastefully decorated in discarded American extravagance.
Perfect for any home or office! Have a good weekend!

Cold Advice... for the Brave

I have a bit of a cold... just now. It's a spring-time cold, common enough here in Washington, DC. It seems to pop up every time I take off the gloves on the Metro and start grabbing up every passing germ.

If you were around these parts two winters ago, you may remember my foray into odd "home cures" for head colds. I thought I should put out a comprehensive list of every one of these homeopathic efforts, their side effects and results, starting with the most recent effort. Just in case you need it.

By the way, the picture above reminds me of a coworker at one of the places I freelance. The company is moving this coming week, and everyone has to clear out their desk for the move. Today, she discovered a roll of T-P in the back of a drawer, or as some would call it "ghetto sneeze lockers," dating back to before the company bought tissues for cold and allergy sufferers.

Glass of tomato juice with a teaspoon of cayenne pepper. This was my mother's suggestion, via the neighbor's husband who lives down the way. (Yep, we're country folk!) The side effect was a little burn in the upper chest that wasn't nearly as bad as anticipated. The results seemed to be positive. The next morning, I no longer had a sore throat. Might have worked, too, if I hadn't missed out on sleep the next night. Relapsed. Drinking more. And why not? They say that the capsaicin in the peppers (the stuff that makes them fiery hot!) causes a metabolic rise and may help with digestion. I liked this thought well enough that I'm considering drinking it from now on. I've certainly had worse habits.

Five thousand milligrams of Vitamin C at first notice and 2 thousand an hour every hour thereafter for the first 24 hours. This cure came from a California friend who said that this level of Vitamin C, being ascorbic acid, would propose to "burn any germs out of the system." The side effects of this are widely believed to be a little case of stomach upset. My particular stomach holds up pretty well under this type of assault. I added this one to this week's head cold attack as I regularly do when I have a cold "just in case."

Onion tea, made by adding a thick slice of onion to an innocent and otherwise sweet smelling cup of tea. I got this one from Merle, an African American man who bumped me in the drugstore line in Southeast Washington two winters ago while I waited to pay for my Tami flu. He suggested I drink the tea, pull on the covers and "sweat it out." What did I have to lose? I went home, gave it a shot and voila! Next morning, I felt 95% better. Had another cup of the smelly stuff and went on my way. No side affects whatsoever.

The funny thing about this particular "cure," is that no matter how hard you try to get someone else to try this, they will avoid it at all costs. I mean they would rather suffer the pains of a nasty cold than drink a stinking cup of tea? And the tea smells worse than it tastes. It's actually pretty easy to drink, particularly if your nose is stuffed up and you can't smell.

Zicam, up the nose. Yes, yes, I know the government yanked the stuff of the market, but thank heavens I was already stocked up on the stuff because it knocks my colds out like nothing else ever has. You can take your zinc lozenges, but I want my zinc in my nose, where it does me good. What's that smell?

Chicken soup and orange juice in liberal doses. This is my "always effort" in making my world more hospitable during a cold. I boil a chicken, add chopped carrots, onions and celery. And then I make the result into something edible: chicken noodle soup, chicken and rice, chicken and gravy with mashed potatoes or chicken and dumplings are the top picks. I try to avoid more than one day of any particular "chicken and - - - -." I think the steam filling the apartment helps my throat and sinuses and since I'm usually a bit "carb-deprived" as a general rule, it adds a little extra energy to the recovery.

(The following cures that friends have suggested that I've never tried but you might like, if you're suffering)

Echinacea herbal tea (recent studies showed echinacea is not effective in fighting colds or influenza)

Shot of tequila (the Los Angeles contingent of friends suggesting a favorite cure, but for what??)

Jalapenos (huh?)

Whiskey and lemon, warmed and tossed down (DC friends, with a fresh spin on the booze angle)

Jalapeno peppers (Ah, apparently they are "chock full" of Vitamin C; however, by this point, so am I!)

Zinc! (Yes, that's a good idea. I think it was in the Zicam)

Vodka mixed with the tomato juice and cayenne (I'm thinking at this point that some sweet friends thought I was looking for drink recipes as opposed to head cold cures at this point, but they were determined to be helpful!)

So this is your list. Choose your poison in the future. And leave me word of any of your own home cures below, please? I'll be sitting here nursing my glass of very spicy tomato juice.

Will You Be Wanting Popsicles with Your Pizza?

I have a very busy life. Just in case you didn't know that, it's true. Very busy.
I work weekends at a weird little government gig. I just started a second contractor position at another company. I have a website that is doing well enough that I need to have it redesigned and rebuilt in the next several months in order for it to continue to grow and expand. (Er, not to be confused with making money or covering its costs. NO to either on that question!) These three things alone poke big holes in my day, not to mention my bank account.

Yessirree, I'm busy for about 16 to 18 hours out of every day.

Oh, and I work out like a nutcase to make sure that I am healthy enough for all this insanity. Yes, I am busy.

But I also like financial health. My mother commented recently (in that dotty-random-outburst-at-a-party-given-by-their-daughter way that old ladies acquire in their seventies) that "Marti's cheap." I'll admit when she made that comment combined with one other, what I really wanted was to excuse myself for a check of her bathroom cabinet to see if she was off her meds. Or if I could borrow a few. Ugh.

Anyway, whether I am or am not cheap doesn't matter. I know a lot of people who are worried about money these days. And here's my tip for what YOU can do about it.

Do something extra. Do. Something. Extra. Why? To make money for yourself, of course! And not just for your life currently, which no doubt sucks every nickel out of your pocket, but for your future financial health. (If you're in debt, obviously, then use the money to pay down the debt first. I'm not in debt, therefore, I save.) And the best news is it doesn't have to be big.

For instance in the last year, I was contacted by an online group about writing for them. For several months toward the end of 2010 and in early 2011, I did their online writing. It only required a couple of hours per week. But in fact, I had so much of writing work that I couldn't do it all when combined at the time with my weekend job, website operation and making a full-time job of looking for a full-time job, right? Right. So I hired someone else to do a little of the writing. I passed one subject that I knew little about to a favorite friend who herself wanted to pick up some supplemental funds every month.

That work agreement ended a few months ago and in the newly restored "glut" of time, my mind cast about again for what else I could do to make money. I didn't have to look far. I went to auctions with a couple of guy friends and considered re-selling things I could buy there. I pondered putting up a website to do more online writing. (Still mulling that one over) Heck, I even considered taking a waitress job and pouring coffee at some breakfast diner. Perhaps. (That mental journey didn't go very far) I ruled that one out. Kind of fast, matter of fact.

What I came up with instead was expanding on a favorite hobby, adding some extra knowledge (that's called "value added") that I had gained years back, putting in a little financial outlay to buy supplies and getting busy on it. Altogether, that's hobby+added value knowledge+cash investment+sweat equity.

To that end, I now have a living room that is... unlivable at the moment. It's been a small, bearable bit of a downside as large amounts of fabric and quilt batting started piling up. Some weird smelly things are stashed in the front closet. And an etsy account awaits which already amuses me and I hope to start filling later this week.

I make this "extra" suggestion knowing that some of you will say "Oh, I'm already so busy doing such-and-such. I really can't take on anything new." I think you should reconsider. What I'm talking about isn't converting YOUR living room into a sewing workshop with a huge mess of fabrics, fluff and stuff strewn everywhere. (That seems to be my personal passion and only within the abilities of those of us that live alone.) But you can do something. You can find something. Skip any "collecting aluminum cans" ideas. You'll lose money on the price of gas, driving to and from the recycling center. You want something you can do along your life's regular circuit with a small bit of extra effort.

What will you get out of it? I expect to end up with is enough cash to cover my costs, my annual IRA donation and maybe buy a few popsicles this summer.

Personally, I like popsicles. Don't want popsicles? You might make a few extra mortgage payments. You could put some money in a fund to pay for a few extra textbooks for a favorite college student. You could take the hubs out for pizza once a month and probably afford to pay for a gym to work it off again. Whatever you want, including debt, IRA, popsicles or pizza after taxes.

I'm not saying you're not already working harder than ever, but you probably can squeak something else in, which might help you shake out better at the end of the year. And with a little extra moola, who knows what you could do, right? Maybe you'll only make enough dough for the pizza (or in my case popsicles), but we all prefer life with pizza and popsicles rather than without, right?

So what are your solutions to making a little extra money for the pizza/popsicles of your life?

(Disclaimer: all photos today were chosen with abject weirdness in mind and may or may not have actual relevance to the subject. But... I do like popsicles.)

Cake. C-A-K-E. CAKE!!!!

It's my birthday again this coming week. I thought it was a good time for us to talk about The Cake.

I've been eating The Cake for a long time. I make it for my birthday every year, as I have since I was 16 and found the original recipe in one of the Salt Lake City newspapers. I try not to eat it in between. (Otherwise too many people find out about it and they whine. A lot. "When are you going to make us another cake, Marti." Bah. Whiners. Never.)

The Cake has changed since I was sixteen. The recipe has evolved. It's de-evolved. And then re-evolved and "gone foodie." And even then, it varies greatly.

There's "The Picnic Cake" which is pretty similar to "The Church Party cake." (Cool Whip. Ugh. "I'll just have a sliver. I brought this for you, anyway, right?" Right.)

There's a "Marti Doesn't know the Oven Cake" version. (See the darkly browned sides and bottom? Yeah. No!)

Also a "My Friend's Kids Are Diving In Cake" version. (There's something wonderfully "Dr. Seuss" about this particular shot, don't you think?)

There is "Dinner with College BFF and Hubs Who Are Also Foodies Cake" and as well as a "Dinner with People Who Will Eat ANYTHING" (my grade school pals in March) version.

It was spectacular watching them eat The Cake because, well, it was just so darned great to see them all again. I love a good "Happily Ever After," so having a whole room of them was swell. Just swell.

There is "Houseguests Feel The Love Cake," as modeled here by Greg. Still in his jammies. He was leaving the next day. Very little of this cake ever goes to waist. Er, waste. Freudian.

This was the "Best Family I Ever Shacked Up With Cake" version (long story involving short-term housing) which was very well received. Great lighting, eh? As if their household had some sort of inner light.

This was one of my favorites: "The Cake with Beloved College Roommate" who, after figuring out what leaving me alone in her kitchen on my birthday would mean, regularly left me alone in her kitchen on my birthday. Suh-weet!

When I started to write this post, I thought I would fit some metaphor of life into this blog. But as I got into writing it, turned out it I just like posting pictures of The Cake. Other than that, the subject of my birth is about as deep as, well, The Cake, but without the whipped cream and berries.