Author Archives: Debbie

From Student to Employee

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I think I alluded to this in my last post, but now that graduation is over, now that we’re back from our miserable trip abroad, the BIG item on the To-Do List for my son and me is getting him relocated.

Out of state.

Far out of state.

For his new job.

Not a part time internship.

A real JOB.

With a paycheck. And benefits. And bills.

Because My Favorite Domer is entering the World of the Employed.

Woo-Hoo, can you see me doing the Happy Dance?!

What is it they say, Parenting is the only job that, once you get really really good at it, you’re unemployed.

Maybe, but I believe I’m a long was from that.

Anyway, relocation means work. Lots of work.

And expenses. Mucho expenses.

  • Like an apartment.
  • And stuff to go into the apartment — furniture, towels, cooking items, food.
  • And a car, since he didn’t have one at college, by his own choice.
  • And insurance.
  • And a new cell phone (because his is woefully outdated, has an annoying proclivity to shut down willy-nilly, has buttons in the wrong places, and won’t keep a charge).
  • And a laptop (because the battery on his overheats, shutting down the entire system without warning).
  • And working people clothes (as opposed to T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers).

It’s exciting to be sharing this time in his life. And I’m ever-so-grateful that he’s found gainful employment (and doesn’t have to hang around here being bored).

So don’t ask me if I’m working on my novel.

With this much on my mind, I’m doing good just to keep up with this blog!

And it’s okay. Really.

As my late dad used to say, “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

Nor is a novel.

When LIFE interferes with your writing, you have two options:

  1. Rail against it, squeeze out time to write when you can, then throw it all out when you realize it sucks, and rail some more at the injustice of it all, or
  2. Roll with the punches, write when you can, and don’t sweat it when you can’t.

I’m trying the second route. I’ve tried the first one before, and it doesn’t work.

Too much angst.

Rolling with the punches feels better.

I like to think my novel is percolating, that I’m letting the creative juices simmer while I tend to everyday things.

And besides, I’d boxed myself into a terrible corner, one I can only hope time will help me resolve!

But I’m putting my Muse on notice — I’ll be back.

Baking with Domer

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Now that my son (AKA My Favorite Domer) has graduated, he’s got a brief window of time to “rest” before he commences work.

And he’s using this time wisely, or so I think.

He’s invested in a super-thick cookbook and is teaching himself how to cook (something he didn’t have much need for while he was a student in a college dorm, eating dining hall food — or fast food! — every day).

Following the recommendation of one of his Notre Dame friends, he bought Mark Bittman’s “How to Cook Everything,” a 1,000+ page tome chock-full of recipes, instructions, helpful aids, line drawings, and all things culinary.

I realize not everybody likes or appreciates Mr. Bittman, a former columnist for The New York Times and author of more than a dozen cookbooks. However, a young person needs to start somewhere, and Bittman has a way of walking his readers through the process while encouraging them to experiment and stretch themselves.

Just the confidence-booster they need!

For dinner tonight, Domer and I decided to try our hands at Oatmeal Cookies.

Yes, I know you can buy them at the store. But we wanted to bake!

Now there’s not enough money in my hometown to pay me to eat a bowl of hot oatmeal. I don’t like the taste, or the consistency, or anything about it.

Never have.

My mom eats oatmeal (“gruel,” I call it) practically every morning, but not me.

Not Domer either.

But I like oatmeal cookies, and these were delicious — chewy, filled with raisins and chocolate chips, and hot from the oven.

See for yourselves:

Yummy oatmeal cookies, fresh from the oven1

Yummy oatmeal cookies, fresh from the oven1

The recipe calls for rolled oats, but we used instant. Didn’t make much difference, we decided (of course, we’re not oats experts either!)

For those who are interested, here’s the recipe:

Oatmeal Cookies (makes 3-4 dozen)

Time: about 30 min.

Ingredients —

8 tablespoons (one stick) unsalted butter, softened

Half-cup granulated sugar

Half-cup brown sugar

2 eggs

1 1/2 C. all-purpose flour

2 C. rolled oats (not instant)

Half-teaspoon ground cinnamon

Pinch salt

2 teaspoons baking powder

Half-cup milk

Half-teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions —

  1. Heat oven to 375° F. Use an electric mixer to cream together the butter and sugars. Add the eggs, one at a time, and beat until well blended.
  2. Mix the flour, oats, cinnamon, salt, and baking powder together in a bowl. Alternating with the milk, add the dry ingredients to the dough, a little at a time, mixing on low. Add in raisins and/or other ingredients. Stir in the extract.
  3. Drop tablespoon-sized mounds of dough, about 3 inches apart, in rows and columns on ungreased baking sheet. Bake until lightly browned, 12-15 min. Cool for about 2 minutes on the sheets before using a spatula to transfer the cookies to a rack to finish cooling. Store in a tightly covered container at room temperature for no more than a day or two.

As Julia Child used to say, Bob Appetit!!

 

Props to the Savviest Shopper I Know!

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I think I’ve finally figured out what went wrong with our trip to Ireland.

Someone (I won’t point a finger, but you can guess!) is just too CHEAP to enjoy a vacation!

Here’s what gave it away:

This weekend, My Favorite Domer and I went into a Kohl’s store. I wanted to return a pair of shoes I’d bought for Commencement but found too uncomfortable; he said he was just going to “poke around” while I was in the Customer Service line.

When I finished, I went to the ladies section, zeroed in on a couple of things to try on, and was in the dressing room when my cell phone rang.

It was Domer.

“Have you got a minute?” he wondered. “I found some things and want you to take a look at them.”

“Where are you?”

“Men’s section.”

“Be right there.”

I discovered Domer wandering aimlessly around the men’s section, a pile of clothes in his arms.

Turns out, he’d found three sweaters, one half-zip top, and a dress topcoat.

“They were on clearance,” he told me.

Now much of those racks look like a garage sale to me, so I was hesitant.

“Do they fit?” I asked. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing. They’re fine. I can wear them this winter.”

I noticed all were quality brand-name items that would go with other things in his closet.

When he showed me the price tags, I gasped.

“Too much?”

“Uh, no, I think I’ve got a fifteen percent off coupon somewhere. Ready to check out?”

He nodded and carried his loot to a cashier.

After ringing in the total, she gave me a big grin and said, “You saved $500!”

The lady behind us almost fell over from the shock.

My savvy shopper had picked up merchandise that was 90 percent off! The topcoat alone carried an original price tag of $275, and he got it for $27.50. Those sweaters were between $6 and $9 each. Each!

Now, I’ve got friends who pride themselves on spotting bargains. They browse resale shops, buy only off-season items, trade with friends, etc.

But NEVER have I had the pleasure of saving $500 on one shopping trip!!

Traveling Abroad (Four) — May, 2013

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There’s something inherently sad about the demise of a dream, whether it blows up or just fizzles into nothingness.

We Americans tend to think we corner the market on dreams.

That anything is possible, if we’ll just buckle down, persevere, hang tough.

There are reams of quotes to that effect.

But sometimes, things happen that are unplanned. Unforeseen.

And dreams, once held so tightly, shatter.

Not necessarily becoming nightmares, but close.

Our trip abroad was like that for me.

Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, but perhaps we should have done a better job pre-planning. Securing visitor brochures, booking hotels, familiarizing ourselves with transportation and food and the monetary system.

Perhaps Domer and I are too cheap to be world travelers. Or too solidly ingrained in home and routine.

Perhaps this was the wrong time for a trip. Too soon on the heels of commencement.

Perhaps we should have signed up for a group tour.

(Nah, we’re too independent for that!)

If it’d been me by myself, I’d have stuck it out. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.

No way would I readily admit failure. Defeat.

But this was Domer’s trip, and he was miserable. So I did what any parent would have done — whatever it took to make him un-miserable.

That meant swallowing my pride, shelling out a small fortune in cancellations and penalties, and accepting responsibility for the mistake.

But I can’t think of it as a mistake.

After all, we did see some beautiful countryside, we passed interesting-looking museums, and — short though it was — I was actually on Irish soil!

Nor did it rain all the time; in fact, we only got the briefest of mists our first day.

I haven’t lost a deep kinship with Ireland, the country of some of my forbears, either. And one day I hope to return — wiser and more organized.

Domer looks at me like I sprouted a pineapple on my head when I say that. Fine, let him grumble that our trip sucked, big time.

I disagree.

We came back with a new appreciation for our homeland. For Wal Mart, green beans, fruit salads, hamburgers, ice in drinks.

We understood what Dorothy did in The Wizard of Oz — “There’s no place like home.”

And we realized it’s a whole lot different being Irish-American than being Irish.

That, despite our our disparities, our aggravations and frustrations, the people of the USA — with their core beliefs in Freedom, Equality, Dignity, and Liberty — are strong and independent.

That our competitive spirit, free enterprise system, and a persistent belief in the goodness of mankind are valuable and honorable things.

That dreams — and the possibility of making one’s dreams come true — are worth holding onto.

And those are lessons every American needs to learn!

Traveling Abroad (Three) — May, 2013

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When Saturday dawned, I was up before the wake-up call, eager to get back home.

Domer and I tightened our belts in lieu of breakfast and went to the hotel lobby to check out.

Now, we’d been told this taxi would charge a flat fee of 35 Euros, payable by swiping a credit card.

But the guy who showed up said he couldn’t do that. He wanted cash, so we had to stop at an ATM and withdraw enough for the trip.

Sorry, buddy, no tip for you!

When I fretted about how little time we had to get to the airport, he floored the accelerator, weaving in and out of traffic. On the left hand side of the road.

I held my breath the entire trip.

At last we reached Dublin Airport.

Mass confusion reigned. Queues were snaking everywhere.

Finally, we got “rid” of our heaviest suitcases — filled with clothes we hadn’t worn — only to find more lines.

For screening.

For customs.

For pre-boarding to the States.

That means taking off one’s shoes, unpacking the laptop, removing jackets and keys and coins.

Before this trip I hadn’t flown since Domer was in the womb (1990). So you can imagine how stunned I was to see a woman in front of me felt all over by a TSA screener.

I slipped through, then poor Domer got groped.

Despite having shaved off his scruffy beard. Despite looking like a clean-cut, decent young American.

And after he told me — on the plane, no less — I was ready to hop off like Mama Tigress and give that screener a piece of my mind for touching my kid!

We didn’t wait long to board, and more than once I looked at Domer and asked whether we were making the right decision.

“I’m going home,” Domer said. “I’ve had it with this place.”

The flight back was okay. We availed ourselves of everything that was offered — food, soda, tea, bathroom, free movies, you name it.

Other passengers were still irritating; we knew it was going to feel like midnight when we finally got home (because of the time change); and I couldn’t relax for the thoughts swirling in my brain, but Domer helped.

We’re going HOME, he kept reminding me. And it was sounding better and better.

Join me tomorrow as I complete our trip.

Traveling Abroad (Two) — May, 2013

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Friday, May 24, found Domer and me up early, taking turns foraging for food and accommodations again.

Kind of like being on a deserted island.

We learned there were hotels, but they were way more expensive than we wanted to pay. And there were bed-and-breakfasts. But nothing mid-range with vacancies.

Somewhere along the line, the subject of bailing came up. I honestly don’t know whose idea it was, but we figured at this rate, it was going to cost almost as much to pay the cancellation fees and go home early as it would sticking it out for the week.

Hmm.

At last, we found what looked like a lovely hotel, and we booked the next four nights at a reasonable rate (thanks, Expedia!). Checking out of the guest house, we followed directions to the bus stop.

Little did we know one has to HAIL a bus, the way you hail a taxi.

After several buses went by, we noticed people signaling for the one they wanted, so we did, too. Only we were at the wrong bus stop!

Another thing — Irish buses have no signage, meaning you really don’t know where you are, when you should get off (and whether the neighborhood you’re waiting in is sketchy or not). Oh, and the drivers don’t make change. If you’re told the fare is 2.35 in Euros and you drop 2.50 in the slot, tough luck!

An hour’s ride later — at least we were able to see some of the scenic countryside — we arrived at the hotel and checked in.

Relieved to be “settled” for the next few days, we decided to eat lunch. Surprise, our hotel offered a meal on site — woo hoo! — and we enjoyed club sandwiches with tortilla chips. Still eager to look around, we returned to our room to research travel options.

Uh-oh, the news wasn’t good. It was going to take an hour each way on the bus, or mucho Euros in taxi fares, to get back to civilization.

No wonder the staff seemed so accommodating. They were stuck in the middle of nowhere and knew it.

The idea of cutting our losses grew. Feeling frustrated at not having toured the first thing, not having taken a single picture, and afraid Ireland had seen us coming with a money tree in tow, we looked seriously into the possibility of catching an early flight home.

There was one on Saturday, and we grabbed it.

We cancelled our hotel stay after that one night, booked a taxi (Cha-ching) for the ride to the airport, and dined on pizza for dinner.

Lingering doubts over our decision evaporated during our noisy night. A group of teens staying there on break from school raced up and down the hotel’s hallways, banging on doors and phoning random rooms to find their friends much of the night.

Can it get any worse, I wondered.

Join me tomorrow to see.

Traveling Abroad (One) — May, 2013

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Bet you’re wondering where I’ve been for the past few days.

Would you believe Ireland??

You should. I might be part-Irish, but I wouldn’t lie about a trip to the Motherland!

It’s long been a dream of mine. Last summer, my friend Katybeth and her son went and had a blast.

Then in August, Notre Dame played Navy in the Shamrock Bowl in Dublin (and Domer and the Band got to go!). But they didn’t see much of anything, so I promised — if Domer wanted to — that I’d take him back as a graduation gift. He agreed.

I applied for, and received my passport, made travel arrangements, and was so excited about our adventure that I barely slept. I had all sorts of plans — kissing the Blarney Stone, touring the Guinness factory, seeing Trinity College and the Book of Kells and the Waterford factory, looking over Kilmainham Gaol, and taking a bazillion pictures.

To share on my blog, naturally!

We departed Wednesday, May 22, from Chicago’s O’Hare Airport, intending to sleep the entire flight because we were to land at 9 a.m. the next day and hit the ground running toward the sights.

No such luck.

  • The flight attendants kept the overhead lights blaring and ran up and down the aisles feeding people every couple of hours.
  • Passengers tromped back and forth to the restrooms.
  • The girl in front of me leaned her seat way back (when I couldn’t move mine), squashing my space.
  • The man next to Domer coughed and snored — mouth wide open — for hours.
  • Somebody’s infant was most unhappy and let us all know about it.

The “fun” really started after we landed on Irish soil.

Domer and I snared a few Euros from an airport ATM and hailed a taxi into Dublin and our hotel. The plan was to drop off our luggage and sight-see.

Neither of us can be sure, but we strongly suspect that the cabbie — nice though he was — took a roundabout route, pointing out all the “bee-u-tee-ful” sights to see while we were in town. We grew more suspicious when he told us how “the missus” likes money and how hard it is to make a living driving a cab.

Thirty-six Euros later, we arrived in front of the hotel — the one Domer had found online before we left, the one I booked and in turn, received confirmation on.

The attendant said he had no record of our booking; however, he’d sell us a room. Figuring I was going to get charged twice, and not feeling comfortable with the seedy-looking place anyway, we high-tailed it back onto the streets.

Schlepping our luggage across crowded Dublin, we made our way to a Burger King. Twelve Euros for two burgers, one small fry, and two sodas.

(One Euro equals $1.30, approximately. You do the math!)

Feeling cheated but no longer hungry, we went to the Discover Ireland office. They found us a “guest house” and gave us directions on which bus to take and how to get there.

The inn’s rate was reasonable that night, but it nearly doubled for the following nights — apparently due to a football (soccer) match in town that weekend, along with some big concert and lots of tourists — so one night was all we booked.

It was a quaint little inn. Tiny, but clean. There were no amenities like in the States — no toiletries, no soap, no washcloths, no clock, no mini-fridge, no microwave. But they did have wireless Internet, which we used to search for our next night’s accommodation.

Frustrated and weary from jet lag, we toppled into our beds for a few hours (killing any hope of Thursday sight-seeing).

When dinnertime arrived, we prevailed upon the desk clerk for directions to a restaurant, and were led to a delightful spot for beer-battered haddock and fries.

Good, but expensive. Cha-ching.

Upon our return, we did more research, questioned the sanity of this trip, then crashed for the night.

Join me tomorrow for more!

I’m B-a-a-a-c-k!!

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Dallas

Dallas

Dallas here.

Mama hasn’t touched her blog in nearly two weeks, so I’m pitch-hitting for her.

Even though I’m kinda mad with her.

You see, she left me at the kennel while she and Grandma went to The Kid’s big hoop-de-doo. You know him as Domer, but to me, he’s The Kid.

And we’ve been together a long time — six years, in fact.

When Mama first brought me home, The Kid was a little guy. Fifteen, I think. And he was scared of doggins.

Because we have toofies. And can stand on our back legs to jump on people.

But Mama quickly taught me not to bite — not even in play — and not to jump.

Truth be told, I didn’t particularly like jumping anyway. I’m a herding dog, not a circus monkey!

Anyway, The Kid and I grew up together. I taught him to like dogs; he let me lick his sweat after he’d come home from golf and tennis. I taught him to throw a ball; he taught me to bring it back. He taught me to play Chase and Hide and Seek; I taught him unconditional love.

So it was only right for Mama to take me to see The Kid graduate.

I’d have been good. Honest.

I could’ve stayed in the motel. I wouldn’t “go” on the rug or bite the housekeeping staff or howl long and loud.

I wouldn’t have been any trouble at all.

But they stuck me in the kennel. I’ve been there before, though never for this long. And they say dogs can’t tell time — huh!

The kennel’s nice, all things considered. There’s other dogs and cats around, they feed me the same stuff Mama does, and they even take me for walks.

But I wanted to be with my family.

Mama’s back now. So’s Grandma and The Kid.

They surely don’t expect me to believe it took this long for him to graduate. I don’t know for certain, but I think another trip was squeezed in there somewhere.

To a place called “abroad.”

I don’t know what that was about, but I’ll tell Mama to blog it for you, okay?

Commencement Wrapup

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Commencement Weekend at the University of Notre Dame has come and gone, and I’m left with the following observations:

1) Nobody does Mass better than ND. This weekend was Pentecost Sunday, the birthday of the Church, and we had no less than 40 red-robed priests (plus two bishops) on the altar for the celebration!

2) Nobody does food better than the ND Food Services staff. Our Friday feast featured chef-carved beef, chicken, tilapia, and a dessert bar topped with a “2013” ice sculpture. On Saturday, they fed us grilled steak, chicken, shrimp, and made an elaborate display of round, two-layered white cakes with frosting — one for each family to enjoy!

3) Nobody offers better music than ND. Volunteers from the ND Band (minus the seniors) played at most events. And no, I didn’t do much more than tear up at “Pomp and Circumstance,” the Alma Mater, and the ND Victory March, so my desensitization helped!

4) Nobody offers more guidelines (that people don’t pay attention to) than ND. I was told no umbrellas or wide-brimmed hats that might interfere with people’s vision. I obeyed, but others did not. I was told to respect others’ views of the proceedings. I obeyed, but one woman stood right in front of me minutes before my son was to cross the stage to accept his diploma. When I politely reminded her, “I can’t see,” she jumped all over me, arguing that somebody was taking a photo with a camera phone and she didn’t want to block that. Obviously, it never crossed her mind to go behind the photographer, rather than block my view!

5) Nobody does unpredictable weather better than South Bend. Here I was, worried over cold and rain, when Sunday dawned brilliantly sunny and temps climbed to almost 90 degrees by afternoon. Good thing I remembered sunscreen!

I know some of you are also interested in what people were wearing. Comfort, indeed, was the better part of wisdom. And there were so many people milling around that I probably could’ve worn a grocery sack and not stood out!

In fact, I saw all manner of dress:

  • Men in khaki shorts
  • Men in flip flops and deck shoes
  • Men wearing suits and ties
  • Men wearing blue jeans
  • Men wearing Polo shirts
  • Women teetering on sky-high spike heels
  • Women in cowboy boots
  • Women wearing dressy sandals or flip flops
  • Nobody wearing pantyhose
  • Women wearing lace
  • Women wearing sundresses, long and short
  • Women wearing slacks and jackets
  • Infants in carriers
  • People in wheelchairs or on canes
  • People speaking English or their native tongue
  • People wearing sunglasses and ND ball caps

Me? For Saturday’s Mass, I wore a knee-length black pencil skirt with a black and white polka-dotted peplum jacket. On Sunday, I chose a pair of dress black slacks, a black and white jacket with blue-green flowers, and a matching blue-green knit shell.

It was a great celebration, but I’m glad the hoopla is over.

(I’m “going dark” for a week or so while I do some celebratory stuff with my son. Intrigued? Good, I love a mystery! I’ll post more when I get back. Love to ALL!)

Beading with semiprecious stones

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Thanks to several days of rain and thunderstorms, I recently had some time to myself, and I chose to pass it beading.

There’s something peaceful about working with beads, string, metal, and such. Something rewarding about creating a bracelet or earrings from rocks and wire.

I derive infinite satisfaction from fingering the beads, researching their healing properties, and knowing that, if I make something I don’t particularly like, I can either dismantle it and start over or I can squirrel it away for someone else to purchase one day.

We all have different tastes, you know, and one person’s trash is another person’s treasure!

Here are a few of the items I designed (and if you’re tired of seeing beaded jewelry, forgive me, but I’m up to my ears in Commencement preparations and this is the best I can post in my scatter-brained state!):

Citrine bracelet

Citrine bracelet

1) This bracelet contains 8 Citrine chunks (helps with digestion and is known as the “Merchant’s Stone”) interspersed with 4mm round Hematites (increases intuition and improves relationships).

Unakite bracelet

Unakite bracelet

2) This bracelet features 10 oval Unakite discs connected with 4mm round Unakite beads. Unakite is a combination of Red Jasper and Green Epidote. It’s said to lift your spirits, help you see the beauty in life, and uncover deception.

Healing bracelet

Healing bracelet

3) This “healing” bracelet contains 3 each of faceted Crystal beads, Sodalite, Turquoise, Jasper, Blue Averturine, and Howlite. All are 6mm round beads.

  • Crystal is said to enhance the energy of other stones
  • Sodalite brings inner peace
  • Turquoise is the symbol of friendship
  • Jasper is worn for protection, luck, and to ease emotional stress
  • Blue Aventurine helps with self-discipline and inner strength
  • Howlite relieves stress and aids in sleep.
Healing bracelet #2

Healing bracelet #2

4) This is a healing bracelet featuring round stones sized 8mm each. Included gemstones are Crystal, Carnelian, Aventurine, Rose Quartz, Purple Striated Agate, Yellow Striated Agate, and Fancy Jasper. And here’s what the stones are said to do (minus, of course, the ones I’ve already listed):

  • Carnelian increases energy and guards against poverty
  • Green Aventurine is the stone of luck
  • Rose Quartz is the stone of universal love
  • Agate has so many positive qualities that everyone should have one (or more!)
Jade bracelet

Jade bracelet

5) This bracelet is comprised of 8 Russian Jade oval-shaped beads and 11 round, 4mm Fancy Jasper beads with a silver toggle clasp. Jade helps the body to heal itself. An ancient protective stone, Jade helps in clear reasoning.

Do stones in and of themselves really ‘Heal’? Who knows, but it’s fun learning about them anyway!