Become as a Little Child

 When I was small, I saw my dad and brothers intently watching the McCarthy hearings, facilitated by none other than Roy Cohn who helped shape the foreboding Donald Trump. Being a child, I glanced at them, went up the stairs, and played with my toys located in a pink and blue painted ammunition chest at the very top. I'm sure they paid no mind as I was 1) a girl and 2) the youngest.

But there's a lesson in this story. My attitude at the time was, I was the one at peace, and I'm pretty sure they were on the edge of their seats, wondering what more damage McCarthy would be allowed to do to our country.

If at first You don't Succeed...

 My shepherd's pie

was a colossal failure today. Everything was being done the right way, and it required concentration, like doing math in my head. I read instructions, cut everything in fourths, made the necessary substitutions, and I was so focused that, when Bill sneaked up behind me, I yelped. (He said he didn't sneak up. He was just there, because he lives here.) Doing exactly as I had been told online, I remembered what someone advised years ago, "Can you read?" "Yes." "Then, you can cook." Oh Contrare! The problem was I put it in the Slow Cooker for exactly as long as it said to, on the right temperature. Much later, it was time to boil and mash the potatoes and grate the cheese. I kept wondering why it seemed as though the cook pot was OVER doing the contents, as far as the aroma was concerned. I put the mashed potatoes and cheese atop the meat and vegetables, anyway. Would that I hadn't! The rest of it was totally charred, and the potatoes got mixed in too much to separate. I suppose I could have a sense of humor about it as my mother did. She was required to make a "fairly stiff batter", which stayed (stiffly) on the spatula, so she could carry it to my dad and ask if it was, in fact, a "fairly stiff batter". But instead, I'm disappointed, because I was really excited about this project. Guess I'll stick to writing and such things which have stood the test of time.

The Gulf of Cheaper Eggs

 White knuckle driving today.

Saw a man at the store, who looked like my late brother Alan; he noticed me and said, "You're a smart shopper", as he remarked that I had a pen and paper. I said, "You have to be...even here!" (Aldi's) On the other side of the store, a lady complained to me about the high price of eggs; I looked, and sure enough, it said, $5.42. So, I was right; you have to be economical, even at Aldi's. Bird flu, they say, is responsible. I skipped the eggs.

The Farmer in Yesteryears Corn Field🌽

On our way out to Colorado, as we didn't know we were going there, we stopped in the Stoughton/Madison area, and I re-employed myself as a nurse assistant at Skaalen Home where I'd previously worked for my mom. The newest procedure for dementia patients, I found out, was some kind of reality therapy. If the patient claims it's say, 1910 and he/she needs to go find her/his mother, you don't just let that go, you'd say, "No, your mother is dead, and it's day, month, 1977 (when it was 1977). But searching my memory banks, I remember there was a cute housekeeper with an infectious laugh, who watched an old farmer reaching several times toward the floor. She'd address him by name, encouraging him to "plant that corn" (giggle). It didn't occur to me until now that encouraging him to think he was out in the field years ago was contrary to the new "reality" approach and could unravel our intentions.