the friday feed: sloppy joes

Sloppy Joes are classic American comfort food. This hearty sandwich features browned ground beef simmered in a “sloppy” sauce made with ketchup, tomato sauce, mustard, onions, Worcestershire sauce, and other seasonings that create a sweet, tangy, and savory flavor.

Last Sunday, Todd brought home the monthly Feed the Homeless casserole dish from church, and this month's recipe was for Sloppy Joes.

As I looked over the recipe while making the shopping list, one ingredient jumped right out at me: 4 pounds (1.8 kg) of ground beef. I gave a little gasp. Ground beef is running around $6.99 per pound these days. But when I put it into perspective, the recipe makes about 20 sandwiches, which works out to just over $1 per sandwich to feed a hungry person.

Tomorrow, July 4, Todd will deliver the Sloppy Joes to the church volunteers. It seems fitting that this All-American favorite will be served on Independence Day. While many of us will celebrate with backyard cookouts and family gatherings, these simple sandwiches will provide a comforting meal for those less fortunate. In their own humble way, Sloppy Joes represent the spirit of America: simple, satisfying, and meant to be shared.

rockin' it

Twenty-four years ago today, my dad passed away. So why am I posting pictures of rocks?

Every time we moved to a new city, somewhere in the middle of packing boxes my dad would look at my mom and say, “Dear, half the weight on this moving van is your books and rocks.”

He wasn't entirely wrong.

My grandparents are really the ones who started this family love affair with rocks. Every winter, they escaped the cold Illinois weather and headed to the American Southwest and Mexico. Along the way, they collected rocks and brought them home. Grandpa would take them out to his shed, put them in a tumbler, and polish them until they shined. Then he would hand them out to his grandchildren.

I loved those rocks.

When we sold Mom's house, all of my siblings mentioned the rock collection. Everyone wanted some of the rocks, and as the oldest sibling, it became my job to figure out how to divide them up fairly.

My solution? Mom had a collection of wonderful old jars, so I lined them up and, much like I used to divide jelly beans among my kids at Easter, I dealt out the rocks. A little bit for everyone.

Today, one of the shelves in my living room holds part of that collection and all the memories that come with it.

The top shelf is dedicated to Todd's dad. The flag was presented by the American Legion to Todd's sister in recognition of his service in the Navy.

The middle shelf is dedicated to my dad. It includes a few mementos from his career at Sears, along with some Hummels that remind me of the years he was stationed in Germany.

As I look at those shelves, I see more than rocks and keepsakes. I see family stories  and reminders of the lives they lived. And every time I walk by, I think of my dad's comment about the moving van and smile.

wednesday's words and wanderings and wonderings

It's July, and we're officially in the second half of the year. Where does the time go?

I've been having fun in the kitchen lately. I've baked three ricotta cakes: one with strawberries and plums, one with peaches and blueberries, and one with strawberries, peaches, and blueberries. Two were gifted to friends, and I kept one to share with my son and daughter-in-law.

What else have I been making? Zucchini blueberry muffins, a fresh zucchini-corn-tomato medley, and green beans, onions, and potatoes cooked with bacon to accompany steaks on the grill. As you can tell, it's peak summer vegetable season, and I'm embracing it wholeheartedly.

At the moment, a heat dome has settled over the area. It's been oppressively hot and  our afternoon walks have shifted to the early morning hours. The neighborhood dog walkers are keeping their outings short, strolling only a few houses at a time and letting their pups walk in the grass to avoid burning their paws. The street near my yoga studio was recently blacktopped, and the difference in temperature between the sidewalk and the road is very noticeable. Whew!

As shown on this map from the New York Times, the state of Ohio is covered in red.

Working at the farm continues to be a joy. For the past few weeks, the question we've heard most often has been, "When are you getting corn?" As of Monday, the answer is: now! We finally have sweet corn, and there are lots of happy customers.

I didn't take many photos this week, but I did spend some time doing a little photo shoot with my coneflowers.

the times they are a-changin'

Wow... how writing a research paper has changed.

Back in the day, research meant going to the library. You’d start with the card catalog, looking up a topic and then hunting through the shelves for books that might contain the information you needed. From there, it was a deep dive into encyclopedias, microfiche, newspapers, magazines, and whatever other publications were available. Once you found something useful, you copied the information onto index cards, made Xerox copies, or simply wrote notes on notebook paper. Then came the task of organizing and synthesizing all of that information into a coherent paper.

Along came computers, the internet, and online databases. Suddenly, research was available at your fingertips. Information could be copied, pasted, and stored in digital files for organization. Even then, I still wrote a lot of notes by hand and often used actual scissors and tape to cut apart and group ideas before drafting a paper. After all the gathering and organizing came the writing, weaving everything together into a cohesive final product.

When I was teaching, Wikipedia had become a popular source of information, but it wasn’t considered a valid academic source because it was crowd-sourced and could be edited by anyone.

And now there’s AI. Artificial Intelligence. Type in a topic, and a paper can be generated in seconds.

As times change, the way we do things changes too. I’m grateful for the skills I learned all those years ago. The process of digging for information, evaluating sources, and connecting ideas taught me far more than how to write a research paper. It developed critical thinking, problem-solving, and analytical skills that continue to serve me in many other aspects of life.

monday's mulling: early morning walks

We’ve been dog-sitting our son’s 8-year-old black Lab since last Wednesday. 2021 was our last year of having a dog in the house, and while we don’t plan to own another canine, we do enjoy the time with our temporary houseguest.

Brutus (aka B, B-Dog, B-Doggy, and Brutie) is an early riser, so our first walks of the day have been starting at 5:30 a.m. Todd and I take turns walking him around the neighborhood. Sometimes we simply go down the street and back; other times our walks last a little longer. We’ve also managed to avoid rainy day outings when precipitation was in the forecast.

I’ve really enjoyed these early morning walks. Brutus is a very sniffy dog, so I let him take his time exploring whatever scent has captured his attention. A dog’s sense of smell is remarkable. Years ago, when I took one of my dogs to the vet, I commented on how much he sniffed. The vet explained the difference between a dog’s nose and a human’s with this analogy: while a person might walk into a room and smell a pot of vegetable soup, a dog can smell the individual ingredients, the carrots, the broth, the salt, and the spices.

At this early hour, the birds are beginning to wake up, too. At first, only a few chirp their morning greetings, but by the end of our walk, the neighborhood is filled with a symphony of birdsong.

For me, it’s a peaceful way to begin the day: walking gently through a world that is just waking up, myself included. I’m not thinking about my to-do list. It’s simply one foot in front of the other, letting B-Dog do his dog things: stopping to pee, stopping to poop (I carry poop bags and, in fact, keep a supply at home), and sniff, sniff, sniff.

Good morning, world, and Happy Monday!

 

flower power!

"If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change."  ~ Buddha

 

grand handprints

Recently, a growing number of chipmunks is taking over our small patio garden. The little critters are cute, but they're also becoming quite a nuisance. They've been burrowing through the flower beds and destroying some of our lilies. My neighbor has noticed the increase in chipmunk activity as well and recently purchased some chipmunk repellent. Following her game plan, I made a trip to Home Depot in search of something to discourage these pesky rodents.

While walking through the parking lot, I spotted a truck covered in handprints. Of course I stopped to take a photo. How could I not?

As I stood there, I found myself wondering: What's the story behind this truck?

Maybe Grandpa discovered it at an auction. It wasn't flashy. The paint was faded, the bumpers showed a little rust, and maybe it rattled when it started.

But in Grandma and Grandpa's eyes, it was perfect.

They had a plan.

One Saturday afternoon, they invited all their grandchildren over. They spread canvases across the driveway, rolled the old truck onto them, and opened cans of white and yellow paint. One by one, each grandchild dipped their hands into the paint and pressed them onto the hood, doors, and sides of the truck.

Giggles and squeals of delight ensued.

Some handprints were carefully placed, others were smudged and crooked, each one was treasured.

When the painting was finished, Grandpa stepped back, admired the truck, and smiled. "This isn't just an old truck anymore," he said. "It's our family."

Later that evening, with a stencil and a brush, Grandma and Grandpa added a final touch along the sides and tailgate:

HAND PAINTED BY OUR GRANDCHILDREN

From that day forward, the truck wasn't just for hauling mulch or picking up lumber. It became the vehicle for ice cream runs, fishing trips, family adventures, and countless memories.

It's not newest truck on the road and it's not the shiniest.

But it is the one with the most love.