"Air-popped popcorn has only 31 calories per cup; oil-popped popcorn has only 55
calories per cup."
The Popcorn Board
Both taste good, but sometimes a matter of preference. She has two kids. One son and one daughter. She says she didn't mean to stay in her first marriage as long as she did, but her son came along and could not leave what she started. The second one, which is me was basically a last effort to try to keep the marriage together.
She says that back then she was in such a hurry to get out of the house that she would've married anyone that her father approved. But her intent was to just stay long enough to say she gave it a shot. She wanted out of the "jail" home life she grew up in. Her father was very particular as to who was going to marry his daughters. Each of the stalk girls had to bring forward their future husbands to get approval. Many were turned away and the ones that were approved, they ran with it. Not all of the husbands were good husbands. There has been some cases of infidelity, alcoholism, neglect and one unsure of his sexuality. There has been some cases of physical and mental abuse. And more than a pinchful of trust issues.
She was a virgin when she married my dad. She said they didn't really talk about sex at home because it was forbidden. Each stalk had to go out and figure out on their wedding night the whole deal about sex. Now, you can't get the stalks to shut up about sex. They pick the most inappropriate settings, like the dinner table to talk about sex. Love it when we have sausage as part of a meal. Anyway, she had no idea how to protect herself against pregnancy. Of course, within months, she found herself pregnant.
When she delivered her kids, my dad wasn't around. Back then men weren't allowed in the delivery rooms. Or he chose not to. My mom told me that my dad was at work when I came out. He wouldn't take a day off of work.
She had no idea on how to raise a child either. Her mother always took care of the seedlings in the garden. She was out playing sports before paying attention to child-rearing techniques. She used to put milk and rice inside of baby bottles to make sure we were fed. She used to give meat and rice to us at 3 months using her hands versus baby cereal from a spoon. She would watch what her stalks did with their seedlings, but never really knew how to care for her own babies. My dad did most of the raising. To this day, my brother and I are amazed we are alive today from the stories she would tell us.
As a wife, in our culture, the wife always cooked and served the man. I don't think any of the stalk's husbands today have ever taken a plate from the cupboard and actually served themselves. At family gatherings, the stalks would be in line first to get a plate of food ready for their husbands. Next the stalks would line up again to feed the kids and finally if they had anything left, they would feed themselves. If a husband or child needed seconds, the stalks would get up and get it before they could sit down and eat. She always looks at me at family functions and tells me to get a plate for my husband. I say, "He's a grown man, he can get what he wants." She often looks embarrassed because she is worried what the other stalks would say about how she raised me. But their seedlings would do the same as me. That is definitely a duty that died off in the last frost.
But like old world countries, the boy child was the precious treasure. Their mommas always spoiled them. Some of them never had to help out around the house. The girls had to learn to serve them as part of their eduction to womanhood. I think that's why my mother played sports, just to be around that carefree world. But she was often dragged home to help out and often burning dinners she was in charge of making for the family.
To this day she has this same favoritism towards my brother and my son. She would cook up a storm and sit all day and wait for my brother to come and visit her. For me, the one she lived with most of the time, never lifted a finger to help me clean, and very rarely cooked. But I would be expected to cook and clean if my brother's presence was expected in "my" house. Even if my brother said that he would have a holiday dinner at his house, my mom would cook from our house to take over to his house because he was so generous as to host the celebration. Crazy.
She also is the same with my children. My son who is younger gets special treatment than my daughter. It was hard to watch and the trigger of many arguments between her and I. If my son did bad in school it was the teacher's fault, it was the other kids bothering him or the school itself. Not the fact that my son has selective hearing on his own accord and tries to be the center of attention in school. When it comes to my daughter, although she loves her, she gives her nothing but tough love. My kids could be fighting on the living room floor, my son on top of my daughter, my mother would be screaming at the top of her lungs claiming its my daughter's fault. When the kids come home from school, all she cares about is that my son has his food ready. Or when she is grocery shopping, she will buy snacks for my son and fruit for my daughter because my daughter is a bigger frame than my son. Very hurtful. In her mind, she is doing what she thinks is right, but it hurts me to watch, let alone my teenage daughter to feel more insecure about herself.
So you see, its a matter of preference, no matter the cost, no matter the health benefits, one always dominates over the other.
She Pops like Popcorn. She is in her Golden Buttery stage of life.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Why is Popcorn the favorite snack?
Popcorn has been a favorite snack for generations and it is one of the healthier and more economic snacks you can buy. What isn't to like? This fluffy treat can help to turn a dull evening into something special. Add a movie or play a game and when you add popcorn, you've got a party.
Both children and adults love the tasty treat and it cooks up quicker than anything else. Whether you pop it in the microwave or cook it on the stove, you can have a hot, buttery snack in under five minutes. Wildly popular at movie theaters and other entertainment venues, it can be expensive to purchase when you're out for a night out on the town, but it is one of the most economical snack foods you can buy for the home.
Popcorn is low in calories and for those who are watching their salt, there are other seasonings that can be used to spice up the flavor. In addition, if you don't want to get any of the fat content, you can buy a popcorn popper that cooks with hot air instead of oil.
While the popular brands of chips hover around $3 per bag, you can purchase an entire bag of popcorn kernels for about $1. In addition, a bag of kernels will last most families for weeks instead of days so when things are tight at the grocery store, consider your options and think about how economical popcorn truly is. You can also make it more exciting by drizzling caramel over it or rolling it into balls.
Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/4416029
If you ask the stalks' children, she is the favorite stalk of them all. She is the life of the party. She makes people laugh with they way she views life as well as how she tells a story with her accent. She is the dancer that dances in a crowd when not many other are. She is the one that can shop for a deal like no other and she is the one who screams the loudest with profanities while watching the Packers. In her order of priority it goes like this: God, Green Bay Packers, family and then there is everything else.
We had a small gathering for her 70th birthday party. It just so happen to fall on a Packer Sunday. I get embarrassed by her behavior, others find her funny. She is down right abrasive. Anyway, we have my typical family with includes my brother and his kids, my family and my cousins and their kids. My husband is usually the one who definitely loses it during a game. He can make calls before they are announced by the ref. And he, like my mother, can also make the inappropriate comments no matter what age is in the room. The Packers could be winning 70-7 and if the other team scores, my mother goes right through the roof. "Get him! Get him! Kill him!". Because that is how they play football in the NFL. If the kicker doesn't make the goal, "You son-of-a-bitch! That is your only job!" If the other team is playing dirty and hurts one of our Packer players, "YOU DIRTY BASTARD!". Both my cousin and I stared at each other in shock. And we were worried about my husband going for miles using the "F word", my mother throws that one in. My brother looks at everyone in the room "Lovely isn't she?" he throws in sarcastically. Those comments came in after only 1 drink. One of the worst days of my mom's life is when football season is over. "Now What?"
When I was a kid around 9 or 10, my cousin and I would always go to the high school after school on a Friday night or through the summer for open swim. You would pay $2 bucks to swim for hours indoors. They had life guards who literally never looked at any of the kids swimming. They would only pay attention if they heard a parent say "No running" to one of their kids. Then the life guard would scream, "NO RUNNING", use his whistle and sit back down looking all fierce in the face because they had to pay attention. Anyway, sometimes my mom would come and swim with my cousin and I. Afterwards, we would always take a shower. Either rinse off with our swimsuits on or take a full shower naked. I despised the shower time because my mom would find it her opportunity to be a complete goofball. She would dance naked in the shower and try to sing in her accent, "Do you think I'm sexy, come on baby let me know" by Rod Stewart. And yes, she would even do a little air guitar in there. Did I say she was naked? Ughhhhh, I was always wishing none of my friends would be there, but no, they were there too. Loved my childhood. Everyone always remembers my mom because their mother's were no where near how mine was. Everybody else's mom seemed to bake, sew, volunteer and pick up their kids from school. Even though the shower scenes was always awful, she redeemed herself by making the most delicious sandwiches. No matter where I went, she would either give me money or pack a sandwich(es) just to make sure I ate and never went hungry. My cousin and I to this day would talk about those delicious roast beef sandwiches. My mouth waters now as I am writing this. They were perfect. They were always a leftover roast beef cuts from the night before. She would pack them really hot and so when we were done swimming, they were just perfectly warm to eat. They were perfect slices of roast beef, smothered with a very thick brown gravy on a super soft white sandwich bread. For some reason, by the time we ate the sandwiches, the bread wasn't soggy, it was just warm and soft. She was like the Houdini of roast beef sandwiches. My cousin and I would pound them down like they our last meal. And we would push them down with bubbler water. There was no need for a Hostess snack cake for dessert or a bag of chips, that sandwich instantly put you at a full tank. The worst was to ride our bikes home afterwards if we didn't have a ride. With that sandwich in our guts and biking about 2-3 miles home, you were bound to head for the bathroom right after that. But those sandwiches were legendary.
Many of my friends knew that my mom worked for a brewery. I think this was my advantage and disadvantage. As I said before, during my years of high school my mom and I were more like roommates versus mom and daughter. We were freshman and my friends and I were not invited to go to the prom. As it turned out, alot of people didn't get the invite either. I hung out with a group of partiers, of course, because my mom taught me how to party. Anyway, there were a few parents that were cool about having a party. Well we found out that the word got out quickly that our group was going to have a Prom Reject Party. It was held in the basement of one of my friend's house. Her parents were upstairs alway oblivious of what was going on in the basement. Kind of similar to That 70's Show, Foreman's basement. Turns out, there were more kids at our reject party than the prom. In fact a few people from the prom came to the party. Well, when there is a party, and living in very rural Wisconsin, there is alcohol. My mom could get beer at a huge discount from the brewery. My mom was outside of the small basement window delivering us cases among cases of beer. Now my friends parents already had booze in the basement to begin with, but after my mom made the delivery, we had more than a church festival. We charged $3 bucks a head of course. It was fun. But unfortunately, people knew who supplied the beer and would always ask if I could bring the beer going forward versus trying to use the first course of action which was to dress like an adult and use a fake id. Yes, there were times where we were busted for underage drinking if we couldn't outrun the cops. We would try to hide in closets under clothes, jump off balconies and take off to a field, run in other people's yards and hid in bushes. I had a friend who was so small and thin that she could fit in between the drawers of a water bed. Don't ask, but she could do it. But of course, who came to the rescue to pick us up from the police station? She would. She really didn't yell at me, she just was more inconvenienced because she was either at work or on a date to pick me up.
Like I said, she was and is like not many other mothers, but she's mine. She's the tasteful condiment to any party. She will add flavor to any dull setting. Still popping away.
Monday, April 29, 2013
How to keep Popped Popcorn fresh
Store your popped popcorn in a glass or plastic container with a tight-fitting lid. Keep it in a dark, dry place away from any moisture--moisture and air are the surest ways to end up with stale or soggy popcorn. Popcorn that has been purchased already popped, such as a bag of popcorn from a popcorn shop, can also be stored in this manner.
Read more: How to Keep Popcorn Fresh | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_5794649_keep-popcorn-fresh.html#ixzz2ROLLSXyq
Just because she has been married twice, had children and now permanently retired, doesn't mean she has to turn into soggy popcorn after its popped.
Her need to always be independent is never stale. If too much air gets in her container, she moves on to a better tight-fitting container or changes lids.
If I look back, she does remind me of having the lifestyle of a gypsy. Her need to keep things new and refreshed is part of who she is. She has struggled last week with moving from my house to a "senior" community. By no means does she think she is a senior. Her definition of a senior is one that has gray/white hair, no teeth, a rocking chair, needs help walking across the street and possibly a knitter or bridge player.
She is none of the above. I believe that she believes she is still in her forties. After her divorce from number two, she had to prove a point. She had to push her new found freedom to the max. She had to prove that she was a survivor.
I went to live with my dad while she finished up her remains of the so-called, "the grass may be greener" marriage. It was the 80's when she went back to the single status. She showed up to her final divorce date with two of her stalks supporting her. She wearing a purple and gray, horizontal stripped three-quarter sleeve-length puffy prairie top with a ruffle purple mini skirt and pumps. The two supportive stalks told her to change her clothes. They were in fear of the judge looking at her once and making a decision that she was a floosey and give her the shaft in that divorce. Which that is exactly what happened. All she wanted was to get her walking papers and walk away from that nightmare with a few things to survive and start new. She could of gotten so much more, but didn't care. The two stalks said that she should of fought everything. But she was done fighting.
She could finally see her friends from work and family members again without having to report in every five minutes. Before I moved to Texas to be with my dad, I remember the cops coming to our house quite a bit. I'm not so sure if he was hitting her, but there were always death threats that may have ended her life at any time. The last time I saw him, He was sleeping on our couch that turned into a bed in the middle of the living room, drunk and had a loaded pistol in his hand. One wrong move, he could have blown someone or something away. I called the cops because I thought it would be best that a professional try to remove the gun versus my mom or myself. He woke up abruptly as the cops hovered over him and was slurring something. The chief of police just so happened to be one of my closest friends father. He let me stay at their house while the plans for me to leave was in the makings. I went home one last time to pack before I left for the plane. He was passed out in the bedroom and my mom wanted me to apologize for calling the cops. I refused. Why should I apologize for his stupidity? I didn't see him as I said good bye to my mom. I hugged her tightly because I truly didn't know if there would be another time to see her.
Well a year went by after I moved back. I got real home sick and I missed her alot. I didn't like living in Texas and with my lunatic Bible-beating step mother. My dad bought me a ticket to go back to Wisconsin for Christmas. Because my mother and dad weren't able to communicate with each other, he just bought the ticket and sent me on my way. No details as to who was picking me up from the airport was in place. I arrived a couple of days before Christmas and my mom was working. She had been working so much, she forgot I was coming. So one of the stalks picked me up from the airport and let me stay there until my mom came home. When the stalk called her, she was like "WHAAAAATTT??? She's here?". My mom really forgot I was even in the picture. I think when the divorce was final, everything before that was final. Including me.
When I finally saw my mom, she was actually upset with me. I thought she would've missed me like I missed her. I left her so she could close the book on that section of her life. But apparently, she was having a good time without me. She had gotten a nice apartment with a beautiful pool, new car and new wardrobe. She was working alot, but with the pay she was making, she could splurge. I came to find out that she was going out alot to the bars, went on trips that I never new about and just partying it up. I didn't like that she was going out so much, because knowing her, she would pick up a husband #3. So with that notion, I never used my other part of the round trip ticket, leaving my step-mother at the airport waiting for me. I didn't care. Someone had to watch over her. And that someone, wound up being me.
She worked third shift and I went to school while she was at home. Sometimes, and I didn't want to believe it, but I saw hickeys on her neck. Great, that what she was doing while I was at school. I'd walk into the apartment and I would look around the apartment like it was tainted. A little grossed out. I wasn't around alot on the weekends. I picked up a job at the mall for spending and gas money on my Chevy Citation she bought for me. It looked like a hexagon looking vehicle with wheels. Didn't matter, it was wheels for me to get around. We were like roommates.
She made more money when she purchased a town-house during my senior year. My brother and his wife were in transition between leaving their apartment and waiting for the closing on their new home. So they lived there, with me and my mom. My sister-in-law was going to deliver their first child any day. It was crowded. Then all of a sudden, she tells us that a guy she has been seeing is going to live with us. OH GEEZ, WHERE DID THIS ONE SLIP IN FROM? Anyway, she just lived with him for a little bit. He did slap her once, and he was out. He was a disabled guy with a limp. Drank alot. That's where the slap came from. Luckily my brother was there. My brother handled the situation and the now ex-boyfriend was out. It didn't break her. She just kept partying along. Tossed the lid on that one and replaced it with another and another and another. I never want to see my mother hurt. However, she does have a mouth that does get her in trouble. She is a classic case of "not thinking before you speak".
Today, was her first real day at her new studio apartment. I worry about her an her antics. She thinks she IS a spring chicken. My husband goes over there to help her set up her flat screen television. My husband says that she is doing good and your mother is her typical self. We have been married for over 21 years, so he knows of her complete and utter sassiness. She said "Look at my apartment, isn't it beautiful? I love it. Look at my curtains. Everything is red. It's my red district." As she clapped her hands together and rubbed them together eagerly like its the most exciting thing. He told her, "It looks real nice mom, are you happy?" I know he is like me, that we are both trying to make sure that the decision she made was a good one. We only want what is best for her and happy. By no means did we want her to think that we pushed her out. It was her typical life cycle. Her moving on.
"Everything is great. I am so happy. A lady came over and said I should have gotten a single bed in here versus a double bed."
"Yeah, that's true ma, you would have more space then." he commented.
"Well, you never know if I meet someone and I can't fit two people in a single bed."
"Alright, that's enough ma." My husband replied mortifyingly. "But you could have a little more room to entertain in your living area."
"If I am doing any entertaining, it will be right over there." pointing to her double bed.
"OKAY, MA, do you need anything else, because I need a little time to get my appetite back before I go home and eat what Diane cooked for dinner."
She is grinning and laughing. She knows she was making him uncomfortable. But that's her, always pushing her boundaries.
Yeah, she's good. She's happy in her new container.
Read more: How to Keep Popcorn Fresh | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_5794649_keep-popcorn-fresh.html#ixzz2ROLLSXyq
Just because she has been married twice, had children and now permanently retired, doesn't mean she has to turn into soggy popcorn after its popped.
Her need to always be independent is never stale. If too much air gets in her container, she moves on to a better tight-fitting container or changes lids.
If I look back, she does remind me of having the lifestyle of a gypsy. Her need to keep things new and refreshed is part of who she is. She has struggled last week with moving from my house to a "senior" community. By no means does she think she is a senior. Her definition of a senior is one that has gray/white hair, no teeth, a rocking chair, needs help walking across the street and possibly a knitter or bridge player.
She is none of the above. I believe that she believes she is still in her forties. After her divorce from number two, she had to prove a point. She had to push her new found freedom to the max. She had to prove that she was a survivor.
I went to live with my dad while she finished up her remains of the so-called, "the grass may be greener" marriage. It was the 80's when she went back to the single status. She showed up to her final divorce date with two of her stalks supporting her. She wearing a purple and gray, horizontal stripped three-quarter sleeve-length puffy prairie top with a ruffle purple mini skirt and pumps. The two supportive stalks told her to change her clothes. They were in fear of the judge looking at her once and making a decision that she was a floosey and give her the shaft in that divorce. Which that is exactly what happened. All she wanted was to get her walking papers and walk away from that nightmare with a few things to survive and start new. She could of gotten so much more, but didn't care. The two stalks said that she should of fought everything. But she was done fighting.
She could finally see her friends from work and family members again without having to report in every five minutes. Before I moved to Texas to be with my dad, I remember the cops coming to our house quite a bit. I'm not so sure if he was hitting her, but there were always death threats that may have ended her life at any time. The last time I saw him, He was sleeping on our couch that turned into a bed in the middle of the living room, drunk and had a loaded pistol in his hand. One wrong move, he could have blown someone or something away. I called the cops because I thought it would be best that a professional try to remove the gun versus my mom or myself. He woke up abruptly as the cops hovered over him and was slurring something. The chief of police just so happened to be one of my closest friends father. He let me stay at their house while the plans for me to leave was in the makings. I went home one last time to pack before I left for the plane. He was passed out in the bedroom and my mom wanted me to apologize for calling the cops. I refused. Why should I apologize for his stupidity? I didn't see him as I said good bye to my mom. I hugged her tightly because I truly didn't know if there would be another time to see her.
Well a year went by after I moved back. I got real home sick and I missed her alot. I didn't like living in Texas and with my lunatic Bible-beating step mother. My dad bought me a ticket to go back to Wisconsin for Christmas. Because my mother and dad weren't able to communicate with each other, he just bought the ticket and sent me on my way. No details as to who was picking me up from the airport was in place. I arrived a couple of days before Christmas and my mom was working. She had been working so much, she forgot I was coming. So one of the stalks picked me up from the airport and let me stay there until my mom came home. When the stalk called her, she was like "WHAAAAATTT??? She's here?". My mom really forgot I was even in the picture. I think when the divorce was final, everything before that was final. Including me.
When I finally saw my mom, she was actually upset with me. I thought she would've missed me like I missed her. I left her so she could close the book on that section of her life. But apparently, she was having a good time without me. She had gotten a nice apartment with a beautiful pool, new car and new wardrobe. She was working alot, but with the pay she was making, she could splurge. I came to find out that she was going out alot to the bars, went on trips that I never new about and just partying it up. I didn't like that she was going out so much, because knowing her, she would pick up a husband #3. So with that notion, I never used my other part of the round trip ticket, leaving my step-mother at the airport waiting for me. I didn't care. Someone had to watch over her. And that someone, wound up being me.
She worked third shift and I went to school while she was at home. Sometimes, and I didn't want to believe it, but I saw hickeys on her neck. Great, that what she was doing while I was at school. I'd walk into the apartment and I would look around the apartment like it was tainted. A little grossed out. I wasn't around alot on the weekends. I picked up a job at the mall for spending and gas money on my Chevy Citation she bought for me. It looked like a hexagon looking vehicle with wheels. Didn't matter, it was wheels for me to get around. We were like roommates.
She made more money when she purchased a town-house during my senior year. My brother and his wife were in transition between leaving their apartment and waiting for the closing on their new home. So they lived there, with me and my mom. My sister-in-law was going to deliver their first child any day. It was crowded. Then all of a sudden, she tells us that a guy she has been seeing is going to live with us. OH GEEZ, WHERE DID THIS ONE SLIP IN FROM? Anyway, she just lived with him for a little bit. He did slap her once, and he was out. He was a disabled guy with a limp. Drank alot. That's where the slap came from. Luckily my brother was there. My brother handled the situation and the now ex-boyfriend was out. It didn't break her. She just kept partying along. Tossed the lid on that one and replaced it with another and another and another. I never want to see my mother hurt. However, she does have a mouth that does get her in trouble. She is a classic case of "not thinking before you speak".
Today, was her first real day at her new studio apartment. I worry about her an her antics. She thinks she IS a spring chicken. My husband goes over there to help her set up her flat screen television. My husband says that she is doing good and your mother is her typical self. We have been married for over 21 years, so he knows of her complete and utter sassiness. She said "Look at my apartment, isn't it beautiful? I love it. Look at my curtains. Everything is red. It's my red district." As she clapped her hands together and rubbed them together eagerly like its the most exciting thing. He told her, "It looks real nice mom, are you happy?" I know he is like me, that we are both trying to make sure that the decision she made was a good one. We only want what is best for her and happy. By no means did we want her to think that we pushed her out. It was her typical life cycle. Her moving on.
"Everything is great. I am so happy. A lady came over and said I should have gotten a single bed in here versus a double bed."
"Yeah, that's true ma, you would have more space then." he commented.
"Well, you never know if I meet someone and I can't fit two people in a single bed."
"Alright, that's enough ma." My husband replied mortifyingly. "But you could have a little more room to entertain in your living area."
"If I am doing any entertaining, it will be right over there." pointing to her double bed.
"OKAY, MA, do you need anything else, because I need a little time to get my appetite back before I go home and eat what Diane cooked for dinner."
She is grinning and laughing. She knows she was making him uncomfortable. But that's her, always pushing her boundaries.
Yeah, she's good. She's happy in her new container.
Friday, April 26, 2013
The Spirits that are in the Popcorn seed
People have been fascinated by popcorn for centuries. Some Native Americans
believed that a spirit lived inside each kernel of popcorn. When heated, the
spirit grew angry and would eventually burst out of its home and into the air as
a disgruntled puff of steam. A less charming but more scientific explanation
exists for why popcorn pops.
The Popcorn Board
Yep, that sounds just as ridiculous as some of the ideas she has to why things happen. Some say its Voodoo, some say its Karma, some say its because a black cat crossed your path or sometime during your lifetime you walked underneath a ladder. It's not as simple as God's way, its as complicated as the towel rack all of the sudden fell off the wall and somebody is cursing you so go light a candle with the Virgin Mary on it and put a dollar bill in front of it.
I don't know, but there is always a ridiculous reason for why things happen the way they do. No lie, the towel rack incident really did happen and I ran to her and found her on her knees staring up at the bathroom ceiling, chanting to whomever about the curse. I backed up and walked out the same door I walked into.
Some of her antics are quite amusing. Some are the very rituals that people, like her, believe because it has been passed on from one harvest to another. The frost is too weak to break those spirits and beliefs. I personally only believe in God and whatever he has planned for me.
In her lifetime, her family had gone to "mediums" in the old country that to me borderline "witches". These so-called "mediums" would come only by private invites to small gatherings. Usually in some one's spare bedroom with a table in the middle and you would think you would see a crystal ball, but no, sometimes a live chicken or other sorts. Sometimes these meetings would be in a person's basement or darken kitchen. A deck of cards, not playing cards would be there. The cards would have a heart or person on a horse. Sometimes a sword would be in a picture. Or if the lady or man in the card would flip upside down it would signal something. Or if one card was too close to the other card it signified something else. So weird and strange, but sometimes predictions that came true were coincidental. That's what I chose to believe.
Every time someone new would come with the "gathering" people, the "medium" would also state in English or her native-language that all predictions or "visions" were delivered to them by God. And their talents were "gifts from God". I'm not sure if that was to build credibility or make the "newcomer" more comfortable in the dark gloomy surroundings. You have to come with no preconceived notions. They can tell just by staring at your face. In fact, the doorway may be the furtherest you get if they detect doubt. If you feel like you are getting judged or sized up, you are! The best way to test the medium and feel like you got a real "reading" is to come dressed in your plainest clothes, wearing no jewelry or anything to signify anything personal about you. Leave your purse in the car or have someone who isn't coming in the room to hold on to your personal items.
The mediums are always treated like royalty. People fear that they may do something or jinx you if you cross their paths in a negative way. In her family, one of the stalks was given the "gift" to be a medium. Sometimes I feel like she or any of them can ever say no to that stalk. There have been times in which I think that knowing that the "powers" that one has possessed might have been used in other ways to make others do things for that stalk. That's my point of view.
Some rituals that were created by these mediums included baths of good luck. The baths had to be accompanied by a prayer. You were given a jar that looked like an eyeball should be swimming around in it. The jar was a concoction of good luck potions, certain plants from a garden, spiritual water and other herbs. What I saw was water from the tap, cheap perfume that no one was ever going to wear again, vegetable or olive oil and the remains of a grass cutting that you find underneath the lawn mower. You had to put this concoction on after you fully-bathed and not bathe again until 48 hours later. And believe you me, your clothes would stick to your body. You could not put on anything else on your body like deodorant and you would literally feel the grime come off your body once you took the shower. Leaves and branches and other kinds of debris would fall to the bottom of the bathtub. Yep, you would have to go around work or in other public places with stuff in your hair or attached to your arms or legs. My husband made me sleep on the floor every time I bathed in those concoctions or spiritual bathes.
A burning candle has to be present in every medium reading. The lit candles were not a votive you would buy at Target or a Yankee Hill, but a green, blue, red, yellow or white covered glass candle that has the Virgin Mary or some other Saint printed on the glass. You can go down in the Hispanic stores and find them or look in the Hispanic section in your grocery store and you can pick one up for a buck. The candle can help bring good luck, help you win money, for good health, to get rid of bad luck, to find your sole mate, to help you with a change in jobs and for a happy marriage. By the way, all of those can be done with the bath concoction too. But with the bath and the candle, you're good.
The Popcorn Board
Yep, that sounds just as ridiculous as some of the ideas she has to why things happen. Some say its Voodoo, some say its Karma, some say its because a black cat crossed your path or sometime during your lifetime you walked underneath a ladder. It's not as simple as God's way, its as complicated as the towel rack all of the sudden fell off the wall and somebody is cursing you so go light a candle with the Virgin Mary on it and put a dollar bill in front of it.
I don't know, but there is always a ridiculous reason for why things happen the way they do. No lie, the towel rack incident really did happen and I ran to her and found her on her knees staring up at the bathroom ceiling, chanting to whomever about the curse. I backed up and walked out the same door I walked into.
Some of her antics are quite amusing. Some are the very rituals that people, like her, believe because it has been passed on from one harvest to another. The frost is too weak to break those spirits and beliefs. I personally only believe in God and whatever he has planned for me.
In her lifetime, her family had gone to "mediums" in the old country that to me borderline "witches". These so-called "mediums" would come only by private invites to small gatherings. Usually in some one's spare bedroom with a table in the middle and you would think you would see a crystal ball, but no, sometimes a live chicken or other sorts. Sometimes these meetings would be in a person's basement or darken kitchen. A deck of cards, not playing cards would be there. The cards would have a heart or person on a horse. Sometimes a sword would be in a picture. Or if the lady or man in the card would flip upside down it would signal something. Or if one card was too close to the other card it signified something else. So weird and strange, but sometimes predictions that came true were coincidental. That's what I chose to believe.
Every time someone new would come with the "gathering" people, the "medium" would also state in English or her native-language that all predictions or "visions" were delivered to them by God. And their talents were "gifts from God". I'm not sure if that was to build credibility or make the "newcomer" more comfortable in the dark gloomy surroundings. You have to come with no preconceived notions. They can tell just by staring at your face. In fact, the doorway may be the furtherest you get if they detect doubt. If you feel like you are getting judged or sized up, you are! The best way to test the medium and feel like you got a real "reading" is to come dressed in your plainest clothes, wearing no jewelry or anything to signify anything personal about you. Leave your purse in the car or have someone who isn't coming in the room to hold on to your personal items.
The mediums are always treated like royalty. People fear that they may do something or jinx you if you cross their paths in a negative way. In her family, one of the stalks was given the "gift" to be a medium. Sometimes I feel like she or any of them can ever say no to that stalk. There have been times in which I think that knowing that the "powers" that one has possessed might have been used in other ways to make others do things for that stalk. That's my point of view.
Some rituals that were created by these mediums included baths of good luck. The baths had to be accompanied by a prayer. You were given a jar that looked like an eyeball should be swimming around in it. The jar was a concoction of good luck potions, certain plants from a garden, spiritual water and other herbs. What I saw was water from the tap, cheap perfume that no one was ever going to wear again, vegetable or olive oil and the remains of a grass cutting that you find underneath the lawn mower. You had to put this concoction on after you fully-bathed and not bathe again until 48 hours later. And believe you me, your clothes would stick to your body. You could not put on anything else on your body like deodorant and you would literally feel the grime come off your body once you took the shower. Leaves and branches and other kinds of debris would fall to the bottom of the bathtub. Yep, you would have to go around work or in other public places with stuff in your hair or attached to your arms or legs. My husband made me sleep on the floor every time I bathed in those concoctions or spiritual bathes.
A burning candle has to be present in every medium reading. The lit candles were not a votive you would buy at Target or a Yankee Hill, but a green, blue, red, yellow or white covered glass candle that has the Virgin Mary or some other Saint printed on the glass. You can go down in the Hispanic stores and find them or look in the Hispanic section in your grocery store and you can pick one up for a buck. The candle can help bring good luck, help you win money, for good health, to get rid of bad luck, to find your sole mate, to help you with a change in jobs and for a happy marriage. By the way, all of those can be done with the bath concoction too. But with the bath and the candle, you're good.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Can you freeze popcorn?
Freeze popcorn you plan to store for a long time in a sealable bag with all of the air pushed out. This will keep the popcorn fresh for a year or longer. When you are ready to pop the popcorn, pour out only what you will need and let it thaw, refreezing the rest for later use.
Read more: How to Keep Popcorn Fresh | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_5794649_keep-popcorn-fresh.html#ixzz2ROLwFrpI
That's exactly what I want to do with the memories I have of her. As I look at her taking a nap on the couch reminds me of the time I took a picture of her in the hospital for a surgery she had a couple years ago. It was a female thing so I won't go into detail. But the picture I took of her looked like she was on her death bed.
She lays there like a kid taking a nap in the afternoon. And that is what she is, a kid in an older person's body. I remember the times when she used to tell me about how she played baseball. She used to play with the boys. She told me how they would get mad because she could hit the ball farther than some of them. But of course, she was thought of as a Tom-Boy and they didn't have much interest in her except for a player on the team. She said sometimes it would hurt because they liked the cheerleader type. Prissy girlie-girls that she knew she couldn't be or wouldn't. She was the type to eat meat from the bones as she held the piece in her hands. Forget the forks or napkin on the lap, she ate all hunkered down. She ate with her mouth open and would talk with her mouth full of food. Nothing really has changed with her etiquette. She is still the same.
She said sometimes girls would throw stones at her because they were jealous that she hung around the cute boys. "I knew him first and stay away from him. He's mine." the girls would yell. She had to run home every time they came after her. However, if she was in a one-to-one situation, she would just throw a punch. Yep, my mom taught me how to fight. She would tell me that her mom was the only one that could hold her back. She would be swinging her fists and my grandmother had to drag her away. But eventually as she got in her teens, and grew a rack on her chest, the boys changed their mind. Now she had to fight off both boys and girls.
Her bravery was another memory I want to seal in the freezer. Her father had left awhile to go to United States to work and make more money for the family. Well as he stayed there awhile, alone without the whole family there, he became a single man again. He was making money and only sending home $25-$50 a month back to her mother to raise the stalks of 9. It wasn't enough. Her mother went many times starving so her stalks could eat. She used to tell me that it broke her heart to watch her mother go to work as much as she did, raise the 9 and still struggle to pay the bills and put food on the table. My mom said she found out that her father had several mistresses in the states and he was having a blast without his family and throwing his money around while the stalks were starving and out growing their clothes. My mother got so mad that she went down to the mayor's office and told them about how her family was starving and her father left them to die. My mom said she was like 10 or 11 years old. Somehow, they went to the US, found her dad, dragged him back home and made him take his whole family to the states.
There was a time in which her father slapped her mother in the face. She said she was the only one in the house to jump on her father's back and try to beat him up. He pushed her off and she ran to the police to get help. They took him away. When he returned, he scoured at her and never hit her mother again. He knew that my mom wouldn't put up with that and had no problem telling on him again. At that point, my grandmother said she was so proud of my mom. She said her mother admired her strength and courage. My mom said that was a good day. Being the middle child is sometimes the hardest because there are so many others to care for. Although she also got hurt during the incident, it was worth her pain to release her mothers.
When it came to her teens, there were alot of restrictions placed on her and the other females in the house. She had to be the chaperon to her sisters who were dating. She said the bravest one was with the oldest stalk. The oldest stalk was used to make an example for the others. She said she had to sit and watch her older stalk get beaten before she left the house with friends or went on a date. "No daughter of mine will be a whore" her father said. So he would slap and beat the eldest to understand that no one should touch you or you will be punished. She would hurt so much that she couldn't enjoy herself and wasn't allowed to sleepover at friends houses. "You return home where you belong." My mom would have to chaperon her to any destination she was going to. If my mom didn't report to her father in detail what happened, then both of them would be beaten. That's how the sisters eventually became each others friends. No room for outsiders.
I think about the times in which she struggled with divorcing her second husband. I think about how this man changed my mom forever. And not for the good. My dad was her ticket to get out of the jail, I mean the house she grew up in. He was acceptable to her dad. She did the wife thing, stayed home, raised a couple of kids, did the bowling with the neighbor wives, participated in coffee-clutches and barbecues with the swimming pool in the yard. Once my dad was able to buy a house further away from the jail, my mom had it with being June Cleaver. She wanted a job of her own and making her own money and freedom. She didn't want to be with the man that her father found acceptable. Its hard for me to write this because I love my dad very much, but the fact of the matter was, he was her ticket to freedom.
The second husband came as a full disruption to the family life I once knew. This tall, long-haired hippie looking man who was by far younger than my mother by many years came home one day when my dad was at work. I felt sick when I saw him. I knew she was unhappy, and he was the definition of my destroyed home. I was only six at the time and my dad called while my mom was not within eye sight. I told my dad that this man was here. Within months later, he filed for divorce and my mother moved in with the hippie. They both worked at the brewery that she worked at. They made tons of money between the two of them. Drinking became their favorite past time. He more than her. When I came to visit her and stayed the night, I would hear arguments and her coughing alot. He became a crazy insecure man that I found out later put a gun to her head until she drank as much as he did. He also had crazy insane friends that were into guns. All of the sudden, he was filling up the gun case. A year later, I couldn't take it anymore. All I will say there was quite a few inappropriate situations that I will not go into. I moved to Texas to be with my dad. A year later she divorced him. But with him, she experienced a forbidden kind of love. He died a few years later. The alcohol caused him to have a brain aneurysm. But the damage he did still exists today. She can't escape the evil that he created. She cannot fall asleep without a drink. For that, I shed no tear for his death. But somehow in all that mess, she loved him. More than my dad. A love that no one can understand. She said she had to protect her family as well as herself. Leaving him was the hardest thing she had to do. Was it the life style? Was it the money? Was it his whole world that she never imagined being a part of? I think God spoke to her and helped her get through it. Her stalks that she grew up with in the garden came to her rescue and made sure this man was no longer her husband. For that I am grateful. Because another day, month or year, I truly believe it would of been her 6-feet in the ground instead of him. He was the serpent in the garden.
So as she lays on the couch, I know she dreams of these events I just mentioned. I know these have shaped her to be the woman she is today. Her breath stops abruptly and I say a prayer to not take her now. Seconds go on to a minute then all of a sudden it happens. Like the first loud pop in the kettle, she farts in her sleep and jumps starts her breathing and she wakes up. She looks at me with wide eyes, "What the hell was that?" she asks. "Uhhh. What do you think it was?" laughing and tearing at the same time. "I felt like I got shot." I'm still laughing to myself. "Well I think your killing me. Open a window, you farted." "Shut up, I don't smell, my farts smell like roses. You got a sensitive nose."
So much for a sentimental moment. Those are few and far between. But those stories are ones that I do want to share with my kids someday because they are what makes up her. These few incidents influence her surely demeanor today. She's not your normal tight permed, gray-haired little cookie baking nana that most kids have as a grandma today. There is some background to her and I want to freeze these memories of her and take them out when my kids have their tough days. A little at a time.
Read more: How to Keep Popcorn Fresh | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_5794649_keep-popcorn-fresh.html#ixzz2ROLwFrpI
That's exactly what I want to do with the memories I have of her. As I look at her taking a nap on the couch reminds me of the time I took a picture of her in the hospital for a surgery she had a couple years ago. It was a female thing so I won't go into detail. But the picture I took of her looked like she was on her death bed.
She lays there like a kid taking a nap in the afternoon. And that is what she is, a kid in an older person's body. I remember the times when she used to tell me about how she played baseball. She used to play with the boys. She told me how they would get mad because she could hit the ball farther than some of them. But of course, she was thought of as a Tom-Boy and they didn't have much interest in her except for a player on the team. She said sometimes it would hurt because they liked the cheerleader type. Prissy girlie-girls that she knew she couldn't be or wouldn't. She was the type to eat meat from the bones as she held the piece in her hands. Forget the forks or napkin on the lap, she ate all hunkered down. She ate with her mouth open and would talk with her mouth full of food. Nothing really has changed with her etiquette. She is still the same.
She said sometimes girls would throw stones at her because they were jealous that she hung around the cute boys. "I knew him first and stay away from him. He's mine." the girls would yell. She had to run home every time they came after her. However, if she was in a one-to-one situation, she would just throw a punch. Yep, my mom taught me how to fight. She would tell me that her mom was the only one that could hold her back. She would be swinging her fists and my grandmother had to drag her away. But eventually as she got in her teens, and grew a rack on her chest, the boys changed their mind. Now she had to fight off both boys and girls.
Her bravery was another memory I want to seal in the freezer. Her father had left awhile to go to United States to work and make more money for the family. Well as he stayed there awhile, alone without the whole family there, he became a single man again. He was making money and only sending home $25-$50 a month back to her mother to raise the stalks of 9. It wasn't enough. Her mother went many times starving so her stalks could eat. She used to tell me that it broke her heart to watch her mother go to work as much as she did, raise the 9 and still struggle to pay the bills and put food on the table. My mom said she found out that her father had several mistresses in the states and he was having a blast without his family and throwing his money around while the stalks were starving and out growing their clothes. My mother got so mad that she went down to the mayor's office and told them about how her family was starving and her father left them to die. My mom said she was like 10 or 11 years old. Somehow, they went to the US, found her dad, dragged him back home and made him take his whole family to the states.
There was a time in which her father slapped her mother in the face. She said she was the only one in the house to jump on her father's back and try to beat him up. He pushed her off and she ran to the police to get help. They took him away. When he returned, he scoured at her and never hit her mother again. He knew that my mom wouldn't put up with that and had no problem telling on him again. At that point, my grandmother said she was so proud of my mom. She said her mother admired her strength and courage. My mom said that was a good day. Being the middle child is sometimes the hardest because there are so many others to care for. Although she also got hurt during the incident, it was worth her pain to release her mothers.
When it came to her teens, there were alot of restrictions placed on her and the other females in the house. She had to be the chaperon to her sisters who were dating. She said the bravest one was with the oldest stalk. The oldest stalk was used to make an example for the others. She said she had to sit and watch her older stalk get beaten before she left the house with friends or went on a date. "No daughter of mine will be a whore" her father said. So he would slap and beat the eldest to understand that no one should touch you or you will be punished. She would hurt so much that she couldn't enjoy herself and wasn't allowed to sleepover at friends houses. "You return home where you belong." My mom would have to chaperon her to any destination she was going to. If my mom didn't report to her father in detail what happened, then both of them would be beaten. That's how the sisters eventually became each others friends. No room for outsiders.
I think about the times in which she struggled with divorcing her second husband. I think about how this man changed my mom forever. And not for the good. My dad was her ticket to get out of the jail, I mean the house she grew up in. He was acceptable to her dad. She did the wife thing, stayed home, raised a couple of kids, did the bowling with the neighbor wives, participated in coffee-clutches and barbecues with the swimming pool in the yard. Once my dad was able to buy a house further away from the jail, my mom had it with being June Cleaver. She wanted a job of her own and making her own money and freedom. She didn't want to be with the man that her father found acceptable. Its hard for me to write this because I love my dad very much, but the fact of the matter was, he was her ticket to freedom.
The second husband came as a full disruption to the family life I once knew. This tall, long-haired hippie looking man who was by far younger than my mother by many years came home one day when my dad was at work. I felt sick when I saw him. I knew she was unhappy, and he was the definition of my destroyed home. I was only six at the time and my dad called while my mom was not within eye sight. I told my dad that this man was here. Within months later, he filed for divorce and my mother moved in with the hippie. They both worked at the brewery that she worked at. They made tons of money between the two of them. Drinking became their favorite past time. He more than her. When I came to visit her and stayed the night, I would hear arguments and her coughing alot. He became a crazy insecure man that I found out later put a gun to her head until she drank as much as he did. He also had crazy insane friends that were into guns. All of the sudden, he was filling up the gun case. A year later, I couldn't take it anymore. All I will say there was quite a few inappropriate situations that I will not go into. I moved to Texas to be with my dad. A year later she divorced him. But with him, she experienced a forbidden kind of love. He died a few years later. The alcohol caused him to have a brain aneurysm. But the damage he did still exists today. She can't escape the evil that he created. She cannot fall asleep without a drink. For that, I shed no tear for his death. But somehow in all that mess, she loved him. More than my dad. A love that no one can understand. She said she had to protect her family as well as herself. Leaving him was the hardest thing she had to do. Was it the life style? Was it the money? Was it his whole world that she never imagined being a part of? I think God spoke to her and helped her get through it. Her stalks that she grew up with in the garden came to her rescue and made sure this man was no longer her husband. For that I am grateful. Because another day, month or year, I truly believe it would of been her 6-feet in the ground instead of him. He was the serpent in the garden.
So as she lays on the couch, I know she dreams of these events I just mentioned. I know these have shaped her to be the woman she is today. Her breath stops abruptly and I say a prayer to not take her now. Seconds go on to a minute then all of a sudden it happens. Like the first loud pop in the kettle, she farts in her sleep and jumps starts her breathing and she wakes up. She looks at me with wide eyes, "What the hell was that?" she asks. "Uhhh. What do you think it was?" laughing and tearing at the same time. "I felt like I got shot." I'm still laughing to myself. "Well I think your killing me. Open a window, you farted." "Shut up, I don't smell, my farts smell like roses. You got a sensitive nose."
So much for a sentimental moment. Those are few and far between. But those stories are ones that I do want to share with my kids someday because they are what makes up her. These few incidents influence her surely demeanor today. She's not your normal tight permed, gray-haired little cookie baking nana that most kids have as a grandma today. There is some background to her and I want to freeze these memories of her and take them out when my kids have their tough days. A little at a time.
The Best Way to keep Popcorn fresh
Fill an airtight container or sealable bag with any kernels left in the bag after opening.
Store your popcorn in a cool, dark area that is free from excess heat and moisture.
Read more: How to Keep Popcorn Fresh | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_5794649_keep-popcorn-fresh.html#ixzz2ROMMtDwI
When your garden has many stalks, it sometimes suffocates. If they are planted too close together, their leaves get entangled in other stalks causing the popcorn seeds to be not so tasty due to suffocation. Sometimes too much heat makes for a 5 alarm drill and everyone comes running due to the attention that is needed and priority of the alarm before the seeds dry out. Too much moisture can cause a seed to never fully develop to its expected capacity which may also need extra tending. So how do you keep fresh?
She sometimes tells me about how it was growing up. She could never fully understand why people act the way they do in her family. They all came from the same garden, yet each are so different from each other. For example, there was the 8th stalk that caused alot of trouble in their early years because he felt that others always got more of the sunlight. As the others were "perceived" to be gaining all of the sunlight, the 8th was getting its nutrients from pulling more of its enrichment from the soil that the others depended on.
She told me of a time that the whole family was sitting around the table waiting for dinner. Because of the times, big family and her father overseas, money was tight. Siblings always fought for whatever reason, but when it came to food, it became survival. Her mother had cooked a whole chicken that had to feed the 9 stalks. Each one had received a piece of the chicken accompanied by the traditional rice to go with the meal. The 8th stalk told the rest of them to go look out the window and look at the big fight. While all of them curiously went to the window asking themselves "Where the hell is this big fight?", the troublemaker decided to eat the whole chicken all by himself. As they backed away from the window and saw that the chicken was gone, World War III erupted. Forks and spoons were flying all over the place and words were coming out of everyone's mouth like sharp daggers all aimed towards the target as he sat there full and content. It wasn't the first time it happened and by far it wasn't the last. As years had gone by,certain enrichments he became accustomed to indulging on became a huge impairment to his health. Unfortunately, he was the first stalk to die from the frost.
Others had an unbalanced mixture of heat and moisture including her. Some came close to the perfect blend but something else threw that mix off. Perhaps a lack of "proper" education, marrying the "unapproved" spouse or having children that grew in different kinds of gardens, not the preferred garden that some feel they cannot stray away from. Even though the main stalks remain in the same garden, some have grown a further distance away to receive the right amount of sunlight and its fair share of the rain drops. But under the right amount of shade to not get burned or drowned out. Isolating their weather conditions helped them live.
Sometimes I see that she gets sad because she is one of those that had to make that move to grow. When too many stalks are together they tend to intertwine too much in the life cycle that a stalk lives. Seeds don't get the chance to mature they way they want it to because of the exposure. For her, her life cycle was something the others wanted to control or have input on. Even though she had her fair share of detriments and successes in her life, I believe others were jealous of how she lived her life cycle. She is one that had no problem fighting for what she believed in. Being the protector, all though being a girl, protected her siblings if they were being bullied. Played sports like no other girl and married and divorced when it was time. Partied and travelled as she saw fit, not needing the approval of the other stalks for her survival.
Because she made the move, and the others could not get her to follow the cycles they wanted her to lead, she had a fresher outlook on how the remainder of her life will play out. She answers to no one, but God. She is free to say her opinion as she sees fit and without regret. She meets other stalks from different gardens and learns about their gardens. She is fresh. And life tastes good to her. Sealed away from the bad weather and kicking out contamination from her container of seeds. If she has to allow them in, it will be on her terms.
Store your popcorn in a cool, dark area that is free from excess heat and moisture.
Read more: How to Keep Popcorn Fresh | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_5794649_keep-popcorn-fresh.html#ixzz2ROMMtDwI
When your garden has many stalks, it sometimes suffocates. If they are planted too close together, their leaves get entangled in other stalks causing the popcorn seeds to be not so tasty due to suffocation. Sometimes too much heat makes for a 5 alarm drill and everyone comes running due to the attention that is needed and priority of the alarm before the seeds dry out. Too much moisture can cause a seed to never fully develop to its expected capacity which may also need extra tending. So how do you keep fresh?
She sometimes tells me about how it was growing up. She could never fully understand why people act the way they do in her family. They all came from the same garden, yet each are so different from each other. For example, there was the 8th stalk that caused alot of trouble in their early years because he felt that others always got more of the sunlight. As the others were "perceived" to be gaining all of the sunlight, the 8th was getting its nutrients from pulling more of its enrichment from the soil that the others depended on.
She told me of a time that the whole family was sitting around the table waiting for dinner. Because of the times, big family and her father overseas, money was tight. Siblings always fought for whatever reason, but when it came to food, it became survival. Her mother had cooked a whole chicken that had to feed the 9 stalks. Each one had received a piece of the chicken accompanied by the traditional rice to go with the meal. The 8th stalk told the rest of them to go look out the window and look at the big fight. While all of them curiously went to the window asking themselves "Where the hell is this big fight?", the troublemaker decided to eat the whole chicken all by himself. As they backed away from the window and saw that the chicken was gone, World War III erupted. Forks and spoons were flying all over the place and words were coming out of everyone's mouth like sharp daggers all aimed towards the target as he sat there full and content. It wasn't the first time it happened and by far it wasn't the last. As years had gone by,certain enrichments he became accustomed to indulging on became a huge impairment to his health. Unfortunately, he was the first stalk to die from the frost.
Others had an unbalanced mixture of heat and moisture including her. Some came close to the perfect blend but something else threw that mix off. Perhaps a lack of "proper" education, marrying the "unapproved" spouse or having children that grew in different kinds of gardens, not the preferred garden that some feel they cannot stray away from. Even though the main stalks remain in the same garden, some have grown a further distance away to receive the right amount of sunlight and its fair share of the rain drops. But under the right amount of shade to not get burned or drowned out. Isolating their weather conditions helped them live.
Sometimes I see that she gets sad because she is one of those that had to make that move to grow. When too many stalks are together they tend to intertwine too much in the life cycle that a stalk lives. Seeds don't get the chance to mature they way they want it to because of the exposure. For her, her life cycle was something the others wanted to control or have input on. Even though she had her fair share of detriments and successes in her life, I believe others were jealous of how she lived her life cycle. She is one that had no problem fighting for what she believed in. Being the protector, all though being a girl, protected her siblings if they were being bullied. Played sports like no other girl and married and divorced when it was time. Partied and travelled as she saw fit, not needing the approval of the other stalks for her survival.
Because she made the move, and the others could not get her to follow the cycles they wanted her to lead, she had a fresher outlook on how the remainder of her life will play out. She answers to no one, but God. She is free to say her opinion as she sees fit and without regret. She meets other stalks from different gardens and learns about their gardens. She is fresh. And life tastes good to her. Sealed away from the bad weather and kicking out contamination from her container of seeds. If she has to allow them in, it will be on her terms.
The soil in which the Popcorn grows
"Popcorn can be safely planted after the last killing frost in spring. Your crop will need plenty of sunlight. Add compost or composted manure to the garden bed where the popcorn will be planted. Corn is a warm-weather, needy crop that requires plenty of water combined with rich soil. Popcorn comes in many varieties and colors including white, yellow, red, black and blue. Regardless of the seed color, all popcorn pops up white when cooked. Growing your own popcorn will result in a healthier, more delicious snack."
Thank you e-how and Yahoo Voices.
So much can be read into learning how to grow your own popcorn. My popcorn that I refer to as "her", which is my mother was practically grown in that exact process.
There is so much to the history in a family's soil which enhances to the growth and development of the popcorn seed. Understanding where family comes from and the lives that were led explains alot of how she is today.
Before the last killing frost, there was a whole generation before hers that explains the family dynamic today. In my grandmother's mother time, there was so much tragedy and deception that had occurred which created the a distinct taste of insecurity in this family. My grandmother's mother had several children with my grandmother's father. Mostly girls were bred. My grandmother's mother knew that her husband was unfaithful, but wasn't sure with who. He was a very successful business man with alot of money. Sometimes, when men have too much wealth, they think they are untouchable and can have anything, even if it may hurt others. For example: Tiger Woods, Kobe Bryant, Sen. John Edwards and the list goes on and on. When she found out it was with her sister, my grandmother's mother committed suicide by drinking opium. Then after her death, her husband went crazy and burned all the money he had and only kept the change, leaving the family in poverty.
That story has lived through many popcorn harvests. To this day and in fact, yesterday we discussed it again as she was talking about the "family soil" and how it has impacted the crops in her garden. In her garden there were 9 stalks. Today there are 8 remaining stalks left. Each are a "needy crop" in their own way. Some need to be the center of attention, some need to feel superior by trying to damage other stalks through insult and isolation and some do just fine with what they were given because they realize, despite all differences "they all pop white".
Being that she is the stalk in the middle of this garden, she has some insecurities, she is one that wants other's to hear her voice and she is one that also realizes she has to accept what each stalk is made of and move on with her life. Hoping the seeds she planted will grow and learn from what the "the last killing frost" left behind.
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