I am my mother's daughter

My mom is literally a part of me. You can't say that about many people, except relatives and organ donors. ~ Carrie Latet


When we are younger, we always assume we know what's best for us -- often to our detriment. But, that's part of growing up and learning from our mistakes.

Now that I'm older, and supposedly "wiser," I find, as many often do, that my mom was right all along. And the scary thing is, I'm starting to think and act like her too.

I can't really pinpoint when it happened, that I transformed into my mother -- I only know that somehow it did.

Let me explain. Driving with my husband through town the other day, we passed the high school as kids were getting out and heading home, and my mother distinctly came out, loud and clear, from my own mouth as I found myself saying, "How could her mother let her out of the house dressed like that?" As soon as I said it, I clasped my hand over my mouth, and looked at my husband -- who, grinning ear to ear, replied, "Was that you or your mom?"

It happened again here in the office, when I had a reporter running late to a story and reminded her to take her time and drive carefully. Over her shoulder she said, "Yes, mom," with a smile.

Just recently, we had friends coming in for the holidays, and I spent all evening the night before they arrived hurriedly cleaning, scrubbing and putting things away to make sure our cabin was "presentable." I may have actually scared the dogs, who were not familiar with the type and intensity of militant cleaning that was going on.

And why was I cleaning like a crazed scullery maid? Because in my mind, I have visions of my mother and our impeccable home - not a spec of dust to be found, no streaks on the windows -- just a perfectly comfortable and amazingly clean home that always greeted our guests, whether they were the neighborhood kids covered in dirt and grass stains or men in three piece suits from my father's office.

The final straw came in a phone call with a relative who, just before ending the conversation, noted that I sounded "just like your mother."

And to be honest, I'm taking it as a compliment, because my mother is an amazing woman -- smart, witty and able to multi-task with the best of them. Now, if I could just figure out how to do everything she did -- running a household, dealing with kids and a husband, handling pets and taking care of finances -- and still do my day job, I'll have it made.

Whatever happened to the "Thanks" in Thanksgiving?

To speak gratitude is courteous and pleasant, to enact gratitude is generous and noble, but to live gratitude is to touch Heaven. ~Johannes A. Gaertner


Gratitude, that simple acknowledgement of thanks for something -- anything really -- a friend, a flower, a good meal. How sorely are we lacking in modern times of this simple gift on a daily basis?

In my opinion, Thanksgiving is one of the most abused festivals in our holiday calendar, for we live in a society that has largely forgotten how good it can be to feel grateful.

100 years ago, a harvest thanksgiving really meant something to the farmers and their families who had worked all year in the fields. A poor crop a century ago did not mean higher prices for avocados and oranges at Walmart. It meant real deprivation, with the potential for starvation staved off only by the charity of others or the local soup kitchen, if there even was one. A couple of bad harvests meant the loss of a lifetime's work and families driven from their land.

A century ago the opportunity to give thanks around a table laden with autumn's harvest treasures was a deeply meaningful celebration, a chance to breathe a sigh of relief. Life would go on until next Spring's new beginning.

Today, the vast majority of the population lives in cities and urban areas. The world has changed. Our western civilization has developed the mechanisms to ensure that no one needs to starve to death. Fresh vegetables ands fruits are available in supermarkets year round now. But there was a time when they were something for which you were grateful.

My husband's favorite Christmas gift growing up on a farm in rural Louisiana was an orange - can you imagine that? In today's world of fast food and frozen food aisles, an orange was what he most looked forward to.

We have become a society where more and more people drift through their lives oblivious to the gifts laid before them. They have never known want or deprivation. They don't know how to feel grateful for things that have just always "been there" for them.

When we come down with an illness, we expect medical science to fix it. When we lose a job, possibly even through our own negligence, we expect a good severance package or, failing that, we look to the government to pick up the tab and help us get back on our feet. When something bad happens we cannot understand why the police can't rectify the situation and protect us from, ... well, everything.

Let us rejoice in being alive. Let us rejoice in being with family and friends now and then. Let us rejoice in being part of humanity. Let us dare to say, "Hi" to a stranger and even risk a smile. Okay, they might not smile back, being taken by surprise and all, but perhaps they will smile at the next person. Expressing your gratitude gives a gift to someone else.

Long ago the Jewish philosopher Maimonedes described a hierarchy of giving. At the pinnacle of that pyramid was the anonymous gift. It was the most religious and blessed thing we could do, he said, to give without any expectation. It was the ultimate act of gratitude, being able to say, "What God has given me, I will give away."

This Thanksgiving, let us remember to pause and appreciate the good things that have come our way. Let us also pause to appreciate the tests that have challenged us and helped us grow into the people we have become. Let the song of gratitude swell in our hearts. Let us not withdraw into a sense of "entitlement." Instead, let us embrace life and spread that joy, and take the time to be grateful.

The road to self sufficiency is paved with a lot of blood and guts

Living on a homestead, and working towards being self-sufficient is a somewhat painstaking process. First, you have to buy some workable land and build your home, preferably without having a mortgage or loan left over following the process.
Then, comes the well and electricity to run the well and power your home. We are currently on the grid for power, but have future plans to combine solar and wind energy to eventually get off the grid, plus we have the house wired for a generator back-up should the grid ever go down.

Next up are the gardens and cultivating enough land over several seasons to produce a bountiful harvest all year long. This includes rotational planting, the erection of greenhouses and a cold storage option, such as a cellar or basement of some type. We settled on an acre of harvestable land, two greenhouses for food production through the winter months, a root cellar, and, next Spring, fruit and nut trees to go in on a plot of our land close to the river. We are also going to start up a bee hive in the spring, to help with pollination and to produce our own honey for home brewing and for a natural sweetener alternative, along with Stevia.

The next step is where the blood and guts come in. Chickens, rabbits, goats and -- in future -- a dexter cow or two.

Now, please remember -- I'm a born and bred New York City Girl. Yes, I have managed to live happily in a tent, roughing it in the outdoors, taking cold showers and utilizing composting toilets. But when it comes to butchering livestock - that's where I start to get just this side of seriously squeemish.

Thankfully, we have a good friend who is more than experienced in this and I have the Marine, who has probably never felt squeemish in his life. So, the ground rules have been: 1) I am not allowed to name our "food." 2) I am not allowed to treat our "food" as pets and 3) on butchering day, I need to be anywhere but in the barn, so as not to disrupt the cleaning and butchering process.

Number three is not a problem whatsoever. It's numbers 1 and 2 that could be trouble.

I love animals - both domesticated and wild ones. So not getting attached to cuddly furry rabbits and cute baby goats will take some work. (The chickens however, won't be a problem - I love chicken and dumplings way too much to feel squeemish about that).

So, I figure sometime in the near future, even though the rules have been laid out for me in advance, I will still find myself coming in from the barn and asking my Marine where "Bo-Bo" the goat is, and undoubtedly he'll look me square in the eye and tell me, "He's run off. Now eat your stew."