Tag: legacy

Time Travel Through Texas Hash (AKA Spanish Rice)

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Last week my husband asked about a Spanish Rice dish I remembered from my childhood. We’ve discussed this before. His mother’s Spanish Rice did not have meat. Mine had hamburger. But, other than that they seemed quite similar.

So, I confidently went to the box that holds recipes from three generations and looked. I was sure it was there, but it wasn’t. My next step was the Betty Crocker cookbook I inherited from Grandma McKnight. It was identical to my mother’s copy which my sister had (until her dog ate it.)

Anyway, there under the rice section was a recipe for Spanish Rice. But, it wasn’t at all like we remembered. However, across the page was one titled Texas Hash and it looked to be the right recipe, so Bruce made it.

Wow! You know that moment when something takes you right back to your childhood? This was one of those moments. It was delicious.

Old recipe books sometimes are outdated. Sometimes they are pushed aside because of newer ones with glossier pictures. But there are still people in this world who love cookbooks. Old ones or new ones, practical or impractical, it matters not. I am unashamedly one of those people.

I can lose myself for hours in a pile of cookbooks. If it is one of those community cookbooks, I can lose myself for hours in ONE cookbook! I have one with about fifty tiny post-its fluttering from the book where I marked a page because the recipe looked good. I may never do anything with all of them, but they are there for future reference.

It seems the internet is taking the place of cookbooks, and I’m not immune to this. We have a huge three-ring binder filled with recipes discovered on the internet or you-tube and printed off for “Bruce and Miriam’s” cookbook. Often we look through this collection when seeking for inspiration.

But, this week was potluck Sunday at our church and we knew right away what we would take. We made up another batch of the Texas Hash/Spanish Rice and off we went to church. It was well received. The classics always are, aren’t they?

A Gift of Red Geraniums for World Poetry Day

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Today is World Poetry Day, so I am sharing a piece I wrote and published in All I Have Needed – A Legacy For Life. I hope you enjoy it. I am thankful for a legacy of simple beauty and simple living.

 

RED GERANIUMS

  Life did not bring me silken gowns,

  Nor jewels for my hair,

  Nor signs of gabled foreign towns

  In distant countries fair,

But I can glimpse, beyond my pane, a green and friendly hill,

And red geraniums aflame upon my window sill.

 

  The brambled cares of everyday,

  The tiny humdrum things,

  May bind my feet when they would stray,

  But still my heart has wings

While red geraniums are bloomed against my window glass,

And low above my green-sweet hill the gypsy wind-clouds pass.

 

  And if my dreaming ne’er come true,

  The brightest and the best,

  But leave me lone my journey through,

  I‘ll set my heart at rest,

And thank God for home-sweet things, a green and friendly hill,

And red geraniums aflame upon my window sill.

            Martha Haskell Clark

 

When I read the title of this poem I immediately thought of Grandma Jones. After all, she loved red geraniums and kept one on her porch in Broken Bow most summers. One of her geraniums ended up in my Dad’s office for several years where it often reminded me of her.

But then I read the poem and I knew that this one “belonged” to my Grandma Jones.

She didn’t have silken gowns, jewels, or great opportunities for travel. She once told me that there was so much that she hadn’t yet seen in the United States she couldn’t imagine why she would need to travel overseas. She did enjoy the few trips she was able to take, but travel wasn’t something she had the opportunity to do very much of.

However, out her window on the ranch she had green rolling hills. In her window sills she kept African Violets. And on her porch in front of her chair were her red geraniums.

A Cautionary Tale – Five Fall Prevention Essentials

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As a nurse for 38 years I’ve taught fall prevention to patients more than any other single topic. I’ve also received multiple educational opportunities on the subject—at least 38.

Yet sadly, two days after Christmas I tripped while cleaning my house, turned my ankle, and broke my fibula—the smaller of the two bones in the lower leg. As I reviewed (over and over) what happened, how it happened, and what I could have done to prevent it, I identified the root cause/causes. I also realized that I had some work to do in my own home and life.

So here are my top five fall prevention essentials.

Remove Tripping Hazards.

Yes, this was my downfall—literally. A foot-stool, which I subsequently used to prop up the broken leg, stuck out a little too far and I tripped.

  • Keep pathways clear
  • Tape rugs to the floor or remove them completely
  • Fight the clutter ooze. You know what I mean.

 

Lights! Action!

  • Turn on lights before entering a room, or going up or down stairs.
  • Keep a night light on in the bathroom.
  • Turn on the bedside lamp before getting up to go to the bathroom.
  • Leave your porch light on if you are coming home after dark.

 

Don’t Be A Slug – Maintain physical strength, balance, and mobility

This is admittedly another probable root cause of my broken ankle. My balance is not good and I was unable to recover from the lack of balance/tripping conspiracy. According to the CDC, falls among adults 65 and older caused over 34,000 deaths in 2019, and there are 36 million falls reported among adults older than 65 each year. Many of these are due to loss of balance. I’m not 65, but here I am.

  • Many fitness centers, the YMCA, and other groups, offer exercise classes. You can find a world of exercises, yoga, stretches, and mobility helps online and on YouTube.
  • Some Medicare providers pay for fitness programs.
  • Walk around the block. Walk at the mall. Walk around the inside of your house.
  • Focus on exercises that build your core muscles, those in the center off your body.
  • Ask your doctor to recommend the best exercise(s) for you.

 

Move With Intention And Forethought

In my recent fall, I turned and changed direction suddenly, lost my balance, and my foot found the stool. It was a terrible tumbling trifecta!

  • Don’t make any sudden changes of direction.
  • Be aware what hazards (pets, uneven ground) is in front of you.
  • Sit on the edge of the bed for a minute before getting up in the night.
  • Take your time. Don’t rush.

 

Assistive Devices

  • If you need it, there is no shame in using a cane, walker, or wheelchair. It certainly is better than a fall.
  • Put non-slip material in the bottom of your tub or shower. Use a shower chair if necessary.
  • Install grab bars in the shower and beside the toilet.
  • Install hand rails on staircases.
  • Wear proper footwear.
  • Buy a “reacher” so you don’t need to use a foot stool. Keep things you commonly use within arm’s reach.
  • Don’t climb ladders without someone at the bottom to stabilize it.

 

Now that I’ve done my root-cause analysis and have my list of necessary corrections, I’m hoping I can avoid future falls. Will you join me?

 

We’ll call it “Fall Free In ’23”!

 

Please share your favorite fall prevention suggestion in the comments below!

The Purple Kangaroo – A Legacy Story

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I wrote this piece several years ago and just rediscovered it when I was looking for another document in my computer. I thought it would be fun to share. Enjoy!

 

The Purple Kangaroo – A Legacy Story

 

   One of the things I like about being a nurse is the difference I make in lives. Not just in caring for people physically, but in helping them through a tough time, emotionally. Of course, I sometimes end up receiving as much encouragement from my patients as I give. In fact I’m kind of used to that, but if I had known. If I had known what an impact this patient would make!

   The shift started like many others. I had received report from one of my close friends, Justine and was reviewing my charts to see what meds I needed to give right away.

   “Have a good night, Brenda.”  Looking up from the chart I saw Justine, bundled up in coat, hat, and gloves. 

   “You too.  Drive carefully, it’s slippery out there.  Hey, why don’t you call when you get home.  Then we’ll know you made it. 

   “Okay.  But don’t send out the cavalry too soon.  It’ll take me a good forty-five minutes if the roads are bad.”

     “Sure,” I agreed.

     “Oh!” she said. “I forgot to tell you. The patient in 705, Rose, has a number on the front of her chart.  It’s for her nephew, Don.

     Turning to the front of the chart I spotted the sticker and quickly read it,

                        Rosie’s favorite middle South Dakota nephew:  Don Johnson

                        341-2245    Cell phone: 484-5665.  Call anytime.

I glanced at Justine, my brow raised.  She shrugged, grinning.  “You ask. She was still sleepy after the versed they gave her during her pacemaker insertion. I don’t think you will need him, but just in case!”  She laughed as she disappeared into the elevator hallway.

   Shaking my head I closed the chart and placed it back in the rack.

   Ding. I glanced around at the rooms surrounding the nurses station on three sides.  The call light was on over the door to room 705.  Well, I guess that’s where I’ll start tonight.

   Entering Rose’s room I reviewed her diagnosis and the things Justine had told me in report. Rose was an 82 year old lady who was admitted after passing out at home. She had been diagnosed with a rhythm problem and a pacemaker had been inserted this evening. She had no previous history except for arthritis, and lived independently. She had no children, but apparently she did have family.

   “Knock, knock.” I entered the room quietly. Switching on the light over the sink, I turned to the bed. “Hi Rose, I’m your nurse, Brenda Jackson. I’ll be here all night. Did you need something?”

     Giving me a blank look, the tiny white haired lady shook her head slowly. “No honey, did I push that button again? I was just trying to turn on the light so I could see the clock. I’m left handed and I’m not very good with my right hand. She pointed to the sling holding her left arm still. 

   “No problem,” I assured her.  I needed to check you over anyway. Can I listen to your heart and lungs and check your incision?”

   A few minutes later, I had finished my assessment and was ready to move on. “Well, I think that’s all.  I’ll let you get back to sleep. You call if you need anything. Don’t try to get up by yourself, you may be a little wobbly. And call me if that incision starts hurting.”

   “I surely will,” she responded with a thousand watt smile that reminded me suddenly of my Grandma. I felt a stab in my heart as I thought of Grandma Jackson, who had died six months before. The hole in my life was still huge.

   “Good night, then.” I turned to leave the room.

   “Did you see my purple kangaroo?”

   Startled I turned around. “Pardon me?”

   “My purple kangaroo.” She pointed toward the bedside dresser. “Did you see it?”

   As my eyes followed her right hand, two thoughts flashed through my mind. First, is it a full moon? And secondly, does she have Sun-downers? Any nurse will tell you that full moons incite confusion and restlessness. And Sun-downers, a term we use for elderly people who are perfectly normal in the daylight, but become confused and/or paranoid at night, can strike terror to the heart of any hardy nurse.

   But no, there it was, sitting on the table amongst the flower arrangements. A purple kangaroo, about twelve inches tall.

   “Wow,” I said, amazed and relieved. “That is one unusual piece.”

   Laughing, she nodded. “It sure is. Open it!”

   Reaching the table, I lifted the top and the head slid back on a hinge. It was filled to the brim with chocolate kisses.

   I  whistled appreciatively. “A secret stash!” 

   “Take one,” she said. “And unwrap one for me. I feel the need of a little chocolate fix. You know, with chocolate and Jesus, you can get through anything!”

   I choked back tears as I unwrapped one for her, then one for me. After regaining my composure I said. “I knew I was going to like you.  Where did you get that thing? And,” I hesitated.

   “Why?” Her eyes twinkled.

   “That’s where I was headed,” I said, surprised she could read me so easily.

   “I got that from my favorite middle South Dakota nephew.”

   “Oh, Don,” I said. 

   Now it was her turn to look puzzled. “How did you know?”

   “He left his number for us, and that’s how he signed the paper. ‘Rose’s favorite middle South Dakota nephew.’”

   Rose’s tinkling laughter filled the room. “That boy sure does spoil me. He said he found that kangaroo in an airport shop on his last trip. He travels all the time for his work, you know. He said he couldn’t pass it up, especially when he realized it would hold a couple of packages of chocolate kisses.”

   “But why a Purple Kangaroo?” I asked, baffled.

   “Well, when my nieces and nephews were young they would come stay with me. I never married and had children of my own so I enjoyed having them come. I had a book that we would read often. It was about this purple kangaroo who was different from all the rest. Being purple, that is. Anyway, the theme of the story was that being different is okay. The purple kangaroo saved the day somehow, I can’t even remember the story now, but evidently he did. Read the card he attached to it.

   I turned back to the unsightly animal and opened the card attached by a ribbon to the neck.

   Dear Aunt Rose, Thank you for teaching me the lesson of the purple kangaroo. Whenever I feel like my life isn’t normal, or regret things I don’t have, I remember the life lessons you taught us through your example. You are my hero!  Love, Your Favorite Middle South Dakota Nephew.

   “You know,” Rose said, I always thought I would regret not having children when I was old. But now that I am getting close to old age, I know that I have been blessed.”

   Before I could respond I heard the phone ringing at the desk. “Excuse me, I need to get that,” I said.

   “You go ahead, dear.  I don’t want to keep you from your work.  You sneak in here anytime and get a chocolate.”

   “Thanks.”  I hurried out the door.

   “Hello.” I answered the phone looking around for my two co-workers. I could hear their voices from another room.

   “Hey, Brenda. It’s me. It’s really bad out here. I’m not going home. I almost hit a car trying to get out of the parking lot, so I came over here to your house. Do you mind?”

   Relief followed the fear that had washed over me as I heard Justine’s voice, knowing it was too soon for her to be home.

   “You know it’s okay! Make yourself at home.” Justine often stayed with me when the weather was bad, or she was too tired after a night shift to drive home.

   “Thanks. How is it there? Are things settling down?” she asked.

   “I think it’s going to be good. I have been getting life lessons from Rose and her purple kangaroo.” I replied. “She almost made me cry. She reminds me of Grandma. She even said the chocolate and Jesus thing.” I rushed on, not wanting to let my emotions take over. I was tired of crying. Tired of the depression I had been experiencing the past few months. “I’ll tell you about it in the morning. But, I’ve been thinking,” I said.  “How would you like to take a long weekend and drive to Jenny’s house. I need to see my nephews.”

   “Sure, that would be great.  Speaking of nephews, did you find out about the favorite nephew thing?”

   “No, I didn’t get a chance to ask, she was explaining the purple kangaroo.  But I don’t think I need to ask.  I think I know why.”

As Time Goes By-Of Stuffed Animals and Weddings

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Somewhere, buried in Mom’s photo albums is a picture.

Vonda, my little sister, was good at entertaining herself. She would line up her stuffed animals—and her cat if she was in a tolerant mood—and she would lead them in Sunday School songs, followed by a lesson.

Mom’s picture is of one of these “Sunday School lessons.” A dozen stuffed animals attentively listen from their perch on the couch as Vonda diligently taught her “lesson.”

It seems, not so long ago that Vonda was that little five year old, but yet, we have another generation already grown and getting married.

I teased my niece, Megan, at her wedding a couple of weeks ago, that she might be married, but she was still eight in my mind. That she always would be.

But, as I watched her stand under the lovely trellis with her groom, absolutely princess-level beautiful in her wedding dress; I didn’t see an eight-year-old after all. I saw a woman, and I teared up. Joy? Or sadness?

A bit of both, I guess.

But wait! Maybe one of these days there will be more great-niblings from some of these eight year old brides and grooms.

Possibly a little girl or boy teaching their stuffed animals or pets about Jesus.

Maybe a little girl with three pigtails running with her arms rotating like a windmill “to make her go faster.”

Or, several, gathering around the new books they received from Great-Aunt Miriam.

And, in three blinks, there will be another group of weddings. That’s how life goes, isn’t it?

 

 

For more on the below opportunity follow Double Cousins Mysteries (Ages 7-13) on Facebook!

Daddy’s Yellow Truck

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The other day, someone posed a question. If you could spend an hour visiting with anyone, past or present, who would it be? I immediately thought of Daddy.

Oh, there are many other people from history that I would love to talk to, including my mother and my grandparents. There are also many, still alive, that I would love to visit with for an hour. But still, I would have picked Daddy.

I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because his birthday was coming up (today) and I miss him a lot.

But, today a friend posted a picture of a red truck her son painted. A memory flashed across my mind. It was the story of Daddy’s first memory and it involved a pickup like the one my friend’s son painted, only his was yellow.

Click on the link below to hear Daddy tell the story of the yellow truck. The tapping sound is me typing as he spoke.

Daddy and his brother, Jim.

Interview with Daddy 12142010b First Story a

I have this story because we sat down ten years ago and spent almost ninety minutes talking and recording his memories. I listened to some of it today, including this story and it was bittersweet. I’m so glad I have his voice and the memories.

Slicing the Turkey

I know I harp on this a lot, but our parents aren’t around forever, like we thought they would be. And then there are our grandparents. Get their stories. Use that record feature on your smart phone this Christmas. Let the whole family submit questions. Make it a group activity! Maybe you’ll discover your own yellow truck story.

“Now What?”

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A few years ago a friend asked me a question. “When you finish the Double Cousins Series you aren’t going to be one of those authors that grieve the loss of your characters are you?”

“Probably,” I answered, without a pause. After all, these kids have been “part of my life” since 1999. That’s longer than some of my nieces and nephews. I had no clue when I created Max, Carly, and the rest of the cousins, that they would become so special to me. But they are.

So, that brings up another question. Now that the series is complete, will I just sit around feeling sad?

Or, am I going to remember the question Grandma Jones always asked me when I called after a rejection, or a delay. “Now what?”

Grandma and me with the book!

I think I’ll do that. So, what’s next? I’m so glad you asked! Here is a little bit of a sneak peek at some of the ideas in the queue.

  • First, I am writing a devotional to go with each of the Double Cousins books. These devotions will feature—you guessed it—Max, Carly, and the gang. They are intended to use alongside or independent of the books. I am quite excited about this project.
  • Next, I want to continue the Nearly Twins Mystery Series. This series is set in the South and the first book, The Nearly Twins and the Secret in the Mason Jar, was released in 2016. It is set in Saluda, NC. I have not decided, for sure, where the next mystery will be set but I am leaning toward either Elizabethton TN, or Linville/Crossnore NC.
  • Thirdly, I am planning a picture book telling a story about Grandpa Jones. This was my original dream when I started the writing life.
  • And finally, I have one more project that involves YOU! Last Spring, we presented the first Double Cousins Read Along on Facebook. In January, I will host another one. I’ve debated whether I should use the newest release, The Double Cousins and the Mystery of the Sod Schoolhouse, or go with the second book and continue chronologically. After much thought, I’ve decided to stick with their order and do book two this time. So, in January, we will read The Double Cousins and the Mystery of the Torn Map. I will release the dates soon, so stay tuned. If you don’t have this book, they are available online, through your local bookstore, or from me.

This week I worked hard to learn and successfully install a sign-up button on my website for both the blog and the newsletter. Go to MiriamJonesBradley.com and sign up!

I would love to hear from you in the comment section of the blog! Let me know which idea is your favorite and why.

A Moment to Bask in the Joy

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A couple of weeks ago three boxes of the Double Cousins and the Mystery of the Sod Schoolhouse showed up on my porch. It was an exciting day, very exciting!

But, the excitement was tempered by the fact that I was still recovering from recent foot surgery. Now, however, my mind is kicking into gear and I’m ready to get excited about this. But, I’m a little befuddled.

After all, how on earth did I go from this: 

To this?

I’m not kidding. The realization that I’ve written an entire mystery series—“kind of like Trixie Belden Mysteries, only Christian”, my lifelong dream—has me experiencing a bit of disbelief.

One day, when I was fretting about the fact that I needed to get cracking on marketing for this book, a good friend said this: “Maybe you should just take a moment and bask in the realization that you wrote an entire series.”

Indeed.

So, this morning my husband moved the three boxes of books off of the piano bench and into the guest bedroom so we could take the above photo. And I basked a little as I stood there gazing at the books.

The first book was a dream, something I honestly never thought I would finish. After all, I had a lot of dreams which I never completed.

But God.

God wouldn’t let me give up on this one. He used nieces, nephews, grandparents, writer friends, cousins, and my husband to push me ahead. And miracle of miracles, I finished it and we published it, just in time for Grandma Jones to see it before she went to heaven in 2009.

Grandma and me with the book!

By then, I realized that I would have to write another book about Max and Carly. And another. And so it happened. But getting to my goal of seven? Not sure I really saw it happening. But, idea by idea, book by book, and word by word I kept going. And here I am eleven years later with a completed series.

The Double Cousins Mystery Series.

I’ve been reading a lot while recovering from surgery. I think I’ll pick up this series and read it from beginning to end. After all, it won’t hurt to bask a little more in what God helped me do.

 

The Double Cousins Mysteries are all available through the usual sources. To order directly from the author email me at miriamjonesbradley@gmail.com

Why We Will Never Be Minimalists

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   Three weeks ago I had foot surgery to repair a failed tendon and the damage it had done. I was ready. I’ve worn a brace for six years, so it was time.

   But, surgery is never fun and often inconvenient. After all, six weeks of non-weight bearing and a twelve week recovery wasn’t my idea of a normal fall season.

   Fortunately I have an extremely helpful and resourceful husband. “I’ll have to get that old footstool up from the basement and fix it so you can use it,” he said. I was delighted. We both pictured the small stool we knew was “somewhere” and smiled in delight that it would be used.

   But, when he went looking he didn’t find it. Instead he found another one which I think is actually a better size and didn’t need repaired. So, I started using it.

   I use it in front of my pink rocking chair in the bedroom where I’m currently sitting. I use it under the table, so I can sit and work on my computer or work puzzles without having my foot down the whole time. It has been quite a useful little stool.

   Then my husband asked this. “Do you know where I got this stool?”

   My story radar went off. I love a good story and I wasn’t disappointed. It turns out that when Bruce was in graduate school “umptyjillian years ago”, as he likes to say, he found a wooden box in the lab that was to be thrown away. He took it home. Then he found a piece of foam which he added to the stash, and finally a scrap of brown and tan material. He had all the makings of a stool, except for the castors, which he bought. Now, he just had to put it together.

   “Kay’s dad made it for me,” he continued. Kay was his neighbor and Bruce has been life-long friends with Kay and her late-husband Robin.

   “Really!” I exclaimed.

   “Yep. He asked me what that was all for and I told him. He took it home and brought the footstool back to me.”

   I looked under the table at the ragged old footstool and smiled. A great story, indeed. But Bruce wasn’t done.

   “You know, Kay’s father was a prisoner of war in WWII? And, if I remember right, he was in the Bataan Death March. He was a tough old bird.”

   So, now this rather pitiful looking old ratty footstool has a special place in my heart too.   We are story people and we are people people. And when we connect a story, a person, and an item together. . . well, it’s a very special thing.

   This, folks, is why we will never be minimalists.

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This morning I called my mom and sister. But, alas, our conversation was cut short for they had a date.Turns out they were being escorted to breakfast by my oldest two nephews. When I called Mom this afternoon she reveled in their gentlemanly behavior.

A couple of days ago, I received a letter from niece number four. She shared how much she enjoyed my recent visit and expressed a desire to exchange letters with me. She wants to get to know me more.

My heart soared at these stories. Not just because it made my day to receive that letter, or it delights my mom and my sister to spend time with the nephews, but for the benefit these young adults will gain from time with their elders. You see, I know first-hand the value of time alone with other generations.

When Grandpa Jones died I ended up in Broken Bow with Grandma and her children for the two or three days before the funeral. I was the only grandchild. It was an eye-opening experience, let me tell you.

I had already been visiting my other grandparents without my parents and had experienced this phenomenon before, but it was etched forever in my heart those days in Broken Bow.  Maybe because Grandpa Jones’ death came just six weeks after my other grandparents went to heaven, but whatever the reason, it became a firm part of my psyche.

I realized then what a gift I was given. Here’s why. It is a completely different experience to visit grandparents, aunts, and uncles by yourself. You aren’t just one of a passel of grandkids. You are another adult in the room. The opportunities for deep, meaningful, life-altering conversations open up like an ocean in front of you.

I became compelled to go back every chance I had to spend time with Grandma. After all, she had so much wisdom to share and she was hilarious and interesting. And now that my grandparents are all in heaven, I do my best to spend time with aunts, uncles, and Mom.

So, yes. My heart was delighted to hear my nephews took Mom and Vonda out to breakfast today. And, I’ll be writing a letter to my niece soon.

 Tomorrow, Sunday September 13th is Grandparent’s Day! How about it? Are your grandparents or parents still living? Give them a call or stop by for a visit. Let them know how important they are and give yourself time to listen to them. You’ll most likely come away happier and a bit wiser.