Helen Wilson and potato salad

Throughout college, and most of high school, for that matter, if we were having barbecue, my job was to make the potato salad. At first, it was just to dice the potatoes and the boiled eggs, and my mom would chop the onions and add the pickle relish and salad dressing. I advanced to chopping the onions, and before long, I was doing the whole bowl of salad.

It reached the point where I HATED making potato salad. It didn't matter that everyone loved my mom's recipe and always wanted her to bring the potato salad to any gathering. The fact was that I only sort of liked potato salad myself and would have been perfectly happy without it. I hated cutting up the various ingredients--I was slow and it took me forever. "Why me?" I would wail before my mom asked me oh-so-sweetly to just start it, knowing that once I started it, I'd probably finish it.

Either way, when my mom died, I stopped making potato salad. There was no reason to do so. By then, in 1989 when she died, I'd moved to Texas and was rarely home for those cook-out holidays. In Texas, I never made it for my family, even though I'd acquired more of a taste for it, nor did anyone else ask me to make potato salad.

So alas, yesterday, when out of the blue I decided to make potato salad, it had been more than 20 years since the last time I had done so. My mom's recipe was still stored in the recesses of my brain, although I had to dig a bit. So off I went.

And. . . it was good! Even the youngest BoilerBaby liked it. BB3 was particularly taken by it, mostly foregoing the California cole slaw that she loves and in fact had made in favor of the potato salad. I felt like such a rotten mother, having deprived my kids of something that they very much liked.

I enjoyed it too, maybe because it brought back such fond memories of the mother who raised me and the good times that abounded when she was around. I can't really call it "comfort food" because it was not that to me as a child. Maybe for me, the better term is "mom food."

Mean Girls, Part Deaux

Being middle-class means that I live in a nice, relatively safe suburban neighborhood, with good, relatively safe public schools. That's good. The downside is that there are too many middle-class moms with time on their hands. As the saying goes, idle hands are the devil's workshop. Their main concern is ensuring that their children are popular with both the other kids and the teachers, even if it means that their mean girl personas, which should have long ago disappeared as they grew in maturity, are too often allowed to come out and play. To-wit: I received an email from the room moms for the youngest BB's first grade class. They're preparing for the end of the year (good). They're planning to purchase a very nice gift for the teacher (wonderful). They've asked for donations for this gift (no problem). So far, so good, until I reached the end of the email where there's the description of the card to be signed from the kids who contributed to the gift! That's right. Children who can't or don't contribute, don't get to sign the card. We wouldn't want Mrs. K. to miss crediting the kids who gave her the gift.

I have to be clear here: I appreciate what the room moms do. Even though their motives may not be entirely pure, their volunteer work in the class room is surely a help when kids need individual attention. Plus, somebody has to organize the different parties during the year, and I appreciate that they're willing to do so.

In addition, in my middle-class neighborhood, there aren't that many kids whose parents can't afford to contibute, but there are some whose families are economically challenged. It is those kids who I feel for, maybe because I would have been one of those kids. But of course, I wuld have never been put in that position. My mom, was often the room mom. And she never did anything that would have the effect of excluding any child. Indeed, she often came up with creative, but inexpensive, ideas in her role as room mom. I don't recall if we ever gave the teacher a gift, but if we did, it was not expensive and did not require all kids to contribute money. What I do recall is that every year, the teachers were genuinely effusive in their praise of what a great room mom she was.

I should also note that it's not that I think that private school parents are somehow better. Rather, in my experience, they tend to be a little more secure in their social position and don't feel as much of a need to remind the teachers of it.

So, it's rather an understatement to say that I'm a little miffed about the email I received. Yep, let's teach our kids the value of money, and while we're at it, let's give them an early lesson on exclusiveness. In fact, better yet, maybe the children's signatures should reflect the size of their contribution: those who give the most, can sign first and in the biggest print so that Mrs. K will know who really to favor and perhaps even pass that info on to next year's teachers. First grade is not too early to learn this important lesson.

Waco: Komen and Cotton Palace

Today, in the space of about 30 seconds, I went from pride in my hometown to chagrin. This morning, as I lie in bed, willing myself to roll out, I saw the promo for the Race for the Cure, in which one of my colleagues appears. We quickly "rewound" the ad to see her again. I felt all warm and fuzzy, remembering all the years we've participated. It's a big to-do in Waco, and we've participated every year, either walking the 1 mile or running the 5K. Rain or shine, with little kids or without, we were there, enjoying the carnival atmosphere, collecting the freebies, honoring breast cancer survivors, and supporting a good cause.

As I basked in the glow of warm memories, the commercial for Waco Cotton Palace ran--that annual "celebration" where we relive the charm and pageantry of the antebellum South. I've never succeeded in explaining Cotton Palace to one who hasn't experienced it, probably because I'm biased and bothered about the whole thing. It's so wrong in so many ways, let me count those ways. The King of Cotton, an old and accomplished businessman, and the Queen, a young, fresh-faced high school senior. That's bad enough, but consider how one becomes Queen. She isn't chosen because of her academic accomplishments, her good deeds, or even her beauty. Rather, she must be a member of one of the old, very wealthy Waco families. That's it. She's won the birth lottery. At least I think that's how it works. It's steeped in great mystery, and not accessible to a mere commoner like me. Then there are the princesses (Waco girls) and the duchesses (outsiders). They too are not necessarily accomplished--trust me, I know. Connections, however, matter.

The truth is, the royal motif is annoying, but most colleges and high schools select a Homecoming King and Queen, and I don't lose a wink of sleep about it. Rather, it's the fact that Cotton Palace is exclusive in particularly repugnant ways. Blacks and Latinos (and probably Jews) need not apply.

But wait, there's more. The pageant and the show, a reliving of the history, the happy history, when cotton was king, some people attended lovely balls and sipped mint juleps, while others literally slaved away, denied the fruits of their labor. Slavery is a historical fact, but not one I believe worthy of a celebration.

I'm an outsider, so maybe that's why I don't get it. But it's not worth it to me to try to understand. Every year, other outsiders will attend Cotton Palace for the first time and some will be offended. I've done my best to warn them.

For posterity

I post only so that I can remember all that is happening. It is happening quite fast. After yearsw of thinking about remodeling, making excuses for not remodeling, lacking the courage to undertake the remodeling, being ambivalent about remodeling, and being downright too cheap, we finally took the plunge. The great remodel of the back bathroom, our master bathroom, and [drum roll] . . . the kitchen has begun.

The work actually started last Monday, September 20, with the demolition of the back bathroom. We left that morning, and by the afternoon, everything except the tub was gone. The next day, Bruce and Nellie replaced old insulation and damaged drywall.

Then came Wednesday and demolition of the kitchen. Bruce and Nellie don't play! We left that morning, and by the afternoon, all the old cabinets were out, the built-in china cabinet gone, the flooring removed, and the appliances in the dumpster. The kitchen was just a shell.

Thursday, new drywall in the kitchen, measurements for the pass-through and the mud guys started their work. Those guys work hard for their money. As we sat cackling over mindless TV, they were prepping the drywall and texturing the back bathroom and kitchen. I don't know what happened on Friday because I left for the recruiting forum in LA. but I believe the mud guys finished texturing both the back bath and the kitchen.

Yesterday was too exciting for words! We stayed up late Sunday emptying our bathroom cabinets. On Monday when I left, the kitchen was still little more than a shell; the back bath was a shell, and our bathroom had all the old cabinets and counters. When I arrived home, it was as though the remodeling fairy waved her magic wand! New kitchen cabinets were set; the back bath cabinets were set, and the old vanities in our bath were removed and new doors for some cabinets and the new vanity cabinets were set. Cabinets, cabinets everywhere! It was so much fun finding the little design touches that we weren't expecting. The 45 degree angles on the bottoms of base cabinets; the end panels with the same detail as the doors; the new end cabinet for the telephone books and other stuff. It was quite exciting to see the new drawers in places that we hadn't had them before. Plus, the crown moulding was installed in the kitchen and back bathroom.

Tonight as I sit recording this at 9 pm, the mud/paint guys are priming the cabinets. Bruce and Nellie finished the demolition of our bathroom earlier in the day, replaced damaged drywall, installed can lights in the kitchen, and the plumber was here.

There are boxes everywhere, but this too shall pass. And we'll have a pretty new kitchen plus updated bathrooms to boot.

What a difference 18 years makes?

We watched Home Alone 2 this weekend with the younger BoilerBabies. It was released 18 years ago, so it's not exactly a revelation of Biblical proportions that there have been some noticeable changes since then. But some of those changes are reminders of how fast things have changed.

The McCallister family is headed on vacation, and they have airline tickets! Not e-tickets, but the real paper tickets in an airline envelope, something the younger BBs have never seen and the older ones probably don't remember.

O'Hare Airport looks a little dated, but what's particularly striking is how quickly a huge family gets through security. Of course, this was before 9/11. There was no requirement to show a government-issued ID, slip one's shoes off, and submit to a full-body scan before heading to the gate. And had little Kevin ran onto a plane without a valid boarding pass in today's world, he might have experienced a quick introduction to the air marshals. Kevin's visit to the Twin Towers drove home the point of the setting being in a pre-9/11 world.

Finally, as usual, the technology establishes its own time stamp. There are some large, clunky electronic things, but it was Kevin's Polaroid camera that brought on the nostalgia. "Shake it like a Polaroid picture" just can't have the same meaning now that Polaroid cameras are obsolete.

There may be other things that I missed, given that as usual, I was multi-tasking (a phrase that might not have been in common parlance when the movie was released), but this I know: the kids laughed just as much as if the movie had been released last week.

Omigosh, I am SO old??

In just 2 hours and 11 minutes, Iwill no longer start my age with the digit "4." This is my last day in my 40s, and I'm okay with that.

When I was a child, 20-somethings were big people, adults, that is until I got to my 20s and felt like an imposter playing dress-up. Then 30 seemed so old--until I got to 30. It seemed anti-climactic in fact. The only thing that changed was that I stopped adding a year to my age with each birthday. I realized it when I started to tell someone I was 30 when in fact I was 33. Oops!

The age of 40 was even more anticlimactic. There was too much going on. The most memorable thing about 40 was that I was stung by a bee, for the first time ever, on my birthday. Lucky me.

So what thoughts do I have about turning 50? Well, it sounds really, really old. Fifty years. One-half century. Old enough to be a member of AARP. Senior discounts, here I come!

Plus, so much has happened that when related to younger folk, it makes me sound old. I have an adult child, for goodness sake! In my lifetime, I've seen the advent of cheap electronics, from calculators ($400 when I started high school) to the home computer. My iPhone has more functionality than the computers aboard the first Apollo space ships. Oh, and there was that first moon-landing that I witnessed live.

I would sound like an old fogey should I start to talk about the price of things "back in the day." I'll be able to regale my grandchildren with stories of purchasing 45s for 99 cents and LPs for $7.00 ($12.00 for double albums). Oh yes, I can remember when candy bars were 10 cents and even a nickel bought a bag of penny candy. Fifty cents bought enough candy to share with the neighborhood.

On a more serious note, I was born into a country where it was perfectly legal to discriminate against Blacks and women for no other reason than that they were Blacks and women. Only as an adult did I apprecate my mother's accomplishment in being able to qualify for mortgage as a widowed, Black woman. That didn't occur until after the passage of the various civil rights acts, but discrimination was so endemic that obtaining a loan with three strikes against her (female, single, and Black) was almost unheard of at that time.

Had I grown up in the South, I might have sipped from the water fountain set aside for "Negroes." I was 6 or 7 years old before the Supreme Court decided Loving v. Virginia. Women lawyers (or for that matter, female bus drivers) were rare, virtually an object of curiosity.

I suppose I could go on, but the simple fact is a lot has happened. But . . . I don't feel my age. I started this morning with a walk/run in which I felt great! Endorphins are my friends. My mother, God bless her, couldn't run 50 yards when she was 50 years old. On a good day, I can jog three miles, and four miles on a really good day.

I have no grandchildren, and no expectation of any anytime soon. I do have, however, a six-year old. Plus, I'm still too young to qualify for the best senior citizen discounts.

So, tomorrow, I cross an artificial and arbitrary line. But the simple fact is that life (God willing) goes on and life is good. I expect that there will be little difference between today and tomorrow, besides a little cake (okay a lotta cake) and ice cream.

Adventures in Fourth Grade

This post is a sequel to an earlier post. This time, BB3 is the reporter. According to her, Nick, another fourth grader, was pretending to stick his finger far up his nose, when lo and behold Nate came along and bumped Nick, causing Nick to jam his finger so deep into his nose that he couldn't get it out.

I kid you not.

This incident resulted in a visit to the school nurse, who I'm sure never expected that extracting fingers from noses was part of her job description.

My children's school is rated "exemplary" based on its standardized testing scores, but recent events cast doubt on that rating. I think that the teachers are teaching the three Rs which is good, but they just might want to add a lesson or two on the importance of not sticking things in ones ear or nose.

Just sayin'.

A Night to Remember

It's pretty special anytime someone opens their home for a homemade meal of beef tenderloin, macaroni and cheese, peppermint cucumbers, salad, yeast rolls, and chocolate cake with strawberries and fresh whipped cream.

It's particularly special when that someone is former U.S. Senator Carol Moseley Braun. Yesterday evening with Senator/Soror Braun was the highlight of the 30 year reunion in Chicago of my college sorority line sisters.

Given her prominence as a former senator and former ambassador to New Zealand, her connections to both Pres. Clinton and Pres. Obama, not to mention her many and varied accomplishments, she could be forgiven for not wanting to give us the time of day. Instead, she was gracious, down-to-earth, funny, and insightful. And we learned that Senator Braun can "bust a move!"

We have my soror, Maria, to thank for the invitation. Five years ago, Maria did a favor for Senator Braun, and Senator Braun promised Maria that she had a friend for life. Senator Braun was true to her word so that when Maria called Carol to say that we would be in Chicago for the weekend, Carol suggested that we have a get-together at her house.

For lots of reasons, we had a weekend that won't soon be forgotten.

I am an April Fool

I actually flirted with the idea of pulling an April Fool's prank, but too much to do, so little time. So it was only a fleeting thought, and it was gone for good--or so I thought.

BB1, nearing the finish line of her 17 years of education, called mid-morning. She sounded distraught from the word "hello." She explained that her college had sent her an email informing her that she was one class shy of graduating. According to the message, she would be able to take the course in the Fall and graduate in December.

My blood ran cold. She'd lose her job, scheduled to start in June! She'd be delayed six months! She'd lose face! We couldn't move her off the family payroll!

"What?? How could this happen," I inquired. She wailed as only she can, "I don't know-w-w!" We ended the call quickly because of her professed need to get to class and her promise to try to sort it out and call me back later.

Two minutes later I get the text message, "April fools!!!"

I've got a whole year to come up with the mother of all (get it!?!) pranks. Payback.

My Most Brilliant Idea Ever

Sometimes the stars collide and the result is a brilliant idea. The first star in this impending collision: I just finished reading all 1000+ pages of Gone with the Wind. Consequently, I have a slightly better understanding of why the Waco Cotton Palace endures to this day. The Antebellum South--that bygone era when there was Southern hospitality, lovely barbecues, balls, and beautiful dresses to wear to the balls. Life would be grand for anyone who sipped mint juleps at the expense of someone else's involuntary servitude. But I digress.

The second star in this collision: Anthony, that Southern Belle extraordinare of Project Runway fame, was auf'd this week. He might have a little free time on his hands.

Now for the brilliant idea. Anthony, a self-avowed "queen" seems like the perfect person to be Waco Cotton Queen! What could be better? And he could dress the "princesses" and "duchesses." No more boring (read "ugly") hoop skirts. Haute couture for all!

There are a few problems, I admit. First, so far, traditionally (as in every year), the Cotton Queen ("CQ") has been a high school senior. I think that Anthony is a bit old for the role.

Second, tradionally (as in every year), the CQ has been a female. Anthony is probably far more engaging than most would-be CQs, but maybe the accomplished old businessman who wears the Cotton King crown, might object to "Queen Anthony."

Third, traditionally (as in every year), the CQ is from Old Waco Money. I don't know much about Anthony's background, but I'm guessing he might have a problem with the "Old," the "Waco," and the "Money" part.

Perhaps the biggest problem (bigger than even the gender problem) is that (gasp!) Anthony is, shall we say, a Negro. Traditionally (as in always), African American girls aren't invited to participate in Cotton Palace.

I get it. If the idea is to celebrate that South that has "gone with the wind," then it would be inauthentic to include blacks as princesses or duchesses, let alone CQ. That is the reality of Cotton Palace in 2010 in Waco.

But with the new millenium being ten years old, time for a new direction. Anthony for Cotton Queen. That's my new campaign!

Should I be offended or just confused?

Yesterday I sent a message to students from Blackboard, a system provided by the University. Normally, Blackboard also sends a copy to my work e-mail address, also provided by the University. However, yesterday, I noticed that I didn't get a copy of the Blackboard message.

What possibly could have happened?

Simple answer: my message from me to me, had been relegated to the Junk Mail file.

My e-mail account thinks I'm junk! I'm no different than the off-shore schemers who claim to be ready to deposit millions of dollars into my bank account and the peddlers of male enhancement products.

I think I'm confused--and offended.

Y'all come back now, ya hear?

That's all I've got to say to the Eagles. Somehow I don't think McNabb will be relishing his return visit to Dallas for the first play-off game. .

Truth be known, I don't have the kind of confidence in the 'boys like I did in the 1990s. It's hard to beat any NFL team 3 times in one season. And Tony Romo is no Troy Aikman or Roger Staubach. So the Eagles may have the last laugh when it's all said and done.

But I'm going to gloat while the gloatin' is good.

Geico does it again

Who doesn't know that Geico sells insurance? Who doesn't know the Geico gekko? Who can't list, without a moment's hesitation, at least three of the company's recent campaigns? I think that's what you call successful advertising.

And I love the newest campaign. The rhetorical question ads, especially the Charlie Daniels one. Charlie Daniels has one of only two country songs I have on my iPod. "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." Great song. So it was pretty cool to see ole Charlie pop up when the Geico guy asks, "Does Charlie Daniels play a mean fiddle." Tapping his foot, shredding the bow, fiddlin' away.

That's how it's done, son.

Kids keep you young!

It's true what they say! Consider: on a typical night at the Boiler Household when the older kids are away, not a creature is stirring later than 11:30, including that mouse. On weekends, maybe a little later, but not much.

But this Saturday night found us playing board games until 2:00 in the a.m. Okay, so it might not have been like hitting the clubs into the wee hours of the morning, dancing the night away, but one should never be the old person in the club anyway. And when we play board games, we all play like we've bet the house, all in.

Just when we should have been taking our old Boiler-butts to bed, BoilerBaby 1 and I decided, "let's make crepes for tomorrow morning!" And we did. We could have waited, but I like to make the batter the night before.

On Sunday morning, we meant to have a lazy Sunday, when, just like young people, we decided on the spur of the moment to spend the day in the Hill Country. We'd planned to go later in the week and spend a couple of days, but BoilerHusband's work schedule unexpectedly took a change for the worse, so that Sunday was the only day we could all go. So, we packed up the kids, gathered a few snacks, and off we went. That was, after enjoying our very delicious crepes.

Three and one-half hours later, we were standing at the top of Enchanted Rock. A couple of hours later, we were walking the streets of Fredericksburg. A little rock climbing and a little browsing can make one hungry. Auslander was calling. Battered + fried = delicious. And that describes the mushrooms, and the jagerschnitzel. Good stuff.

Back home, we were tired, but feeling oh so young, at least for a little while.

This Christmas

This Christmas, we . . .

-- Stayed home, and a good thing we did, given the travel nightmares as a result of the slow moving storm.

--Had a "white Christmas" sort of, Waco-style, as a result of a slow moving storm. It snowed on Christmas Eve! So what that it didn't stick. It was pretty, and the snow lasted longer than expected.

--Enjoyed Christmas Eve services at church. One of the best services ever, with many beautiful solos.

--Enjoyed dinner at IHOP after church. It's nice to have everyone home again.

--Had a non-traditional meal. Christmas lasagna. A new tradition in the making?

--Laughed and teased as we opened gifts. The gifts were thoughtful. Even BB3 outdid himself. Not the usual run by the gift card display at HEB.

--Had a wonderful Christmas.

We are blessed.