Cupboard Chicken Caccitore

When I was a child my mother used to make this amazing chicken caccitore.  Now maybe I am wearing those rose tinted glasses of childhood memories and to be fair I can't really remember what it tasted like.  But I do remember that we got to eat with out fingers.  Meal time in our home was a fairly formal affair.  All had to sit at the table and our cutlery.  And napkins.  Burping and farting was frowning upon.

Chicken Caccitore was a different affair altogether.  Mom would heat up flannel wash clothes and put them next to our plates.  This was a meal to be slurped as you ripped the chicken off the bones with your hands and the juices ran down your arms.  We loved it.

I have asked my mother repeatedly for this recipe.  Now I don't know if she wants to keep it a secret or if she has genuinely lost it but it has not been forthcoming.  So today I decided to make my own.  I did some google searches and was disappointed with what seemed to me wasn't going to produce anything like my memories.  And would require a trip to the supermarket, which is my very least favourite thing to do in the whole entire world.

So I headed to my cupboards.

Slow Cooker Cupboard Kitchen Caccitore

5 chicken thighs (bone in is more fun at scarfing time)
5 onions (more or less), sliced
1 tin of whole tomatoes
1 Tablespoon sundried tomato paste (or not)
20 cherry tomatoes
1/2 cup water
2 cups of red wine (I used Rioja because that's what I wanted to drink later)
Healthy dash of black pepper
Healthy dash of garlic salt (would have preferred fresh garlic but we were fresh out)
1 bit of salt (you decide how much)
1 tin of greens beans (to help us to our 5 a day)
1 jar of red roasted peppers (because that jar has been in my cupboard for a very long time and needed to be used)

Fry thighs and onions til browned

Throw everything into slow cooker on low for 7 hours or high for 4.

You can thicken up the sauce with a bit of cornstarch if you want to just before serving.

Serve over rice, mashed potatoes, or noodles.  Or even just with crusty bread and lashings of butter.

Do NOT forget the warmed flannel face clothes and NO cutlery!!!!!

Stumbling

Joyce Elaine (Carson) Smith
 October 3 1921-February 7 2005

Today would have been her 90th birthday.  I have been without her compassionate wisdom and gentle guiding light for 6 years.  I miss her everyday and every year I stumble today.

Roller Disco Queen

I took a sweet trip down memory lane yesterday.  My children went to a roller disco party and I was instantly transported back to the certain roller rink in Lakewood, Colorado on Alameda.

From the age of 14, my posse of girlfriends and I would spend an entire afternoon doing our hair and getting dressed for the big night that was Saturday night at the roller rink.  All week we whispered our plans, passed notes and agonised over what we would wear, who would be there and whose parents had drawn the short straw for transportation arrangements.  If we were lucky someone's older sibling had gotten permission to use the car but that rarely happened.  Clearly, we needed supervision.

We would be dropped off after feathering our hair (which could take hours) and spraying it down (a tornado couldn't move that hair).  Usually our makeup had to go on after we left home so it was straight into the ladies' room or I would try to plan on getting ready at someone else's house so my mom couldn't see how much makeup I put on.  Or how tight my trousers were.

I had saved every penny from babysitting and working at Wendy's Hamburgers to buy myself a pair of roller skates.  They were white with hot pink wheels and hot pink laces.  I loved those skates.  Every Sunday morning I inspected them for scuff and promptly applied white polish if there were any scuffs.

I was a pretty good skater but never brilliant.  I could skate backwards and go in circles but speed scared the living daylights out of me.  Still does!  I was always very impressed with those boys who could skate really well but they always ended up with the girls who could skate very well too.  That wasn't me.

It was a good night if the boy you fancied from the side asked you to skate with him during one of the night's 4 couple skates.  I didn't get asked very often.  One of the 4 skates was always ladies' choice where the girls could ask the boys.  Usually I fancied the best looking boy and by the time I worked up the courage to approach him, the boy I wanted to skate with had been swept away by someone else.  I usually asked someone else when there was less than a minute left to skate.  What a loser!

By 10:30 the evening was over and we were headed home.  No doubt one of us would be in tears, usually about a guy.  One of us was over the moon, usually also about a guy.  One of us was planning our strategy for next week.  That one was usually me.

Through the magic of Facebook I've actually found a couple of the girls that were in the skating posse.  Leisa and Robin will recognise the routine and anguish we went through but hopefully the giggles and fun we used to have.

Today's lights and music made me feel like it was all just yesterday as I watched my son and daughter take their first tentative steps on to a roller rink.

Le Freak, C'est Shiek!  YMCA!  Oh what a night, late December back in 63, what a very special time to me, what a lady, what a night!

911

Marc & I had spent early September visiting my family in Colorado and Missouri. Sebastian was 3 months old. Tyson had just gotten married and we had flown to Colorado for his wedding. then we drove with Nanny across the plains for 14 hours (stopping to breastfeed every 3 hours) to my fathers home in Ford City, Missouri.

This was the first time my father and the father of my child had really gotten to know each other. This was the first time Marc had really seen the heartland of the USA. We had glorious weather for the entire trip and we had such a fabulous time. I felt like a real grown up: a mother with her very own family.

We were flying out of Kansas City airport to Chicago to get a connecting flight to London on 9 September. Dad & Elaine dropped us and our not inconsiderable load of luggage off at the airport in plenty of time. We weren't the seasoned traveler's (with children) that we are now. Much to our dismay, the flight was significantly delayed (over 4 hours) due to bad weather in Chicago. No planes were where they needed to be.

Our plane eventually took off and we knew there was a distinct possibility that we would miss our plane in Chicago. This was not good for several reasons. 1) We would have to stay in Chicago overnight. 2) We did not have a enough nappies for Sebastian for that long and would have to find nappies in Chicago near the airport late in the evening. 3) Marc was meant to fly to Princeton, New Jersey on 12 September for business. We had one set of luggage and Marc has one suit (which was in the set of luggage) and when you miss connecting flights your luggage tends to go missing, at least for a couple of days. This would make that turnaround VERY difficult. Little did we know how insignificant these inconveniences would become.

We disembarked at Chicago O'Hare and ran like crazed parents across down the concourse to the international departure terminal. Miraculously, the plane was just pulling away. Ridiculously, because they had just closed the door they could not let us board.

We stood there inches away from the plane with a small baby. Due to my possession of a platinum frequent flyer card (which I was waving around like a mad woman), United Airlines found us some nappies and put us up in a hotel at the airport. We inquired as to the location of our luggage and no one could tell us where it was but assured us that it would be on our flight with us the next day. We were booked on the first flight to London (United had 3 flights/day at that time) the next day!

We were tired and hungry and grumpy. We went to the hotel, checked in, gave Sebastian a feed and relaxed in the hotel restaurant having a couple drinks and some dinner.

The morning of 10 September was a beautiful day. Chicago is one of my favourite cities and Marc had never been there. We took the L train into the city and rode around on the upper deck of a double decker tour bus. We grabbed some quick lunch and headed off back to the airport. We checked in with time to spare and boarded our flight uneventfully checking and double checking with the airline agent that our luggage was definitely on this flight.

We landed at Heathrow airport in London at 6:05 am on the morning of 11 September. We went through immigration, entered the baggage hall and waited. And waited. And waited. After 50 minutes of waiting and a crotchety baby beginning to wail, I approached the desk to inquire after our luggage. They explained that our luggage was still on the ground at O'Hare and had in fact never been loaded on to our aircraft. Since the last flight to London had already left Chicago the earliest we would be reunited with our luggage would be the next day (12 September).

I was furious. I had checked and double checked with the airline staff that our luggage was in fact on the same plane we were. They had assured and reassured me that it was. Now I know they were lying to me, just saying what they needed to say to get me off their desk.

We went home and showered and tried to figure out how we were going to repack for Marc's trip the next day to NJ. We called a friend who had a spare suitcase. We found a couple pairs of underpants in the back of the drawer. We cobbled together some bits and pieces he could wear. And of course, he was going to have to find some time to go shopping (or do laundry whilst there).

Just before 2 pm (GMT) we loaded Sebastian and ourselves into the car and drove over to the doctor's office where Sebastian was scheduled to get the first of his immunizations. I was nervous like any other first time mum. As we were parking a news announcement was made that a plane had flown into the World Trade Centre. I made a comment to Marc that some air traffic controller would lose his job but that it wouldn't be serious because they had designed the WTC to withstand a plane flying into it.

Sebastian got his jabs and we got back into the car. The airwaves were awash with the fact that another plane had crashed into the other tower. I looked at Marc and said "Oh my god, someone is attacking America."

When we got to the house I ran in and turned on the TV. It was at this moment that we realised we no longer had CNN on our cable and I was so frustrated I could just scream. I tried frantically to ring my family who knew that our flight had been delayed but did not know that we had arrived safely. I didn't want to wake them with the time difference and all.

The phone lines were jammed and I couldn't get through.

And then I began to cry. And then the tower collapsed LIVE on television in front of my very eyes. My neighbour, Karen, came over and I collapsed. I had never felt so far away from home in my life.

Marc and I had been to NYC a couple times before we had children. I was working for JP Morgan in Manhattan and Marc would have occasion to go to NJ for the company he worked for at the time. He would come into the city to come out and play with me. We always had so much fun together. On one of our sight seeing trips Marc had suggested we go up to the top of the WTC. I had done that on my first trip to NYC (with my friend, Kerry) and told Marc that I much preferred the view from the top of the Empire State Building and that we should do that instead. He didn't argue, for once.

My perspective of the horrible events of that day and how it has changed the world around me is very different from that of my friends and family. I was not subjected to the constant news coverage of the USA 24x7 news programmes. I was adequately informed on the nightly news and when I read papers or news online. I have watched the aftermath of the war on terror through the eyes of the foreign press and Europeans which are far more critical of the Bush administration and their actions, particularly in Iraq. My opinions are shaped by being an expatriate rather than a resident.

I know that American culture has changed dramatically since that day. I feel it when I visit. I am not a part of that cultural shift. It's almost as if a bit of America's optimism is gone or maybe just shadowed. I know what America used to be but I'm not sure what it is now. It breaks my heart.

Farco

Not to be confused with Fargo, North Dakota, Farco is a dice game. My family has been known to play Farco for 6 straight hours without stopping. Well, there are pauses for food and toilet. but you better do it when it is not your turn. Heaven help you if you are caught holding up the game.
The was a game that we played endlessly at the table of my nanny's house. I miss playing it! So I want to spread the word. Let's get everyone playing Farco. Well, at least everyone reading my blog.

What you need:

• 6 dice
• paper & pen
• more than 1 person (you can not play this alone)

How you play:

Played with 6 dice. Player rolls until they don't have a valid score from above, or they decide to stop. To continue rolling, one must have one or more of the above scoring options. 500 points is required to get on the board. Once a player reaches 10,000 pts, each player get one last turn to accumulate as many points as possible.

How you score:

1= 100 pts
5= 50 pts
3 – 1‘s= 300 pts
3 – 2‘s= 200 pts
3 – 3‘s= 300 pts
3 – 4‘s= 400 pts
3 – 5‘s= 500 pts
3 – 6‘s= 600 pts
4 of a kind= 1000 pts
5 of a kind= 1500 pts
6 of a kind= 2000 pts
Straight 1-6= 1500 pts
3 sets of doubles= 1000 pts
2 sets of triples= 2500 pts

Milk Toast

When I'm feeling blue I eat milk toast. My Grandma Andersen (my mother's mother) used to make this for me all the time when I spent the night with her and I am instantly transported back to the warmth and security of my childhood when a bowl is placed in front of me.

"What is milk toast?" I hear y'all ask.

OK, so here it is: the secret to my happiness.

A bowl of warm milk with melted butter and generous salt and pepper. Add a piece of (yet more) buttered toast. Let the toast soak up the milk until it is well soggy. There will be loads of milk for (yet more) toast. Eat until feeling better. This could take a while.

I rarely have to resort to this calorific extravaganza these days since my life is so full of joy and happiness but I think I might have to have me one before work tomorrow! It might help me choose an attitude better suited to productivity than say the one I've had for the last 2 days.

Grief

Grief is a horrible emotion. You have no control over its power. It feels like a dark cold cloud of paralyzing vapour that invades your blood stream and courses through your body and mind at irregular intervals.

I remember when my grandmother died. After I had hung up the phone I walked outside into the cold of the February air and knelt down on the cold brick of my back patio. My entire body shook as a primitive shriek of loss escaped out of my mouth. I moaned from inconsolable pain and the tears fell unburdened down my cheeks, my neck and rested in the bowl of my clavicle.

I was there for a long time. My husband, my neighbours, my children stood on the outside of my grief looking in knowing they were powerless to take it away or to do anything to diminish its grip on me. Marc simply put a blanket over me and let me be. It was one of the most touching things he has ever done.

The next day we flew out of Heathrow to Denver. Marc took care of the children as I sat weak and bewildered in my assigned seat. Without warning and without grace the tears would drip out of my eyes despite my stoic instructions to stop.

Not until I got to Denver and I embraced my sister did I feel any strength return to my soul. Until that moment I was unsure of how I could possibly stand. But she took from me and I took from her and somehow we got strong enough to hold up my father.

There were many dark moments in those next few weeks and there are still many gray days even these years later.

My grandmother was old. She had lived a full rich life. She had left a legacy in her children, her grand children and her great grandchildren. She had done what she came to do. I found comfort in that.

Not everyone has that luxury. Many of my friends have lost a loved one during this holiday season. Some of those have not lived long enough to complete their legacy and the holes they leave in our lives are larger than others. There is nothing to do but stand on the outside with a blanket to cover them when they get cold.

In this moment, I believe WH Auden said it best:

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden

Cruising the Fax

When I was in high school every Saturday night we would head for the Fax. This would be West Colfax Avenue between Sheridan and Union Boulevard.

You could count on the girls wearing the smallest outfits and as much makeup as their mothers would let them out of the house with. And the boys would have the cars cleaned and polished.

We would collect gas money to cruise up and down the street east to west and back again all through the night until our curfews. The street was absolutely gridlocked between the hours of 8 pm and 11 pm. If you were a local you took a back street.

All the high schools were represented: Lakewood, Green Mountain, Alameda, Bear Creek, Arvada, Golden, Jefferson (if you were really unlucky!).

I met my first long term boyfriend, Troy, on the Fax. He had a red Toyota pickup. He was with his mate, Danny, who was later shot in the line of duty when he was a sheriff for Denver County.

I used to cruise with my girlfriends, Ev, Kerry and Susan. Susan was with me when I met Troy.

One time Susan and I decided we would stay out all night. We told our parents we were staying at each other's homes and we headed for the Fax. What we hadn't appreciated was that at 3 am everyone else had headed home and the Fax was a lonely place at that time of the night. We ended up sleeping very uncomfortably in her car that night.

After 5 years of the chaos the police cracked down on the cruising. And I don't think anyone cruises anymore. But I learned to talk to boys on the Fax. And it will always hold very fond memories for me.

Hardest Job

I've posted about the first job I've ever had. That post generated lots of comments and posts from fellow bloggers about their first jobs. Now I though I would post about the hardest job I ever had.
During my last year at high school I left Wendy's and went to work at Lakewood Bar and Grill. I thought the money would be a bit better. Instead of the minimum wage offered by the fast food industry, I would be given a small hourly wage and then be compensated with a share of the waitresses tips based solely on how well I cleared the tables of their customers.

Lakewood Bar & Grill was a local watering hole on Colfax Avenue which runs the full length east to west across the suburbs and right through the centre of Denver. In the city it is the hotbed for prostitution and drug dealing. In Lakewood, it is the hotbed for dodgy used car dealerships and second hand shops.

The grill had good breakfast and as a child we often went there after church for our Sunday morning breakfast. Most of the customers were locals who sat at the bar or families who came in for dinner. We also had a large number of truckers who stopped in for their meals.

I formed some very good relationships with the waitresses and found them to be fascinating characters. I figured out what their expectations were since each wanted their customers handled slightly differently. I was quick and careful to be not intrusive. I don't think I ever dropped or broke anything.

I didn't mind clearing the tables. The waitresses always gave me at the very least my fair shares of their tips and often I was given generous sums.

The worst part of this job was when we were having a slow night I had to clean the cellar. All the beer kegs were kept down there and I had to clean the floor which meant I had to shift the beer kegs around.

I weighed maybe roughly 70 lbs. I believe the beer kegs weighed more than I did. I would get home from those shifts aching to the core of my body. there were several times I would sit down and cry.

The waitresses used to tell the owner that he really needed to ask someone else to do the shifting but he wouldn't. For some reason I just don't think he liked me very much.

After a couple of months, I quit the job. It wasn't because of the beer kegs. I quit because my mom and I agreed that the late night walk home was too dangerous for a young girl of 17. Looking back on it, I think that was a good decision. We had to walk through a very dodgy part of Lakewood and even now I don't think I would do that late at night.

So that's the hardest job I've ever had....not bad really. I wasn't cleaning toilets. And I wasn't standing on a busy street in the blazing heat trying to sell hot dogs. Ask my sister!

Letting Go

3 October was my Grandmother's birthday. Well, not exactly. Does a dead person still have a birthday? I can't send a card and I can't send them an email. There is no birthday cake or special supper.

But days like these are still marked in my calendar. I'm still electronically reminded by my online calendar that it was her birthday. Her name is written next to the date in my birthday card organiser.

Just like her phone number is still in my speed dial even though if I were to dial it I'm not sure if I would get someone else or one of those irritating voice recordings telling me that number is no longer in service. I've never actually tried to dial the number. Although I've nearly called her on a number of occasions. Until I remember she wouldn't be there to answer. She is on my list of webcam contacts. We used it only a few times before she died. But her names is still there. She is still listed in m y Skype contacts although I must say we never quite mastered that method of communication.

Her email address is still in my contact list and her home address is still in my phone book. Her name is still on my Christmas card and gift list.

I have a black cardigan that belonged to her and her dressing gown. I refuse to wash the dressing gown and I wore the cardigan today.

I received our Family Cookbook in the post a few weeks ago. I was so happy. And then I started reading it. I read all the wonderful recipes that Nanny had submitted previously and my heart broke when I realised she will not be making any future submissions.

I still miss her a bit every single day.

A Storytelling Heritage

As I wrote and published my City Girl story, I suddenly missed my grandmother. Not because she had gone drinking with any of us or even that she was with us on that nothing short of heroic road trip. She did help us recover the day after but that isn't what caused my heart to ache for her presence.

It was the fact that I'd written the story down. You see, I come from a family of story tellers. We tell the same stories over and over at every possible gathering of more than 1 family member. My sister and I can crack ourselves up just retelling a story to each other. You can see by the comments left after my City Girl story that the story continues to grow.

Many times these stories got retold around the dining table at my Grandmother's house. We don't gather there anymore. And the opportunities to gather as a family are few and far between, especially since I live 5,000 miles away.

And we've never written these stories down. Until now. I hope I haven't broken some ancient family rule.

City Girl

I have a cousin named Valerie whom I love dearly. Pretty much my entire family had taken a road trip up to Weyland, Wyoming to see my cousin, Chris marry a local girl named, Sherry.

The afternoon was spent on a golf course playing a family round. My uncle, Ed, was serving margaritas off the back of one of the golf buggies.

The ceremony was short and sweet which was nearly our undoing since we were almost late due to our golf game running a bit over. But we made it in time. The margaritas meant we were had gotten a pretty good start on the merriness for the reception afterwards.

Some of Chris's university buddies were at the reception and everyone had a great time dancing. The highlight of the evening was when Stephanie, my beloved sister, grabbed the microphone out of the DJ's hands and starting singing her very own karaoke version of Prince's Little Red Corvette.

I do believe my Aunt Sandy (Chris's mother) was a wee bit horrified and was happy to see the back of us when the reception was over.

We had done a fairly good job of completely trashing my cousin's pickup with Wedding decorations including shaving foam and the ever useful condoms. Whilst they found it difficult to actually get into the truck and drive away we were proud of our handiwork!

The night was far from over for the party animals amongst us. This included Chris's uni buddies, my sister, and my cousins, Valerie and Buddy. On the way over to the bar, Valerie started telling everyone that she was a City Girl and could keep up with just about any country hick.

Valerie was a bit underage to go into a bar but that didn't stop this family from rallying around her when we entered the bar. And I mean literally around her.

Valerie is short. Like me and my sister, so we put her in the middle of the group and we all huddled and sort of shuffled in the door. I reckon this bar hadn't seen quite so many people enter at one time ever so they were a bit overwhelmed. Or maybe we were just a millte rambunctious.

Valerie continued to persist with her proclamation of her superior drinking abilities due to the fact that she was a "City Girl". Every shot she did she proclaimed she was a "City Girl". This worked right up until she passed out on the table. We just let her have a bit of a rest and we kept right on dancing.

I had a bit of a close encounter with a trash can and the waitress was really not very happy with me but we won't talk about that since this is my blog. Besides, the shot of tequila fixed everything right up!

The next morning the lot of us looked like we had all seen better days. Chris and Sherry are happily married living in Arizona with their 4 sons. And Valerie has never lived down her nickname as "City Girl".

Camping

If you are an avid reader of my blog (and you better be!), you will have read about my families camping adventures this summer. This was an important holiday for me on so many different levels.

As a young family, I'm not sure how my parents could have afforded to take us five children on holiday. Maybe they couldn't. Maybe that is why we went camping instead. I can honestly say that I don't care that we didn't go on extravagant holidays to Disneyland. I think what a child can learn exploring the campsite is better than any theme park ride!

Camping taught me a whole host of life skills that I still use today. Knowing not to run from a bear and that the best defense is to curl up in a ball can be very useful. In North America. We don't have bears in the UK! OK, not sure if I use these skills but it was great fun. Ah, peeing outdoors: never know when this might come in handy!

Abigail has a complete fascination with the whole camping concept. Not sure where this grand idea has come from. And one insightful individual did point out to us that it seemed a bit mad to allow the whim of a 3 year old influence you choice of holiday destinations. but she is already talking about our camping adventures next year.

But none of us had a better idea. Besides I have incredibly fond memories of camping as a child.

My first family camping adventures started out in a tent. My dad had this ancient jeep and we would pack everything up and go. At this point I believe there were 4 of us and Tyson was little more than a wee baby. I remember one time in particular lying in our sleeping bags and hearing the trees behind the tent rustling in the dead of night. My mother swears she saw the outline of a moose. I believe her.

This was the time that me and my brothers found this amazing natural slide in a group of rocks. We would sit down on our bottoms and slide down. Every night when we got dressed for bed my mother would find holes in our underpants. It seems that our jeans were sturdy enough to withstand the sliding down the rocks but our underpants we were wearing straight through. Dad told us not to go sliding down the rocks any more.

Seems to me we spent a lot of time fishing. or trying to fish. Mostly my dad was digging hooks out of each other. Hard to fish with small children. I imagine it could be classed an extreme sport. But we did always seem to catch something. Mom was always cooking up trout for dinner over an open fire in a large cast iron skillet. Mmmmmmm, mouth watering just thinking about it.

Shortly after that we got one of those campers that fold down then once you get parked they pop up and the beds slide out from the sides. I don't remember lots of camping in that one. But we must have done it because that's it in the picture. It was hard to pack with not a lot of room and no where to do the cooking. Steph wasn't born yet. I think my mom might have been pregnant with Tyson. You can see my dad leaning against the jeep. That's Shelby hanging out the window and George is sitting on the ground. Obviously that's me standing up near George.

But then we got the Cadillac of all campers. Dad bought us a fifth wheel trailer which is bigger and better than a motor home. This was a house on wheels. Of course, we couldn't go to the out of the way places in the Rocky Mountains like we did with the tent and I never heard a moose behind the trailer but we did take the trailer to the Colorado State Fair. And the bed were comfy.

Mom & Dad's bed was up some stairs at the front. Steph was a baby and we had this little moses basket that mom would just put down next to the bed. The kitchen in this trailer was lovely. But I reckon camping with 5 small children was no picnic. But we did have some fun times.

I hope my children gain the same fond memories of camping that I have.

First Jobs

When I graduated from university and started my career as a cobol programmer I had to pause and consider where my working life had started.

My parents had divorced. We didn't have much money. And I wanted some groovy clothes. And I wasn't gettin' those from my parents. So I needed to get a job. But I was 15. And it was illegal for a 15 year old to get a job.

But I had this friend, Robin Longo. And her mum had this boyfriend who owned a tropical fish store just 4 blocks from my house down on Colfax Avenue in Lakewood, Colorado. And Robin already had a job there. And she was only 15.

I asked Robin if she needed any help. She said yes. Of course she did. She was 15.

So we asked the owner and he said I could help too. And this is how it worked. I worked Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday and alternating Friday evenings. During the week we only worked after school from about 3:30 to 8 pm when we closed. It was usually slow enough at some point in the evening for us to get our homework finished. During the weekends we worked all day. Usually the owner would come in to help us as these were our busiest days.

I knew nothing about fish when I started working there. And I got no training. I taught myself. I read all the books in the store. And I learned how to set up salt water tanks and how to change water and how to feed fish. I watched sea horses give birth. I learned how to diagnose sick fish and how to test water for alkaline. I could advise people on what size and shape of tank was best for different types of fish. I could explain to people how to set up salt water environments. And it worked. They would come in very excited and buy more fish.

We had total responsibility for the store. When we got there the owner left for the afternoon and we locked up. We had keys to the store. We had to open up and feed all the fish. We had to clean tanks, stock shelves and hoover the floor during the day. We had to turn off all the lights and lock up when we left. No one watched over us. We just did it.

We counted the day's sales and reconciled that with the cash in the drawer. We prepared deposits for the bank which the owner would make the next day during the week.

As far as pay went, well, we got minimum wage. And we calculated what he owed us ourselves and at the end of the week we took our earnings from the cash register. If we needed some cash during the week, we took it out of the till and wrote him an IOU. I was honest to a fault. Sometimes if we made really big sales he gave us a wee bit of a commission.

The saddest day was a Sunday morning when my grandparent's came over and told me that there was some kind of commotion down by the fish store. Robin had worked the Saturday before and I was due in on Sunday morning but not for a few more hours. We didn't open until 10 am.

I hopped on my bicycle and went down there. The fire trucks were there and asked me if I knew anything about the store. I explained that I worked there. They asked me to contact the owner. I did. He said he'd be right there.

In the meantime I explained to the firemen that some of the fish were very expensive and some were very dangerous. They asked me if I wanted to see if there was anything worth saving. And keep them from getting poisoned. They gave me a hat and I went in with them. It was the first and only time I've ever seen and smelt the devastation of a fire.

There was very little worth saving. I cried when I saw my little sea horses.

Apparently the fire was caused by an electrical short in a pump in one of our isolation tanks in the back. Robin had done all the right things when she shut down the store the night before. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent the fire. Luckily no one was hurt.

But the store was a total loss. The owner didn't want to start over. And I was unemployed.

Still to this day, I've never had a job that gave me so much responsibility. I've never had a job that gave me so little training and left so much up to me and my judgment. I've never had a job that trusted me to do the right thing so completely. I've never had a job that paid so little. I've never had a job I loved so much.

A few weeks later I got a job at the Wendy's next door. They just assumed I was over 16 since I had run the fish store next door. I told them the truth the day I celebrated by 16th birthday a few months later. They couldn't believe it.

Colorado

There is a common interest group over on Facebook that I just joined for "anyone and everyone who lived, grew up or is living in Colorado. Here are the 13 criteria for joining:

1. You know and take pride in knowing where the spaceship/mushroom/oval house is off I-70 that was in the Woody Allen movie "Sleeper" and "Charlie's Angles".

2. When someone says T-Rex, you think of the massive backup on the interstate and not the dinosaur.

3. The fast lane is for cruising and the slow lane is for passing.

4. You have permanent grooves in your knees from The Chipmunk at Lakeside.

5. "I'm going to Red Rocks" is heard at your house every summer.

6. You never pack away your coat and sweaters.

7. You laugh at people who think you live in such a cold state...Colorado gets over 305 days of sun a year (more than Florida)!

8. You have surge protectors on every outlet.

9. You think that 6 inches is an acceptable following distance on I-25.

10. You can outlast winter in any other state but humidity in the summer is out of the question.

11. Thunder has set off your car alarm.

12. You lose all sense of direction when you lose sight of the mountains.

13. You've snowboarded in a t-shirt and shoveled snow in shorts.

14. You have gone from heat to A/C in your car in a day.

15. Wear Sunglasses when your windshield wipers are going.

16. You know where Shane Co. is, just off Arapahoe Road and Peoria Street.

17. You have had people from other states ask if Southpark is real.

18. Everyone thinks your crazy for being on top a 14er and riding your bike 20+ miles.

19. You know all the "real" seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter, summer and construction.

20. You can never figure out why your out of town guests faint from altitude sickness on a picnic to the mountains.

21. The bike on your car is worth more than your car.

22. You're able to drive 65 miles per hour through 3 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without even flinching.

23. You carry jumper cables in the car and your girlfriend knows how to use them.

24. You design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit.

25. You can drive over a 12,000-foot pass in 4 feet of snow, but can't get to work if there are 4 inches of snow.

26. Your golf bag has a 9-iron, a 3-wood and a lightning rod.

27. A bear on your front porch doesn't bother you nearly as much as a someone in Congress does.

28. You know you're from from Colorado when you know the meaning "Too cold to snow."

29. You know you're from Eastern Colorado when someone has gotten out of their car looking really confused and asked you, "So where are all the mountains?

30. You know that you lived in Colorado just because your just awesome.

Yep, I'm a member!

Old Friends

Back in 1991 I moved to Germany and my life changed forever. Who I was and how I viewed the world shifted dramatically. I had to learn a new language and I had to make friends.

It was not easy to make friends in a foreign country, particularly Germany where friendships are formed during your early school years and who your parent's friends are. The Germans rarely move far from the place they grew up and hence they don't have a requirement to make new friends very often. The workplace is very formal and not a place for making friends either.

However, in the midst of my desperate loneliness I met Clare & Michael Workman. They both worked for PacTel Cellular who was one of the partners in the D2 consortium which was run by Mannesmann Mobilfunk.

Clare & Michael welcomed me into their home for numerous meals and Sunday afternoon film extravaganzas. We've gone on holiday together with our trip to Florence being one of the highlights on my travel diary with Rome a close second. Clare & Michael loved me and took care of me particularly after my relationship with a Canadian I had met over there broke down.

Clare & Michael left Germany a few years back and moved home to California. The last time they visited us was just (like a couple weeks) after Sebastian was born. We lived in a small 2 bedroom house that was barely big enough for us. My mother was also staying with us at the time. Didn't phase them one bit. they helped us take foot and hand prints of Sebastian for his baby book and whenever I look at those I always think of them. They are the most witty, clever, and generous people you will ever meet.

Well, they are back to visit us again and meet Abigail.

We've got a couple things planned but mostly we'll just be catching up with old friends! I am soooooooo excited!

Death of a Colleague

Yesterday, Anne Mordey was laid to rest. She died the morning of 14 August after being diagnosed with cancer just a short time ago.

Anne had been a colleague of mine for nearly 3 years. She was one of VERY few women in the upper echelons of IS management. In the few meetings I have when there is another woman present it tended to be Anne, particularly when I was working in the Service Delivery division of my company. The boys over there tend to be tin and wire nerds that get twitter patted by talk of storage capacity and backup scheduling. I fall asleep during these discussions. Anne would wake me up.

She inspired me to achieve. She was a sharp as a tack and cantankerous to boot. She was unassuming but didn't suffer fools gladly. And she never made you feel like a fool if you didn't know. Only if you didn't try.

She was young, a mere 54, looking at enjoying sailing with her husband in the second half of her life she had worked so hard to enjoy.

I spoke to her quickly passing between our buildings a few months ago. I was in a rush and her mobile was ringing. She said something funny. I laughed and said I'd chat to her later and ran off. The next week she went off sick.

She will be missed. But her memory will continue to inspire.

Other People's Memories

Dropped Sebastian & Abigail off at their Granny's house (Marc's mum) down on the Isle of Wight yesterday. The house is like a ghost town with no interruptions or noise. Which is good and bad in equal measure.

Have been going through the stacks of laundry, post and email trying to sort out everything that builds up whilst you are away for several weeks.

Found an email sent to me by Pam who is a cousin of mine on my father's side of the family. She has been working very hard to get our family tree on www.geni.com to be the best and the biggest. It has been great to reconnect with her over the last couple months.

Pam's email was a memory of me when I was young that she had. Specifically it was a memory of my bedroom furniture:

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about a flashback memory I had about you the other day...I remember visiting you at your house in Colo. and going up to your bedroom. I think my jaw dropped and my eyes popped out of my head when I laid eyes on your beautiful canopy bed ! I had never known anyone with one before and I was so sure that you must be a princess ! I was soooooooooooooo envious ! (Does that make me sound like a hick from Nebraska or what ?! ) And if I remember correctly, your bedroom and/or bedspread was purple/lavender. Is that right?

I found this so fascinating on a number of levels. I hadn't really thought that my bed would ever cause that reaction in anyone else. I loved that bed. My grandmother, Tressie (my mom's mom) had bought it for me along with matching bureaus and desks. The bedspread wasn't lavender but white and the carpeting was a pale blue. The wallpaper had blue and green daisy flowers in vertical stripes. I had the corner room with 2 windows one overlooking the back garden and the other the neighbours house. I could look directly into the neighbour boy's room.

But for Pam to remember this. And to remember her reaction? After all these years? It made me laugh. And it made me remember to be thankful for the childhood I had. I'd never thought of myself as a princess! But I must have been.

PS Pam is a redneck from Nebraska! But so am I!

When I Was 18

What was I thinking?

At 18 I was in love with a boy named Troy. I thought I would marry him and have a couple children. I thought I would love him forever and he me.

And then he broke my heart. And then I wasn't in love. And I was never going to get married and I sure as heck wasn't going to have children. Ever.

I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up and most tragically, I wasn't even sure what my options were or what path I would take get anything I wanted. I knew that if I wanted something I was going to have to do this myself.

I wanted to make my father proud and I wanted to prove to my mother that I was capable of supporting myself regardless of the tidiness of my bedroom.

I spent the next few years trying desperately to figure all of it out. I tried on different personalities. I learned about far away people and places. And then I wanted to see the world. And I figured out what I was good at. And then I focused.

I was about 22 years old before it all came together career wise largely because I had control over that. I knew where I wanted to go and had knowledge of the framework I needed to get me there along with a reasonable time frame.

But I had no idea and no control over the relationship and family aspects of my life. I knew I didn't want to spend a fortune on my education and then be unable to reap the benefits if I got sidetracked on to the mummy track. At 18, I didn't even consider the insertion of children into the equation. And I couldn't find a man I wanted to marry and wanted to marry me.

Marc and my children were a happy accident. Completely unplanned and whilst I have altered my career plan slightly, I'd do it all over exactly the same way. And in a round about way my reality turned out very similar to my vision. But the road I took to get here was completely different than planned.

Pop

George Dale Smith was my grandfather. He was married to my Nanny, Joyce, and he was my father's father. We used to call him Pop. I don't talk much about him. Some of the memories are painful. But some are funny.

Pop was an alcoholic. He died very young but looked 100 years old. He died in the hospital and left my grandmother a young widow. She never remarried. Never even went out on a date.

Pop didn't always drink. He had very bad stomach ulcers and any alcohol would leave him in great pain. Until the doctors found some miracle medicine that he started taking and he found this meant he could drink. That wasn't good.

He went into rehab loads of times. But it never stuck.

We would enter my grandparent's home and he had this green recliner chair that sat in the corner of the living room. I never saw him drinking. He always had a cup of coffee and a rollup cigarette. But you could tell from his glossy bloodshot eyes if he was drunk.

He couldn't keep a job. He did loads of different things. The one job I remember him having was as a bus driver. I always wondered how an alcoholic could also be a bus driver.

Pop always had crazy ideas on how to solve various problems like the time he decide that using dynamite in the outhouse would clear out the sewage blockage. Instead the lane leading up to the house was covered in poo and toilet paper that had blown up rather than down as was the desired outcome.

Pop always made me laugh. He died my senior year in high school. He was the first of my immediate family to die in my living memory. He is buried in the crypt next to my grandmother. I smile every time I remember him. And that green chair.