Cheers to Our Readers!

Just some of our young, hip readers.

Do we actually have an audience for this blog?  Well, we think so. Blogger has a stats page that gives us a somewhat cryptic overview of who is tuning in.  We haven't figured out the finer points, but we can see when we have peaks and valleys in our viewership.  Mondays don't appear to be stellar days, although right after the long 4th of July break we had a fabulous Monday.  Perhaps it was the need for the quiet solitude of our virtual prairie after the craziness of a holiday week-end.  I've noticed when the titles of our posts contain the word "bra" as in "Did Ma Wear a Bra? (see June 18th), readership shot through the roof.  Perhaps you were thinking I was going to reveal Caroline Ingall's stripper past?  

Some of our posts fell a bit flat.  Eydie is still licking her wounds over her "Prairie Grl Tosses Fiddle Aside in Favor of Allen Stone" (June 28th).   Perhaps if she had entitled it "Allen Stone Wears a 36D" she (or Allen ) would have gotten a few more hits.  I suggested a couple of captions for that piece, as in "Obviously Allen wasn't getting much in high school," but Eydie thought that might offend our more delicate readers.  I tend to ride the edge of PC, so my dear friend needs to reign me in a bit.

I will say it again, obviously Allan
wasn't getting much in high school.

One of the items I always like to check our on our stats page is this little world map that shows where are readers are from.  Of course the majority are from the United States, but our second highest country of readership is Russia!  That amazes us, and keeps us wondering who in that vast country takes the time to check out our posts.  Canada comes in third, and we have a handle on who a few of those might be.  We get regular hits from Denmark (I have always said that I am a Dane at heart.), Germany, Guatemala, England, Spain, France, Ukraine, and just this week New Zealand and China. One week a number of people in Romania were following us.  I guess they gave up.  They are probably still shaking their heads over the Michael Landon photos.

I know of several people who refuse to read the blog--my daughters. They are so used to me doing really embarrassing things that they would just as soon not encourage me by paying attention to any of this.  I did threaten to post recovery photos of my youngest who just had her wisdom teeth removed.  She told me that it didn't worry her because she didn't think anyone important (her friends) would ever see them.  Ouch!  Well, let's just see if that is true.  Friends of Maia, be sure to let her know if you see this:
  

"Perhaps I should have given my poor mother 
a bit more encouragement in this writing venture."

While not huge, this worldwide readership just makes me want to encourage all of us to link cyber hands and have a moment of pure prairie peace.  Take a peek at this oldie but goodie.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ib-Qiyklq-Q

I might suggest ditching the Coke and substituting a mojito, which I have been perfecting this summer using my fresh garden mint. Whatever your beverage of choice, I do find it amazing that something as inconsequential as a blog written by a couple of middle-aged women who are still trying to find themselves can link complete strangers from all over the globe.

Prairie Eydie has set up a Facebook page for us.  We are extremely needy individuals, so please type in "Prairie Grlz" in your Facebook search box and like us, or click here for a quick peek.  

It is Monday, and I haven't forgotten.  One of our readers, Martha, sent me this photo of our dear Michael.  Does this even need a caption?  I don't mean to be shallow, but just compare him with Allen Stone.

Prairie Sherry

Prairie Parmesan

Dear Readers,
I know you are wondering what Sharon and I talked about on the drive to Old World Wisconsin.  Laura Ingalls Wilder? The heat index?  Our children?  Nope, nope, and nope.  We talked about a Facebook post from my kindred spirit sister-in-law, Heidi.  (Look left) 

Sharon and I both feel unfairly judged by waiters when they are cranking out parmesan cheese on our pasta.  I always think waiters are looking at my upper arms and wondering why I'm at a restaurant instead of at the gym working on my triceps. 

Sharon and I then brainstormed a list of things we feel judged about:

• I feel judged that I am a Bruce Springsteen fan.  Not a nutso fan, but enough of a fan to know all the words to "Jungleland" and to like the album, Nebraska.

• Sharon felt judged as a single mother raising three children.  To combat this feeling, she made sure her daughters always looked perfect.  This is why Sharon can tie ribbons into absolutely perfect bows.
• We both feel judged that we HATE playing board games with our children.  Cootie is the worst.  Or maybe Hi Ho Cherrio is the worst.  I really can't decide.  I keep donating board games to Goodwill and then feigning confusion when my kids ask me where Monopoly is.
• I feel judged that I think Jon Bon Jovi is really hot, now.  Now as in 2013.  (Obviously I have lots of issues with eighties music.) I didn't think he was hot in the eighties.  Slippery When Wet?  Coral lipstick?  All that permed damaged hair?  Ugh and Ick.

 Then Sharon and I started talking about how we judge people.  Gasp!  That list was surprisingly long.  Here is a partial list of the Prairie Grlz judgments:

• Women who are really skinny who keep asking if they are fat.  Come on!  I look like I am wearing a permanent bustle.
• Avid Packer Fans (this is only because we have absolutely no clue what is going on.  If we knew what was going on - we'd probably start a Packer blog.)
• People who drink lite beer.  I didn't even drink lite beer when I was on Weight Watchers.  Can I suggest Hopalicious by Ale Asylum?
• Sharon judges people who use Kenra Volume Spray 10 oz. Obviously she was not blown away by my Kenra beauty tip when she saw the price.  I judge Sharon for using Suave hairspray. 

What does all this judging and being judged mean?  Not sure, but it was really fun to talk about.  Try it with a pal. 

Sharon and I are now less than two weeks away from opening our Etsy site.  Talk about putting ourselves out there to be judged.  Just know you will never see these Prairie Grlz drinking lite beer at a Packer game while listening to "You Give Love A Bad Name."

Beauty Tip:  Want people to wonder just what you have been up to?  Try Benefit's Dandelion Blush.  Love, love, love it!

Ode to the Tomato

Tomato season officially starts today.  Actually our area farmers' markets have had the locally grown scarlet globes for several weeks, but for me this is day one.  I start my new job as a tomato sorter and packer at the farm.  From now until school starts, I will spend 5 to 6 hours three days a week culling through thousands of tomatoes and packing them for delivery to food co-ops, restaurants, CSA members, and three farmers' markets.  I'll still keep my Saturday job working at one of those markets, but this will supply the bulk of my summer paycheck.

Fortunately, I have always had a fabulous relationship with this "vegetable" fruit.  In my early childhood, Grandpa Puttmann taught me to eat tomatoes with a sprinkle of sugar.  Now I have graduated to a drizzle of olive oil, a dash of salt and pepper, and a splash of good balsamic vinegar.  All winter I look forward to the monstrous beefsteaks, the cherries that explode in the mouth, and the delicate-skinned heirlooms.  I am a snob about my tomatoes, only eating the local and dirt grown and never letting a shipped or hydroponic travesty pass my lips. 

Part of my pay as a employee of Jenehr Family Farm is all the produce I can use.  During the next month, my counters will be lined with tomatoes waiting to be processed in canning jars.  I will can whole, peeled tomatoes, spicy tomato jam--a gourmet "ketchup" that we will slather on burgers, and spaghetti sauce.  I will make "sundried" cherry tomatoes in my oven and pack them in olive oil and garlic.  Last year I even made my own tomato paste, which far outshone the kind in the tin cans, but took four hours of tending on my stove top. How can anyone say that cooking isn't art?!

In honor of the regal tomato, I recently painted one of my curb-find chairs a lovely tomato red and collaged bits of reproductions of Jule Cheret posters on it.  It makes me happy whenever I look at it. Each time I make one of these, I don't think I will be able to part with it, but then my daughters remind me that we now have enough chairs for a royal banquet. 


I can't leave you without a recipe this week.  This is my tomato jam recipe.  It is really yummy.

Tomato Jam (4-5 pints)

5 pounds tomatoes, finely chopped.  You can use a food processor for this, but just don't puree to smithereens.  Leave the skins on. 
3 1/2 cups sugar
8 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 teaspoons freshly grated ginger
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon red chili flakes

Combine all in a large, non-reactive pot (I use my stainless steel stock pot).  Bring to a boil and then reduce to a simmer.  Cook uncovered, stirring regularly, until the jam reduces to a sticky, jammy mess--about 1-1 1/2 hours.  Remove from heat.

Fill prepared pint or 1/2 pint canning jars allowing for 1/4 inch headspace.  Apply lids, and process in a boiling water canner for 20 minutes.  Jam stores in a cool, dark place for up to a 1 year.

If you are new to canning, or just need a refresher, here is a great resource.  http://www.freshpreserving.com/getting-started.aspx 

Prairie Sherry

          

Prairie Purge

Recently, Sharon and I spent the day at Old World Wisconsin learning about life in the 1840s.  What I took away from the day was a need to simply.  My home and life.  (A former boyfriend had a bumper sticker that read "Live Simply So Others May Simply Live."  The sticker drove me crazy and made me want to buy waterproof mascara and cigar box purses in bulk.)


Let's take a look at the Finnish immigrant family who planted a quarter acre of flax every year.  The flax kept the family entertained all year long.  (The only background knowledge I brought to the table about flax is - it makes linen and a crisp linen shirt looks good for about 90 seconds.) 

• First, the family planted flax from seeds saved from the previous harvest. 
• Just before the flax bloomed, the entire family congregated to pull the flax out by the roots. 
• Then the flax was bundled into small bunches and tied with twine. 

v. ret·ted, ret·ting, rets

v.tr.

To moisten or soak (flax, for example) in order to soften and separate the fibers by partial rotting.

• Now the retting (Good Scrabble word people! It gets rid of a lot of pesky letters) could begin.
• The flax bundles were laid out in a field and every two days someone would turn the flax bundles over.  This would go on for about two months. 
• FINALLY, the retting process was done!!!  Hallelujah!!!  Now the process of turning the flax into a spinnable fiber could being.  (And that process goes on forever and I had to stop paying attention because my mind was getting cluttered.)

I am not sure how the flax sermon got me to thinking about simplification.  It was just nice to sit in a grain barn with a cross breeze after tromping around in the heat. 

After nearly collapsing of heat stroke, Sharon and I left Old World Wisconsin.  (Sadly, we couldn't deal with visiting the one room Raspberry School.  Too stuffy.  Plus, Sharon didn't want to hear how good the teachers had it in the 1840s as compared to now.) 

 

On the ride home, I brought up going home and simplifying.  But, all I could come up with was pitching those Clinique lipsticks you get as part of "Clinique Bonus Days" and possibly donating a cake stand.  Sharon then went on a sanctimonious tirade (similar to the aforementioned flax sermon) on how she culls through all her beauty products twice a year.  She doesn't want to put any old product on her face.  Me?  I am sure that one day I'll learn to apply that eggplant eye shadow so I don't look whorish.  I also have faith that the moisturizer I bought from HSN will be effective 7 years later.

When I got home I attacked my bathroom.  Adios to scented body lotions that didn't make my nose sing.  Gone are the piles of mascara and eye liners that made me look like a depressed raccoon.  Ciao to the straightening serum that made my locks look limp.  Smell you later to bobby pins that ripped out my hair.  And cheerio to the Ped Egg.  (Good for you if you have no idea what I am talking about.  The Ped Egg is basically a cheese grater for your feet and is a very bad idea.)
 


Since this is a blog about living an artistic life, I have to think of a connection.  Hmmmm.  Since the bathroom purge, I have opened up room in my mind for more inspiration, beauty, and creativity.  I no longer think about old beauty products and how much I spent on the dangerous Ped Egg.  Tomorrow I am conquering the linen closet.   

Prairie Eydie
  
 

Eydie and Sharon's Excellent Adventure

Heading to glory...or Old World Wisconsin.

Prairie Eydie and I have a bit of Thelma and Louise in us--minus the murder and the flight off the cliff.   We love a road trip!  It is escapism at its best.  We have taken some locally famous (or infamous) trips, our favorite being the 2010 pilgrimage to Lake Pepin, Wisconsin; Walnut Grove, Minnesota; and DeSmet, South Dakota--the grottoes for Laura Ingall's Wilder geeks.  It was on that trip that we waded on the banks of Plum Creek (and just about caught malaria from the mosquito population) and did a photo shoot with sunbonnets on the site of the Ingalls claim on the prairies of eastern South Dakota.

This week-end we ventured out for yet another adventure, heading to Old World Wisconsin, a living museum between Milwaukee and Madison, for their annual Laura Ingalls Wilder celebration.  Being a veteran of this trip, Eydie described the butter churning, straw twisting, quilting, clothes washing, and gardening we would do during our visit.  Sounds like a perfect way for a couple of mothers to escape their own household chores, doesn't it!  She also warned me about the crowds--the teaming masses of humanity who would be gathering for this event, all vying for a turn at the butter churn. Here was the parking lot at 10:30 AM.

You could hear crickets chirp.

Perhaps it was the 90 degree heat and the 99 percent humidity, but it was pretty darn quiet.

We did bring our sunbonnets. I think Prairie Eydie should have ditched the sunglasses for pure prairie authenticity.  Notice that I am not adding my bonneted mug to the mix.  Perhaps sunbonnets are a look best left to little girls in gingham dresses.  The next time Eydie makes fun of one of my Friday beauty tips, I will refer her to this photo.

Old World Wisconsin contains actual  houses, barns, businesses, schools, and churches of 19th century rural Wisconsin that have been moved to this location and restored.  Alas, air conditioning was not a feature commonly found at this time.  We watched a blacksmith sweating over a forge and several women cooking and dripping over caste pot-bellied stoves in period clothing--wool pants, corsets, long-sleeved dresses with bustles.  This was a sweaty time folks, and I don't think they had a ready supply of Mennen Sure Stick or Secret Clinical Strength.  I think I might have slipped a few electric fans into the restoration plans--nothing too over-the top, but just enough to send a cool breeze up my crinolines.

When it was time to stop for noon vittles, I thought we might be instructed in how to make a rabbit snare or at least forage the edge of the highway for road kill, but evidently the folks at Old World know when it is time to plop a bratwurst or a burger and a pile of kettle chips in front of a tourist. And this being Wisconsin, a cold microbrew was also offered.


We managed to stay out of trouble for most of the day, although later I found out that I wasn't suppose to be feeding the horse grass or instructing the tourist kidlettes how to do the same.  Even Prairie Eydie tried her hand.  Yes, those are actual daisies in her hair, but I am not sure who told her you were suppose to wear your bonnet like a feedbag.  Watch out, that horse isn't looking at your bazongas, Eydie.  More about bazongas later.

Just so you don't think that I am taking advantage of my dear friend, I guess I had better throw in a less-than-flattering photo of me, but I am really not sure how you can look cute and perky doing the wash with a hand agitator.  I have heard stories of pioneer women going insane because of loneliness and despair.   It looks like I am halfway there.  Even Eydie looks like she may be going over the edge.  

Once I made it home, all I was good for was a long bath and a mojito.  Eydie, on the other hand was inspired to go home and simplify.  More about that later.

Prairie Sherry  

I call dibs on the Geena Davis character.  I'm taller.

        

Prairie Princess

I adored princesses when I was a little girl.  Snow White was my favorite, with her sunshine yellow skirt, raven hair, and curiously high voice.  I used to dig holes in the sand box and sing into them - pretending I was Snow White singing into the wishing well.  I loved how she sweetly charmed and took care of the Dwarves.  Little did I know the Dwarfs were metaphors for my own children.  Doc (Leonard), Happy (Gus), and Grumpy (Lulu).

When I went to college, I turned my back on the princesses. The princesses were evil and taught little girls to be weak and dependent.  Princesses also sent the message that you had to be tiny (Have you ever noticed how Cinderella's feet dwindle down into mere nubs?), beautiful, and have a ridiculous amount of flowing hair.  I felt intense anger that my mother dared to brain wash me with Cinderella and Snow White.  The very idea of Prince Charming rescuing me was insulting.  This was also a time in my life when I wore all black,  read a lot of Rita Mae Brown (before she started writing those silly cat mysteries) and wrote horrible poetry that I thought was really good.

I now have a three year old (Lulu) who becomes very upset  (i.e. nutso tantrum) when she isn't referred to as Cinderella.  She used to make us call her "Dora Sandy Tasha," but that was just a phase.  Lulu has worn out two Cinderella costumes because she insists on wearing them daily, not just on Halloween.   The first Cinderella costume had to be thrown out after a spaghetti dinner at Grandma's house.  The second dress is all ripped up and Lulu still wears it because her evil mother won't buy her a new dress.  (Can you believe those horribly made princess dresses are TWENTY dollars at Target??? )

Thanks to the generosity of a fabulous aunt, I have spent the past six days on a Disney cruise with my children.  AND.  I have fallen in love with the Princess all over again.  Maybe because I am seeing things through my children's eyes.  Lulu and I waited in line for over an hour so she could meet and greet all the Princesses.  (Cinderella, Princess Tiana, Belle, Aurora, Ariel and Snow White.   Tinkerbell was in a whole different area because she is a fairy.  I made the mistake of asking a mom - "Why isn't Tinkerbell here?"  Yes.  I was then shunned in the Princess line.) 

Lulu was in a trance.  So thrilled to be hugging "her" Princesses.  While she clutched Disney royalty, I took notes on how to pose like a proper Princess:

• point one toe out to the side (favored by Snow White)
• clasp hands in front of your chest
• blow dramatic kisses with two hands
• puddle skirts on floor before leaning forward to hug small child

Being on a Disney high, I now see how Princesses stand for believing in what seems impossible (or magical) and going for it.  It doesn't matter if it is a blog, a published book, an Etsy site, or a very fancy dress worn on an ordinary day.  Dreams come true each and every day. 

It's Michael Landon Monday!!!  I love this image of Michael and have titled it

"Michael Landon:  Tinkerbell in Heaven"

Ma Didn't Have an iPhone

My first babysitter.

The year I was born, 1955, was the year my parents purchased our first family TV.  Mom would describe how she would put my playpen right in front of this new-fangled marvel.  "It was incredible.  You loved it.  You would smile and laugh.  I could get so much done"  Yes, I am a product of  some of the first technological babysitting.  This was the same mother who later declared our household "TV free" in 1968 when that same TV died.  I think she referred to the deceased as "devil spawn."  1968--I was in the middle of my Star Trek obsession, having fallen madly in love with Scotty, engineer for the Starship Enterprise.  Weird, I know. Everyone else was all tingly over Spock.  My Scotty fix had been taken from me.  I was totally despondent.   My dad (and the football season) prevailed. We had a new TV within two weeks.

"Beam me up, Scotty..."

Two things amaze me:  1.)  I actually grew into a fairly normal and productive member of society despite the plugged-in babysitter.  2.) That TV lasted 13 years!

I could now go into agonizing detail how I tried to raise my own children with limited TV, but I will save you from that sanctimonious blither .  "Being raised Amish", as my nieces call it (My sister was my mentor in this regard.).  Limited TV was about as successful as shielding my grandson from the concept of firearms.  Hold a hot dog a certain way and add the appropriate sound effects,  and you have a toy gun.  Grandma can tell you that it is a carcinogenic-filled preserved meat, but David knows it is a gun.  Both kill.

David with yet another weapon of mass destruction.

So where is all of this going?  Well, our household is filled with electronic gagets.  I am typing this on the family computer, but I could use my iPhone, or my middle daughter's MacBook Pro, or my youngest's Chromebook.  Our family's current TV can  record any program with the simple push of one button.  I never need to go to the video store any longer.  Netflix and Hulu, wirelessly connected to that same TV, could keep me entertained for hours if I could ever figure out the damn remotes. If someone were to take away my smartphone, I would probably go for the jugular   We are so wired and connected via wireless, fiber optic, and electrical that we virtually glow.  

But I still have to make my bed.

I think of this each morning (and yes, I do make my bed every day) as I retuck the sheets, fluff the pillows, and straighten the bedspread. When I was a child, I use to think that this would be a chore that my future would not hold.  Heck, my mom told me that I would probably be flying to work each day in my personal aircraft. Why do I have to do something as prosaic as make a bed?  But yet, I make the same motions as my mother, my grandmother, and my great-great grandmother.  Why hasn't someone invented an alternative?  Heck, the Jetsons had all that stuff figured out.  Scotty wasn't spending his time fluffing pillows.

I am guessing those with the smarts to create technological gizmos either don't make their beds, have their mom's still doing it for them, or never sleep.  They don't experience my pain, therefore they don't see the need.  So, like Ma, Laura, Mary, Carrie, and Grace  (Pa sure never pulled a sheet tight over that straw tick)-- I make the bed.  An age-old art will be long preserved.

Just like Mom taught me.

Yikes, it is Friday, and I need a beauty tip!   If you need to polish a piece of silver jewelry in a pinch, just rub with a dab of white toothpaste on a soft, damp cloth.  Rise when done.  Your jewelry will sparkle and smell minty fresh.  Toothpaste also makes a great quick polish for light colored shoes/sandals.  Scuff marks be gone!

Prairie Sherry 

PS

Prairie Eydie and I have a special Laura Ingalls Wilder Saturday planned for tomorrow!  Pictures and details coming next week!!