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In Memory of My Grandma or: LIFE’S SHORT: EAT THE PIE

(Grandma Beck and me adoring one another. It never faded.)

On Thanksgiving Day, 2013, my maternal grandmother, Wanna Lillian Nester (known to everyone as Beck), slipped away from this life in the wee hours of the morning. She died quietly, but she most certainly didn’t live that way. She put a lot under her belt:

94 years, 10 months.

Nine siblings.

One husband.

Two daughters.

Two granddaughters.

One great-granddaughter.

Seventeen presidents.

Over 4,000 pies (and that’s a VERY low ballpark figure.)

One wicked sense of humor.

and

Millions and millions of memories.

I am of the opinion that my grandmother loved few things more than feeding people. I have had many a bloated belly that can attest to that. Countless guests have sat in her kitchen, nearly foundered, only to hear: “Weeeell…you’ve hardly touched your pie.”

I loved watching my Grandma Beck cook. Not as much as I loved eating what she made, mind you, but it ran a close second. I’m lucky enough that she taught me to make a handful of her favorites. But, what my grandma taught me was about much more than just cornbread (or pies), it was about taking care of people, about showing people that they’re special.

(Grandma Beck giving me pie crust pointers, and making me laugh, New Year’s Eve 2011.)

She certainly made me feel special. Her love for me was powerful and unconditional. It wasn’t complicated, or riddled with caveats…she simply loved me. No. Matter. What. I knew that she ALWAYS had my back. She would have fought a grizzly bear (and I would wager good money she would have won) to save me from even a moment of discomfort. She made me feel brave; because she was brave.

Grandma Beck loved Wheel of Fortune, she loved her faith, she loved tostadas, she loved complaining about trees that drop too many leaves (or other such trivial irritations), she loved cooking and baking for others (have I mentioned pie?), she loved getting dressed up, she loved being silly with her family, if her upstairs bathroom was any indication she was fond of decorative soap (although I never talked that one through with her), she loved snow, she loved her tiny glass and porcelain shoe and pocket knife collections, she LOVED Christmas more than anyone else I’ve ever known, and for a period of time she was deeply enamored with Pillsbury Toaster Strudel.

(Grandma Beck 1970 something…thrilled about what appears to be some sort of kitchen appliance…her enthusiasm was so genuine.)

She hated being far away from her family, she loathed Richard Dawson (“Ugh. There’s old kissy face” she would say through a grimace every time she saw him on TV), wouldn’t tolerate haircuts that showed her ears, had a lifelong animosity toward ill-fitting shoes due to her impossibly narrow feet (“My foot slides forward!” she said more times than I can count), harbored resentment toward quite a few politicians (who will remain nameless), couldn’t stand low-cut tops (“Are you a-goin’ out in THAT?” I heard more than once), simply would not abide Christmas decorations that were up past December 25th, and was never known to enjoy being told what to do.

(This poor tree didn’t know that certain death was around the corner. It’s lucky it made it past midnight Christmas Day.)

But you know what she loved more than she loved OR hated any of those things? Me. My cousin. My mother. My aunt. Everyone in her vast circle of family and friends.

Grandma Beck was generous, funny, prideful, loving, judgmental (sometimes hilariously so), compassionate and kind. She didn’t just walk, she sashayed. Her smiles were contagious. She was ornery (she loved pranks), adorable, sometimes impatient, steadfast and loyal. She had the ability to get away with just about anything she wanted and by all accounts should have behaved as if she was spoiled rotten but she didn’t. She never complained about or shied away from hard work. She was unabashedly feminine (with a love for all things sparkly), and she was tough as nails. She was resourceful. She was a lot of things I aspire to be, and her foibles were ones that were easy to forgive. She would give you the shirt off of her back, but if she wanted her way, she was getting it. Somehow ALL of it was endearing. She charmed everyone she met instantly.

Listening to the comments, condolences and reminiscences from those who knew my grandma, I heard certain sentiments again and again. Many people commented on her cooking and baking, her wit, her encouraging nature, about how she was always laughing and smiling, about how she was beautiful and always smartly dressed, among many other things. But the thing that struck me most deeply was just HOW many people who weren’t in her immediate family thought of her as THEIR grandmother/mother/aunt. They considered her family by choice. They loved her, and she loved them back. Not with a tiny part of her heart…with all of it.

We have a limited amount of time here on this spinning blue and green globe. Every day we wake up with the opportunity to make a difference. To make someone smile. To make someone’s life better in some way, big or small. To love them completely and fearlessly. To make them a pie…and to give them a larger slice than you take for yourself. My grandma was on this planet for 34,554 days, and in my humble opinion, she did good work in the generous amount of time she was allotted; she made a difference.

Grandma Beck had a habit of, after finishing a particularly trying chore or an eventful day, arriving home after a long trip, or some similar activity, of exhaling and saying through the exhale: “Wheeeee.” It occurs to me that this funny little habit was so appropriate for her. It’s as if she was saying: “Well, that was EXHAUSTING…but you know what? It was FUN.” I imagine, in some ways, that’s an apt description of her life as a whole. Why? Because she decided to smile and laugh, even during times when anything other than stomping her feet must have been difficult. She was so resilient.

My heart ACHES to feel her arms hugging me again, to hear her laughter and see her smile, but she’s somewhere else now. She’s probably trying on halos: “Well, now this one would be ok, but it keeps sliding forward.” she’s probably saying to the (hopefully patient) angel in charge of wardrobe. Although she’s closed the book here on earth, she’s by the side of those of us who knew her, in what she taught us about living. About the benefit of making the right choice, not just the easy choice when it comes to giving something of yourself every day. Nothing would make her happier than to look down and see all of us hugging our families, helping our neighbors and for heaven’s sake…finishing our pie.

God bless Grandma Beck,

Laura

(With her great-granddaughter 13 years ago.)

December 10, 2013 13

How to Make an Upscale Chia Pet Alternative in Five Easy Steps or: ONE MAN’S PAST IS ANOTHER GAL’S TREASURE

So you say you long for the nostalgia of ch-ch-ch-chia…but you want a unique and elegant alternative? Well read on my sprout loving friend, read on!

If you have a pulse you have probably, at some time or another, either owned a Chia Pet, seen a Chia Pet, or at least seen the Chia Pet commercial. They debuted in the late seventies and are still made today.

I recently found a treasure that got my mental gears spinning. It all started when I saw the item pictured below:

There he sat, at an estate sale in Pacific Palisades, partially obstructed from my view by a table and a set of redwood patio furniture. I was immediately drawn to this object, for what reason I cannot explain, but I really liked it. After staring at it for a bit, I realized that the grooves in his “hair” were somewhat reminiscent of Chia Pets and I thought to myself: “Hey! I could grow sprouts on that crazy cool head!” A deal was struck with the proprietress and I was the proud new owner of a well, er, whatever this is exactly. Not quite a bust, certainly not a statue, but…something!

When I brought it home, my original plan involved Chia seeds. I even went so far as to purchase some at my local Trader Joe’s. If you live in a much warmer climate than I, or if you want to grow yours indoors, you could go this route. As it turns out, Chia seeds need a steady temperature in at least the high seventies for optimal growth. Night time temps here get fairly crisp, even when the weather is moderately warm during the day, so that was out for me. I knew I wanted to display this item in the garden.

This was actually a bit of a blessing, because the more I imagined the finished product in my mind, the more I could see that I wanted something a little bit more subtle, a little more refined. Not that I object to campy or even outright silly, but in this case, it just didn’t fit. I didn’t want the objet d’garden art to look like a chlorophyll rich Phil Spector, for heaven’s sake!

I had some things left over from another gardening project and I wanted to use what I had on hand. I had some succulents, including a large flat of a fairly small and low-growing variety. After eyeballing them side by side I came to the conclusion that the succulent ground cover just wasn’t going to work. I very loosely laid it on top just to be sure, but as you can see, it looked flat out redonkulous.

I’ve been a little obsessed with moss lately, so, after a hearty laugh, I went instead with a few different varieties of moss (all gathered from the yard) with a few tiny succulents thrown in for good measure. Here’s how to make it all happen:

Step 1. Buy a crazy random item for one dollar. Mine is a head, but it could be ANYTHING! You could use a garden gnome, an animal statue of some sort, or something simple such as an orb. Spritz your item with water.

Step 2. Apply a small amount of enriched soil on the moistened item. Spritz liberally once more.

Step 3. Apply moss in sections, pressing down firmly as you go along. Spritz the back of each section with water before applying and wet thoroughly after each section is attached.

Helpful hint: Shortly after beginning this project at an outdoor table, I realized that transport was going to be problematic until it was well established (a couple of weeks at least.) Even though it was a bit awkward to finish everything with the head already on the ground, I set it into place and finished everything up there.

Helpful hint: I used three different types of moss because I wanted a mottled surface. I didn’t want it to look too uniform. Whatever type you use is up to you.

Step 4. Add a few random succulent pieces. Base the size of your pieces on the size of the item you’re using. Mine were quite small. Succulents are very hardy and quite resilient. I grow them often by simply breaking off a piece from one plant and shoving it into a pot or the ground…AND THEY ACTUALLY GROW! No need to root them in water, just let ‘em go at it!

Step 5. Mist until well soaked. You’re done!

Some follow-up:

It is important to keep your item well watered for the first few weeks. Once it takes firm hold you won’t need to be quite as vigilant. Moss needs very little water and can tolerate more than you might imagine.

After I finished mine I decided the neck looked odd because the ground around it was so bare. My garden is a work in progress…other than some trees nearly everything in the yard was dead, with no grass, etc. Since I’m renting, I am keeping my budget as low as possible in the back yard. So far I’ve found some plants at yard sales and done a few things, but because the ground is still empty overall, I just thought the head needed a little extra something. Using some moss and unplanted succulents from another project, I filled in just a bit around the base.

Another alternative is to “paint” your item with a moss sludge (I actually went back and added just a bit after steps one through five, just for good measure.) I wanted instant results, at least to some degree (it will still have to grow in and really fill in, this is just a start), so I didn’t use solely a moss sludge, but for details on how to go this route, check out the following link:

http://wp.me/p2YY9u-cU

Now that you’ve seen how to make it, I’d like to tell you a little more about the history behind it.

After completing the transaction, the woman running the sale and I chatted further, and details began to emerge that made my recent acquisition seem all the more precious. What follows is the Reader’s Digest Condensed version of the story that she shared.

Her parents, both from the Ukraine, met in New York and fell in love. Her mother, a free-spirited creative type, was an avid gardener and artist. There were examples of her pottery throughout the sale. The items she had amassed over her life were varied and interesting. Some of them rough, some of them refined. Most of them interesting. The head was made by her mother and the model was her father. Sweet story.

Now I am loving this item more and more.

Then she continues. Her parents (separately, having not yet met) left the Ukraine during the Holocaust. Her father’s story was compelling. When he was a young man, he was rounded up and packed into a train car with over 100 other Ukrainians. Everyone on the train was a stranger to him, with the exception of his lifelong best friend. He and his fellow captives saw little avenue for escape. The train was speeding along, far from any town, the doors were locked and the only ventilation on the train car was a TINY window at the very top of the wall, near the ceiling, far out of reach of all on board. The general consensus was that all was lost.

Against the advice of his fellow prisoners he and his friend were determined to attempt an exit through this tiny window. First his friend, and then he were boosted up by some of the others on board and managed to wriggle through the window. He was knocked unconscious when he hit the ground for, he believed, over an hour. His time estimate was based on the frequency with which trains passed through the area and the fact that the noise of an approaching train is what brought him back to consciousness. Realizing that being spotted by a passing train meant likely death, he scurried away from the tracks and into a wooded area as quickly as he could manage. He was unable to find his friend, because the train was going so fast that even going one after the other they were far apart. He never saw his friend again. He never knew if his friend survived the fall, if he did whether he was able to find his way out of the country or whether he might have been found during his attempted escape.

But the woman’s father did escape. He left his home and came to the United States. He met a crazy, quirky and beautiful woman. He took her to southern California for their honeymoon and she refused to ever leave again. Refused. He went back to New York, packed their things and drove back across the country…WHILE SHE STAYED IN CALIFORNIA (this gal wasn’t kidding folks!) With no job, no home, no clear plan. He just leapt. Again. And when he told the story to his children, or to friends he told the story with laughter and love. He cherished his quirky wife and her headstrong attitude.

He bought a home, raised his children and lived his version of the American dream. Because he took a chance, because he flung himself from a speeding train, flung himself into an unknown country and flung himself willy-nilly into his life with his family.

I didn’t ask how he died (it was a true estate sale…both parents were gone) but we know how he DIDN’T die. It is estimated that upwards of four million Ukrainians were killed in the holocaust. This man wasn’t one of them. In the face of one of the ugliest examples of what mankind can be capable, he survived. And he didn’t become ugly simply because he had experienced ugliness. He loved. He lived.

They say that one person’s trash is another person’s treasure.

Well, in this case, one person’s past has become another person’s treasure. It’s not just another purchase…it is something which will BE treasurED. It’s a Chia Survivor! A Chia Hero!

And just in case you are wondering if my repurposing this piece into garden art is disrespectful in some way, I told the woman at the sale (before she told me her parent’s story) what I had in mind and she was 100% on board. After hearing the story I mentioned that now it seemed a little, well, frivolous. She disagreed. She thought her mother, especially, would have loved it.

I know that every time I look at “the head”, I will be reminded of the journey that lead it to my garden.

Fling yourself headfirst at life people! You never know who you will touch along the way, or even after you’re gone. Make all of those touches meaningful…touches for which you know you’ll be proud to be remembered!

-Laura

July 17, 2013 6

THE PURSE PARADOX or: HOW TO MAKEOVER AN OLD PURSE IN SEVEN EASY STEPS!

So you say you don’t believe me when I say that an unusable purse has value? Well grab a paintbrush, and PTL for second chances.

Not too awfully long ago, I saw a purse. Okay, okay…maybe some time has passed. Alright, you know what? FINE! Last year. It was last year. I’m just now getting around to writing about it. It was a sweet little winter white, satin Coach purse at a yard sale for five dollars. Only problem? It had stains. At first glance they weren’t apparent, but upon closer inspection it could easily be described as dingy and certainly wouldn’t be an accessory one would be itching to dangle off of one’s arm (it made me itchy just to look at it.) It was, for all intents and purposes, a lost cause. I almost passed it up. Left it behind and never looked back. “I am far more deserving than a STAINED purse!”, I told myself. “Clearly the previous carrier of this purse did not treat it carefully, in fact, it almost looks as if they didn’t even care about it at all!” Logic and reason dictated that this particular little purse was not worth my time. “Why do you always talk to yourself?” I asked. “Because I fascinate myself!” I answered. “And because nobody else is here.” I mumbled.

I began my return trip down the driveway from the garage to my car. I could find far better purses another day! That’s right! Forget you, Coach purse! Then it was almost as if that little purse called out to me: “Hey! Hey! Don’t give up on me! There’s more here than you might think! I am worth your time! I AM!”

Giving in, back up the driveway I trudged, mumbling to myself once more, this time over being a sucker, questioning my sanity based on that fact that I was listening to an inanimate object and completely unrelated, wondering if there were any sour gummies left in the console of my car.

So, I bought the purse, took it home and in my office it sat for a day or two….or three, or a week or three, or yeah, as we’ve established, maybe a few months. I eyed it on and off, wondering if I had made a mistake. In the retelling I imagine myself giving it a stare down a’la Clint Eastwood, you know, because I’m a stone-cold bad@#%. In reality it was more like a few sidelong glances that accompanied some cranial wiggling on how to clean it, alternating with second guessing myself regarding the purchase. More than once I almost chucked it.

Let it be known that I am the stain eradicator! If you have a question about laundry, I’m your gal. One of my superpowers is stain removal. I’m not sure exactly what the costume would be for a superhero with this power…but I haven’t ruled out the possibility of wearing one (one that I would, of course, hand wash and line dry.) This purse, however, presented problems. It was resistant to coming clean. It was like it didn’t want to clean up nicely! I couldn’t just attack the stains (and I had experience with this) or the fabric would bubble and buckle (satin fabric with backing…stain removal Kryptonite!) I tried a few of my favorite remedies in inconspicuous places. No dice. The staredown recommenced. I’m pretty sure the stains laughed evil laughs. They had plans. Dark plans. Bad plans. Wicked plans! Unfortunately for them, they picked the wrong stain-fighting superhero.

After a few days it hit me. This purse wasn’t ever going to be exactly what it had been when it started its life unmarred, pristine, and fresh…but maybe if I changed MY preconceived notion about what it had to be, it could be even better.

There were a lot of ways one could amend an item such as this, and we’ll cover other options in future posts, but for now, let’s talk about the painting process. It’s not as apparent in the photos, but there were quite a few stains and also just an overall dinginess to the purse. It had lost its former beauty. It was grimy. It was lifeless. Here is how it started its life with me (it actually doesn’t look too bad in the photo…but in person it was a bit of a mess):

I set about the process of painting the purse (that’s right…PAINTING it!)

Follow me:

Step 1: Obtain or retain imperfect item. Contemplate possibilities. Consider chucking said item. Forget to put it out on trash day. Shrug. Continue contemplating. What to do? What to do?

Step 2: Settle on painting purse with transparent fabric paint. The results are much like dye, but the application, for an item such as this are less problematic. The paint I used was left over from a similar project I had done a while back. I am typically not a hanger-oner of stuff in general, but I loved this product (which was not inexpensive, over ten dollars per bottle at the time) the bottles were still nearly full and I loved the results of the previous project, so I had kept it on hand ever since. I might have used different colors, had I been buying the paint specifically for this idea, but unsure as to whether the purse would survive the painting process I was unwilling to invest in new colors. Now that I know that it works, I would. The reason this paint works, as opposed to traditional fabric dye is that it is QUITE thick and does not need additional water. Water is what warps and bubbles fabric purses like this. While there was, of course, some moisture in the product, I was able to keep it to a minimum by applying it sparingly. I wrapped the handle and zipper pull in Saran Wrap to protect the leather just in case either happened to touch the paint before it was dry.

Here is a link to the fabric paint I used:

http://www.dickblick.com/products/pebeo-setacolor-fabric-paint/

(That link looks vaguely racy. Heh. But it’s not. Really. Click with confidence in the fact that it is rated G.)

Step 3: Plow ahead. I started painting, using pink in some places and purple in others. Using two colors gives it a more easy going/slightly bohemian look, a little more depth and allows room for error, but one could do a solid color as well. I began by painting the areas I deemed riskiest, such as along the edge of the zipper, where the handle met the sides of the bag and around the leather Coach logo tag on the front. I used a small, thin, slanted brush. If you don’t have one in your arsenal of paintbrushes, a flat, slanted eyebrow/eyeliner brush works really well. The paint I used is water based and washed out of the brushes completely with some soap and water.

Step 4: Look at the mid-project hot mess and second guess yourself again, but then choose to soldier on. I continued painting, moving to a much larger flat brush. I painted each quadrant in eighths, switching up and alternating between the pink and purple. It is important to overlap the colors a little, but not too much. You can also paint the entire thing in pink and then go back with the purple, but this only works if your colors are similar, as the ones used here. Another way to go would be to use colors such as yellow and blue, and where they overlap you’ll get green. Just be sure to test the result beforehand.

Step 5: This next step is optional. While the paint was still wet I sprinkled coarse sea salt on the purse. The effect can be as subtle or dramatic as you’d like. Add it quickly after painting and leave it on for a long time and you’ll get much more intensely mottled effect. The effect is achieved as the salt absorbs the paint on and around the spot where each granule lands. As each piece of salt is of a varying size, it gives an imperfect, hand done look. I put mine on after only a few minutes of dry time and left it on for less than 30 minutes.

Step 6: While the salt is doing its job, stop, rest, have a cup of tea and ruminate on the parallels between purses and life.

Sometimes this happens in our relationships. Maybe you and your boss are often butting heads. Maybe your once adoring child became an angst ridden teenager awash in hormones and seemingly hell bent on convincing you that you’re the antichrist…or at least the anti-cool. Maybe a relationship with someone you love hit one too many speedbumps and you could never see that person as you once did. Look again. Maybe your boss will be a little easier to handle if you realize she might have struggles in her life about which you are unaware. Maybe your teenager doesn’t enjoy his misery any more than you do. (Let’s face it, being a teenager can suck.) Maybe your friend or loved one is ready and willing to replace the speedbumps with wide open highway…but they need for you to climb in the passenger seat and be a willing navigator. A little compassion goes a long way and a willingness to see beyond what’s broken and have faith in what’s worth saving might be all that’s needed. No one purse and no one person is perfect. Perhaps none of these relationships will be pristine white, shiny and new ever again…but if they have good bones and they’re meant to stand the test of time they will. That is, if, rather than expecting to erase the stains you choose to put them behind you. If you allow it. If you get creative. If you let go of what was and imagine what can be…and then follow it up with action. Be an active participant in the rejuvenation project. Expecting dramatic change from anyone with whom you interact without also putting some time in yourself is an expectation doomed for disappointment. Now, of course, you could keep going out and getting a new pristine “white purse” (spoiler alert…we’re not talking about purses anymore, people) every year…but no matter how careful you are, every white purse is going to become stained at some point. It may have been mistreated by previous owners, it may have hidden its blemishes behind designer logos, or maybe you just tossed it carelessly in the back of your closet and forgot about it. Remember that to someone we ALL were once a pristine white purse that became a little dingy. Don’t you want a second chance at life? Don’t you want a chance to be colorful; a chance to be seen as worthwhile as you really are?

So, rather than throwing out your current purse and buying a new one every six months, maybe colorful, beautiful and built to last is better anyway. I can tell you that I think it is (scroll down for a photo.)

Grab a paintbrush friends!

<3!

Laura

p.s.

Step 7: Step back and admire your work. It might not be right for just anyone, but I think it’s perfect! (FYI: It is less vivid and a bit more subtle in person…I have yet to master iPhone photos.)