face time

The bambini love calling family members via FaceTime on our gadgets that support the application.  It's a bit like The Muppet Show while we are waiting for the call to connect, with much jostling and jockeying for that front and center spot, as well as some last minute reminders hissed by the director (that'd be me) to "modulate your voices" (as Grannie would say) so that the people on the receiving end can hear what we're saying. 

Being able to connect with our loved ones by seeing their faces and hearing their voices in real time is an amazing boon, one of the biggest advantages of our present-day technology.  When we can't be in the same room with our friends and loved ones, we can still see and hear them.  It's not quite the same as being able to reach out and hug them, but we'll take it!

In this world with so many ways of communicating, there is still no substitute for time spent together face to face.  Phone calls keep voices fresh in our minds; and letters, e-mail, texting, and social media are better than nothing, but each of these media have their limitations.  We can only infer the intentions with which people write to us; we can't hear their tone of voice or see their facial expressions.  As the messages get shorter, such as in texting, there is ample room for misunderstandings to arise from such short snippets and exchanges.  While they are useful for a variety of things, they certainly can't be the primary means of communication between two people, and there are many situations for which these modes of communication are simply inappropriate.

Then there is the time factor.  It's difficult to have meaningful conversations when time is limited, conditions are noisy, or gadgets are involved.  When there is only time for exchanging pleasantries, how can any real relationship be cultivated or maintained?

While the tools at our disposal continue to evolve in capability, they cannot intuit the meaning of a human heart and convey that to another.   Only we can do that for ourselves, and the best way to accomplish that is face to face.  Until we can visit in person, we'll make use of the array of technological tools made to keep us in touch, always preferring actual face time to its virtual counterpart.

back in business

There is much rejoicing in these parts over a tiny piece of six-pronged plastic:

It's called a coupler, and it connects the base of the blender to its jar.  This is our second replacement coupler, just arrived a couple of days ago, after searching high and low and everywhere else for the one I had ordered a few months ago and stashed for when the then-current coupler finally lost all its prongs in the process of twice-daily drinakable yogurt and smoothie blending.

Considering the amount of blending that goes on around here every day with all the yogurt we consume, it's understandable a few parts of the blender would need replacing now and then.  In the interim we made use of this behemoth for the daily blending needs:

While it did an admirable job pinch hitting (blending?) for the laid-up blender, I'm ever so grateful my handy husband was able to get the blender back up and running like the washing machine (among other things).  I fully expect the missing part to turn up any day now that we've gone and ordered another one.  That's alright.  We may need it eventually, considering we whaz up (to borrow an expression from chef Jamie Oliver) 4,621 gallons of smoothies or thereabouts each year.

Occasionally, the elder lad has been known to swill a sip or two of drinkable yogurt.  He developed his own recipe...

 ... and (with supervision) he takes care of the blending.

Here's the recipe I've come to expect for breakfast, a mid-morning snack, a drink to take along on the afternoon school pick-up run, or a bedtime snack (I blend it up after dinner and stash it in the fridge):

Mama's Go-To Smoothie:
3-4 frozen strawberries
3-4 frozen peach slices
5-6 frozen blackberries
2/3 cup plain low-fat yogurt (sometimes I use Greek yogurt for half of this amount)
1/3 cup apple juice
1/3 cup Green Goodness juice
1 Tablespoon flax oil

Welcome back, Blender.  It's great to hear you whirring again.  Food Processor, we thank you for going above and beyond.  We'll let you go back to blending up salsa and what not...

ringy dingy

Today would've been Aunt Robin's 51st birthday, and I didn't call my Grannie. 

I always try to call my Grannie on Aunt Robin's birthday -- or Papa Jack's -- and most definitely on Grannie's own birthday.  That's just how we do things.  As with there always being lamb cake for Easter, we always call each other on our birthdays, or on what would've been the birthdays of those we love but who are now departed from this life.

Grannie called late last week as we were driving to the last day of Vacation Bible School.  It was pretty early to be hearing from her, so I was initially concerned that something may be amiss.  It wasn't.  She was in good spirits, about to head out to help one of my aunts with some organizing.  Grannie has wizard-like skills in the organizational department -- specifically in the kitchen.   It had been a while since I had called her, in spite of my best intentions to call her at least once a week.   

*Once a week, Bonnie!  Is that so difficult?!  Especially considering how much time you spend driving in the car with that handsfree phone gadget?!*  

Not so long ago I did ring my Grannie-o to catch up on the "doings", as she calls them, only to chat for a minute with her dear friend there visiting all the while thinking it was Grannie.  Another time I called and interrupted her weekly bridge game with her "lady friends".  It was her turn to host.  She called me back later. 

Every time she calls she says something along the lines of, "I wasn't sure if this was a good time to call, so I just decided to try." I'm so glad she takes the chance.  I do that now too, not just with Grannie but with a few other cherished people.  I boldly acknowledge that I've taken the calculated risk of calling a fellow mother with young children at what might be their siesta time, hoping with great fervor that I won't awaken a bambini *thisclose* to drifting off to sleep for a sorely-needed siesta. 

When I've been on the receiving end of a call that I can't prudently answer, I don't answer it.  I hope this doesn't offend the caller, but most people who call me anymore realize that I'm not exactly sitting around waiting for the phone to ring.  It may take me a little (or a long) while to return the call, but knowing with certainty that someone I cherish has taken the time to call me has such a buoying effect on my spirits.  

I am often reticent to pick up the phone and call someone to say hello or indirectly ask for a pick-me-up in the form of a brief conversation for fear that they might be in the middle of something, but when I take the chance and hear his or her voice on the receiving end, I am so much the better for having done so. 

I'm sorry, Gran, that I didn't call you today.  Be expecting a call from me tomorrow...

muffin tops (aka "muffies")

My little helpers and I made "muffies" this morning with my new "disher."  Check it out.

mama girl

Remember old school the first generation of Camcorders?  We had one like this when I was a wee lass.  My dad video-ed everything from a trip to Epcot to the annual family Fourth of July trip to Grannie's lake house.  He was a master of the "action shot" as well as a skilled editor, knitting the footage into a true "home movie" complete with synchronized soundtrack.

He also filmed "Bonnie's Sleepytime Stories Club," featuring a girl missing a few teeth dressed in her jammies reading The Berenstain Bears And Too Much TV (note the irony), then pretty much hot off the presses, reading a bedtime story to an imaginary audience and making sure they could see the pictures (like someone else we know).

Many years after its filming, the short video has been transferred to DVD, and found its way into the player this afternoon for a two-year-old lass who likes to read herself.

"Who that girl, Mama?" she wanted to know.

 "That's me when I was a little girl,"  I told her.  This was a surprise. 

When one of the brothers wandered into the room and noticed the young girl with the bangs and incredulous expressions, he knew who it was.  The lass still told him.

"Mama girl," she said.
That's me.

locked out

On one of the last morning drives to preschool, the iPod I received for my birthday a few years ago that has somehow become a staple for road trips of any distance or duration turned up locked.  It was insistent upon having a code entered.  None of my guesses passed muster, and that was the end of that. 

"Mom, when I get home from school, I'll take the case off and check on the pistons," the elder lad promised.

Grateful for the offer but not quite ready to take such drastic measures, I tried a few things to get it working again (plugging it into the charger for the baby monitor wasn't one of them), but to no avail.  So it sat for a month or so.  The younger lad would periodically ask, "is the iPod still locked?"

Alas, "yes," I'd have to answer.   In a last ditch effort, I decided to charge it up and try using it again before "restoring" it to its original condition and starting from scratch.  It worked!

With great glee I held it up in the car one day as we drove and said to the younger lad, "look what I have!"

"Is it working?!"  he asked, eyes wide with wonder and disbelief.
"Yes!  Any requests?"

"You fixed it, Mama!  You did it!"
'T wasn't me -- it was the pistons.

gadgets

note to self: the charger for the baby monitor will not recharge the iPod, even if the plug appears to fit in one of the holes.  This is not the first time you've tried this, but it still won't work.