Eco-shopping for a graduation dress

I took myself shopping yesterday.  I went to my favorite thrift store with an assignment for myself: find a dress and ‘frivolous ornamentation’ to wear to the college graduation ceremony.  The notion of going to a thrift store may sound cheap to some, but I prefer to think of it as eco-shopping.  I went to the same store I went to last year when I had a summer party to attend . . . and I had the same fast luck.  It just works that way sometimes.

I didn’t have a specific color in mind for my scavenger hunt.  I hit the dress section first.  Bingo!  I found a dress within the first five minutes I was in the store.  I took it off the rack and went to the jewelry section.  It only took me a minute to find some ‘frivolous ornamentation’ to wear with the dress.

I headed for the checkout lane and my total came to $7.00.  Eco-friendly.  Budget-friendly. Grammy-happy.  And oh so very red!

Goodnight and I have a graduation night custom.  We head into the city, park in a ramp that’s far enough from the graduation event parking so we don’t have to compete with a lot of cars, walk to a downtown restaurant and have dinner together.  She dresses up, and I dress up.  We enjoy a leisurely conversation over dinner.  Then we stroll through the park to the graduation site where I shake hands and meet family members and significant others who have been the support for our students during their time with us at the college.  I like that part: the hand-shaking and meeting the families.  I hug the interns whom we hosted and tell them how proud I am of them.  The pride is genuine because they worked very hard during their ten-week internship.

I invite my granddaughter to join me so that she sees the success stories that come out of the daily work we do at the college.  It teaches her the importance of my routine, gives her a glimpse into her future and emphasizes the importance of education.  I have just completed my 23rd year there and I’ve only missed two graduations: the year Officer Friendly passed away, and last year when the ceremony was held after the semester ended and I was spending time with my mother in Smalltownville.  That’s a lot of graduation ceremonies and a lot of hopeful new careers for folks that leave our campus.

There were about 447 graduates who were able to attend the ceremony last evening.  I wish them all the best for a bright future.

When I asked GN what her favorite part of our graduation custom was, she looked at me with a sheepish grin.  “The ice-cream you always get me on the way home from the ceremony, Grammy.”  I hadn’t forgotten.  I just wanted to see if she had.~

Thinking Outside the Rhubarb

It’s rhubarb picking time.  I don’t know how you do it, but I like to follow the advice of someone who makes it so much more appropriate for my Summer Retirement Internship 2012 – Part 1.

Go to the patch some afternoon in early summer, fuzzy with beer and sunlight, and pick a sack of rhubarb (red or green will do) and God knows watch for rattlesnakes or better, listen: they make a sound like an old lawn mower rolled downhill.  Wear a hat.  A straw hat’s best for the heat but lets the gnats in.  Bunch up the stalks and chop the leaves off  with a buck knife and be careful . . .

. . .Then go home and sit barefooted in the shade behind the house with a can of beer.  Spread out the rhubarb in the grass and wash it with cold water from the garden hose, washing your feet as well.  Then take a nap.

That evening dice up the rhubarb . . .

“How to Make Rhubarb Wine’ by Ted Kooser from Rhubarb Recipes complied by Jeanne De Mars. 1994.

I’ve picked the rhubarb.  My feet are clean.  I skipped the part about the beer . . . for now.  I don’t have a buck knife, but I hacked off the leaves and put the stems in a sink of cold water to rinse off any garden soil that still clung to the stems.

I made rhubarb pancakes for breakfast this morning and we topped them with rhubarb sauce.

I soaked a few of the stems in the cold water bath overnight so I could achieve the effect I needed for my rhubarb ‘flower’ bouquet.  The cut ends split and curl and look sweet in their own way.  I didn’t want to put them under the knife just yet and the stems will continue to curl.

The forecast for part of this week is hot and humid – not as bad as it can get in the throes of summer – but hot enough to practice the Rhubarb Daiquiri recipe I found.  I’ll practice just once, then make some rhubarb candy.  Goodnight is too young to have a daiquiri, but I have a feeling she will like the rhubarb candy.

I’ve not made the daiquiri or the candy before, but if they are wonderful enough, I don’t think I will have to bake any cakes or pies or muffins with the first pull of the season! 

Sometimes change is good.  Sometimes change is delicious! 

And Then We Move On

After a quiet reflection from the Mother’s Day section of the garden, we move mercifully on to happier things.  The peonies have started to open.  My happy, happy flowers!  My mother had them and I loved them even as a child.  I’ve changed my preferences for many things over time, but not for my happiest flowers.

They make lovely thank-you gifts for good teachers and wonderful neighbors.  Goodnight had plenty of good teachers and I have very good neighbors: the man who shares his black walnuts with me and the woman who lost an adult child.  (I’ll make her bouquet a bit bigger . . . )

I never feel any obligation to apologize for ants that hide in my peony bouquets.  They are necessary for the flowers to bloom.  When I pick the early blossoms, I try to find the strays that hide out within the petals and gently lift them to some unopened buds.  They do a task that results in my pleasure, so I like to be kind to them.

There are not enough peonies open yet, but when there are, I will drive my granddaughter to school with her arms full of flowers for her teachers.  Happy granddaughter, happy flowers, happy car ride.

Mother’s Day Garden

I’m grateful that it knows without any reminder from me . . .  My Mother’s Day Garden has been very kind to me that way.

There’s a section in my garden that bloomed in time for Mother’s Day – not everyone’s Mother’s Day, of course, but I know I’m not the only one either.  My Bleeding Hearts and Forget-me-nots expressed their silent respect for the holiday that gives me a sad lump in my throat.

I’m grateful for their company, frankly.  They sway gently in the breeze and fill the garden with a welcome movement.  I let them do the speaking – if only to me.

I think I’d like to add a weeping willow, too.  They seem to ‘weep’ so gracefully, whereas I do not.