A Nail Polish Destiny

I wrote the following story back in December. Tomorrow is Nail Day and I wanted to share this with all of you.

A Nail Polish Destiny

by Marna Fahrney on Sunday, 18 December 2011

Have you ever done something that felt like destiny, like you've either always done it or have done this particular thing in another time or place? As if it just fits and feels like home?  I can't recall exactly how I became the Nail Girl at Settler's Park, one of our local assisted living facilities. Almost an entire year ago I signed up to volunteer to read to the seniors every other week. And somehow, out of that, came an entire bag of nail polish, cotton balls, nail files, cuticle oil, and lots of music from the 40's and 50's.
Their activity room is located in a large open area just past the main entrance and directly in front of the dining room. There are two long tables lined up end to end with a couch behind them. Each week, when I arrive, nail bag slung over my shoulder, my ladies are lined up on one side of the table. I never would have thought that getting your nails done would be such a popular thing to do. What a warm greeting I receive when they notice me. I quickly get set up, knowing that I only have a couple of hours before they go to dinner and I don't want anyone to be left out. I have even filed and clipped nails on some of the gentlemen residents (which they thoroughly enjoy). They have all decided that their favorite part of the entire experience is the last step...lotion. I use cocoa butter lotion and massage it into their hands. Proof again that human touch is healing in many ways. I try not to rush this part because I know how they enjoy it. I only spend an average of six hours a month with these ladies. I wish I could be there more , it doesn't seem like enough, yet in that short amount of time, I feel like we've become such great friends.
We laugh together, about all sorts of silly things. We sing along with the songs that play on my radio. I have stations that I know they will enjoy, like Dean Martin, Perry Como, Loretta Lynn and their latest favorite, Doris Day. A few weeks ago, there were several conversations going on at the table while I was busy filing, clipping and painting nails  when Que Sera, Sera came on the radio. First it was one lady singing along. Then two, then the rest joined in on the chorus. A table of 16 women, most in the 70's or older, all singing,
"Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be."

I had tears in my eyes. Not because of our impromptu sing-a-long, we actually sounded quite good, but because I was realizing how precious this moment was. Each of these women has come from a different background, each has their own story, and each of them now live in this retirement facility. Even if they wouldn't have been friends in their younger years, they are finding common ground now, and seeming to enjoy the small, special things that life brings their way. There was such joy in that moment. I will never hear that song the same way again.

I hear such great stories in those few hours. Stories of young love, marriage, raising families, children and grandchildren. Some are still married, most are widows. But each and every one of them has a story to tell. And much love to give. We've laughed till our sides hurt, we've shed tears when one passes away, we've worried when another is not at the nail table due to illness. They have become a family, and I'm somehow included in that. How fortunate am I?
This started as a simple way to give back. I've always loved spending time with seniors. Growing up, I was incredibly close to all four of my grandparents. This is just an extension of my love for them. And now, after a year of twice a month nail visits, I have found friendship, love, affection and a deep appreciation for these beautiful women. I see past the wheelchairs, the walkers, the memory loss, limbs that don't move the way they used to. In my mind and heart, they are young women, falling in love, helping their children with homework, in their kitchens cooking meals, with endless supplies of energy, living life to the fullest. Age is only a number. Beauty is where you find it and I've found it here with my lovely friends. This is my destiny. I know when I walk through that door on Wednesday afternoons, that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Close to my Heart

Spinning, twirling, and tracing the outline of the stones in Grandpa's turquoise ring as I sat next to him on the couch, my chubby little fingers, touching his strong, weathered hands. I loved that ring. He didn't wear it often but it still seemed to be a part of him. It symbolized his spirit, kind, generous, loving and strong. Both he and Grandma loved turquoise jewelry. We would often go camping in the Sierra Nevada mountains and there were several little shops that carried Native American goods and turquoise jewelry. If their good friends Noel and Vera were camping with us, we had to be sure and stop because Vera loved Minnetonka  Moccasins. She always had a pair in her trailer and they looked so comfortable.On one of these trips, they bought me a small and simple ring, something appropriate for a little girl. I treasured that ring and wore it almost everyday. I remember when the stone developed a crack across the center and I had to stop wearing it. It was just about too small for me at that point but I think I would have gladly switched it to my pinky finger just so I could continue wearing it longer. Fast forward to two years ago...I now have my own business. One of my clients gave me the best gift ever. She went on vacation to Arizona and chose a turquoise ring almost exactly like my original, and I wear it on the same finger. She did not know the story of my ring or how much it meant to me. I opened the box and almost cried. I am in awe that life has a way of bringing you back to special times and involving new people in the journey. What a precious gift she gave me, without even knowing the entire background story. I wear that ring each day and while it's not the exact same ring that Grandma and Grandpa gave me, it brings a smile to my heart and comforts me.
Grandma Myrt had a wonderful collection of turquoise. She was always so careful in her purchases. She never wanted to appear gaudy or tacky in any way so she would only wear one or two pieces at a time. She was petite and I remember her saying that one should never wear overly large jewelry, even costume jewelry. She said that it would overpower our natural beauty. I loved looking at her hands and touching her rings. She had the most beautiful and elegant hands that I have ever seen. She was 52 when I was born, not necessarily old but not a young woman either. I've often wondered how different her hands were when she was twenty-one and first married. I can remember each crease, each wrinkle, every line, and how her rings fit on each finger. I must have appeared strange while staring at their hands. I don't know why I was so fascinated by their hands and their rings. I'm glad that I have those visual memories stored in my heart. I can see my grandpa Zim's hands holding a pencil, working on a design project at his drafting table in the garage. I can see Grandma's fingers glide across the keys of her organ and hear the occasional click that her long nails make as they touch the ivory. She took lessons and practiced almost daily, a hobby that she took up when I was little. Grandpa would hold my hand when we'd walk through a parking lot and I loved how rough and masculine his hands felt. He passed away last fall. I was given his turquoise ring and I knew that it was too big for me to wear. I certainly did not want this beautiful ring to sit in a box to never be enjoyed. I went to one of our local jewelers, J. Tabor, with an idea of turning the ring into a pendant that I could wear with a silver chain. He was able to create a masterpiece. It is exactly what I wanted and so much more than I hoped for. He kept the shape of the ring on the underside of the stones. The curve in the ring, where my Grandpa's finger touched it, is still there. Sometimes, when I wear it, I smooth my finger over that curve and close my eyes and think of the many times I held his hand, the many times that he wiped my tears, comforted me and held me. When I wear my Grandpa's ring, I feel safe, secure and loved. His spirit is always with me but I especially feel it on the days when I have the pendant on.

Flea Market

Oh, the treasures you can find at a flea market! Locally, at least within a 45 minute drive from our house, there is a great flea market, held three times a year; Memorial Day weekend, the weekend for 4th of July and Labor Day. Last year we didn't have the greatest luck with the weather. Spring and early summer in this part of the state are quite unpredictable when it comes to weather. It can change at a moments notice sometimes and end up making the weather forecasts look more like comic strips. Since this has sort of become a yearly tradition for my husband and I, we dressed warm, and headed out. We had worked for 12 days straight and needed to spend our weekend doing something fun. The previous day we went to the theater to see a movie, which is something we don't do often enough. We are incredibly fortunate to have a wonderful historic theater right downtown. After seeing movies there for the last five years, it would be incredibly difficult to go back to the big city and view a movie in one of their megaplexes. Yesterday was flea market day. We decided that we'd take our dog. She needs the socialization and many folks bring their four legged friends along. This flea market is held in a small mountain town, where snowmobiles and four- wheelers are king. Vendors come from all over, bringing all sorts of treasures to sell. As we peruse the many tables and stands filled with items, I need to remember that one man's trash is another man's treasure. I'm always on the lookout for vintage or rare cookbooks to add to my ever increasing collection. Luckily, I found two. Rock Creek Hubby never has anything in particular in mind. He always says that he'll know it when he sees it. He found a used skill saw for $5.00 which we both thought was a pretty good deal. I've never seen it as crowded as it was yesterday. I love to see local events grow, it's good for the community. Sometimes we can see things we'd like but don't need, then we play that wonderful mental game of either talking ourselves out of buying it or convincing ourselves that we definitely do not need that particular item. I really enjoy watching other folks shop. Everyone is on a mission of some sort. Some of the things that I wouldn't give a second look to seem to interest others to no end. And the men....oh my goodness. They either appear interested, as if they actually want to be there, or they look very out of place and uncomfortable. I'll have to admit, just the experience of it all is fun and entertaining.
I can't recall ever going to a flea market as I was growing up. Grandma and Grandpa weren't really the yard sale type. They attended a Christian Camp up in the mountains and the camp would hold a yearly auction and yard sale. They brought back interesting things each time. I did go to a few swap meets that were held in the parking lot of closed down drive-in theater. But now that I've been to a flea market, and know what fun they can be, I think I'll continue going each and every year. The food alone is entertainment! How often do we have the opportunity to eat fresh Kettle Corn, deep fried pickles and Twinkies or roasted corn on the cob? Every single food vendor that we passed had a line of people. It was pure excitement. How do you choose which treat to enjoy? And watching our diet on a day like this? Where is the fun in that? 
I love that there is a good mixture of new, used and antique items. It makes for a really interesting day. I wonder what Grandma and Grandpa would have thought of the menagerie of items and people? I think they would have enjoyed it just as much as I did.

Greek Chicken with Vegetables and Potatoes

Greek Chicken with Vegetables and Potatoes

On my quest for healthier recipes, I purchased a new cookbook, something I love to do. My collection continues to grow. This book has some pretty amazing recipes, all under 400 calories each. And a lot of information on better options when cooking and eating out. I don't think that each and every meal should be 100% "Healthy." That simply isn't realistic for our lifestyle. We enjoy junk food and treats once in a while but realize that it needs to be in moderation. For most of the week, we limit our calorie intake, and we basically earn our treats. It doesn't always work out that way, sometimes we give into temptation more than we should. But for the most part, we are on a good path as far as food is concerned. I've managed to talk Rock Creek Hubby into trying a much wider variety of foods than he used to. Which is incredibly helpful since I like to cook so much. It would put a damper on the whole experience if I had to cook for a picky eater. Grandma Myrt didn't have much tolerance for people that were unwilling to try new things. She figured that if she put in the effort and time to prepare a good meal, the least folks could do was to eat it. I have a relative that will not eat anything green. Anything. I cannot even imagine cooking for this person. It would drastically limit the variety of meals that would be brought to the table. And what a sad way to live...there are so many wonderful foods out there. Who wants to eat the same thing over and over? Not me.
When I saw this recipe for Greek Chicken, I knew right away that I'd eventually try it. I love Greek food. Years ago, when I was a waitress, I worked for a Greek restaurant where everything was made from scratch. I hadn't had much experience with Greek food before that, other than enjoying Baklava and Gyros. I learned so much while working there. The owner encouraged his employees to sample everything on the menu. It was important to him for us to know what we were selling. I loved the way he prepared Spanokopita. I have yet to find a restaurant that makes it as good. His mother in law made the Baklava and it was to die for! And impossible to eat just one small piece. So began my love of Greek/Mediterranean food.
This recipe calls for Kalamata Olives, which are a bit pricey but so worth it. They add such a great flavor to the chicken and vegetables. We've decided that orange bell peppers are so much better than green, at least in this dish. Next time, I'll make a few minor changes but overall, this was a hit. I love dishes that smell as good as they look. The entire time this was in the oven, we were watching the clock, mouths watering, stomachs growling.

Greek Chicken with Vegetables and Chicken

4 skinless, bone-in split chicken breasts (about 1 1/2 lbs) I used boneless chicken breasts and they cooked just fine
1 medium red bell pepper, seeded and cut into 8 wedges
1 medium green bell pepper, seeded and cut into 8 wedges (next time I'll try red or yellow bell pepper)
3/4 lb Yukon gold potatoes, cut into 12 wedges and microwaved for two minutes
1 medium red onion, cut into 8 wedges
2 medium zucchini, cut into 1/2 " slices
20 pitted Kalamata olives
1 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil
Juice and grated peel of 1 lemon
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tsp dried oregano or 1 Tbsp fresh oregano
3/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
3/4 tsp paprika

1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Coat a roasting pan with cooking spray, or prepare a 17'x12 rimmed baking pan: Tear off 2 sheets of nonstick aluminum foil, each 24" long. Put the dull (nonstick) sides together and fold over the edge on one side twice, to make a seam. Open up the seam and line and cover the edges of the baking pan. The dull side of the foil should face up.
2. Place the chicken on one side of the pan. Place the bell peppers, potatoes, onion, and zucchini on the other.
3. Puree the olives, olive oil, lemon peel and juice, garlic, oregano, black pepper, and paprika in a small food processor. Spread the puree over the chicken and the vegetables. Toss the vegetables to coat. (I put the veggies in a large bowl to coat them with the puree)
4. Roast, turning the chicken and stirring the vegetables halfway through cooking, for 40-45 minutes, or until a meat thermometer registers 160 degrees when inserted into the thickest part of the chicken. If the chicken is done before the vegetables are tender, remove the chicken and cover with foil. Increase the temperature to 450 and cook the vegetables for an additional 5-10 minutes. Arrange 1 chicken breast and one-quarter of the vegetables on each of the four plates.

Makes 4 servings
Calories: 350

"Good to Hear From You."

 

Grandpa Zim in Yosemite National Park during the early 70's. Wasn't he handsome? This is one of my favorite photographs of him. I loved it when he'd wear his Levi's and boots. And just look at his smile. So warm and welcoming.

I wrote the following story in 2010. Grandpa passed away this past September a week before his 95th birthday. While I miss my grandparents terribly, I find so much comfort in all of the wonderful memories that I have of them. I was blessed to be loved by them.

"Good to hear from you."

by Marna Fahrney on Saturday, 27 November 2010

I think about my grandparents nearly everyday. I hear a song, catch a glimpse of my life growing up in their home, remember particular memories and usually that is where it ends. I wish I had the time, or made the time to call my grandpa every time I thought of him. Life gets in the way, work, home, cooking, cleaning. Too many weeks go by without hearing his voice. So, I pick up the phone and hope he understands that I love him just the same, even if I don't talk to him every week. In a perfect world, I would visit him in California every few months, call him weekly and send care packages of goodies every month. I have even thought of making him a member of the Marna's Cookie of the Month Club. If I could just follow through with my ideas...
I spoke to him today. If find it amazing that at 94, he is still sarcastic and funny. He sounded good, as if he were 30 years younger. It takes a bit to get the conversation going and occasionally there are a few silent moments but after the initial hello, the conversation flows and we talk about my busy life and his quiet, slow days spent sitting in his backyard or reading the newspaper. He always asks how my family is doing, and what the weather is like. I ramble on to try to make time stand still. I know that eventually, we will run out of things to talk about, so I linger on certain subjects a bit. We don't talk too much about grandma or how much he must miss her. We talk of fun memories, times together and shared interests.
Since I moved away, and my only way to talk with him is by telephone, he has always said the same five words at the end of every conversation; "Good to hear from you." I look forward to hearing those five words more than anything. He has never been the mushy, overly emotional type and while he does tell me he loves me, it is the other kind words, terms of endearment or sayings that I really yearn for. He has been the only constant father figure in my life, my rock, the one I knew I could count on and the one I never wanted to disappoint.
It's strange, after my grandma passed away, I was so afraid of forgetting her, what her voice sounded like, the look in her eyes, her essence. And the opposite has happened. I remember things daily. And now, with my grandpa, weeks can pass by without talking to him, and the moment he picks up the phone, and I hear his familiar voice, something happens inside me. I breathe deep, maybe a sigh of relief that he is there to answer my call and also, a calming and soothing presence surrounds me as we talk. Life is good, once again.
So, we end another phone call, he tells me to not work too hard, I promise to send him cookies for Christmas, and he says those five amazing words; "Good to hear from you."

Fiesta Grilled Flank Steak with Avocado Pineapple Salsa

Delicious Fiesta Grilled Flank Steak with Avocado Pineapple Salsa

 

Now that the weather is warming up, I am always on the lookout for a recipe that incorporates having Rock Creek Hubby run the grill. He knows how to BBQ much better than I do. It's always seemed to be his job. I guess with practice I could master it, but I wouldn't want to take away his job. He seems to enjoy it.
This recipe caught my eye because of the avocado. I simply adore avocados. Having had an endless supply from our neighbors tree growing up, I just can't seem to get enough. The combination of the salsa verde, pineapple, avocado and cilantro was divine! I honestly don't crave red meat like Rock Creek Hubby does, but I really liked the flavor that the marinade gave to the steak. A really delicious meal and definitely one that we'll have again. And a plus? It's healthy! This recipe came from Healthy Cooking, Taste of Home 2012 Annual Recipes

Fiesta Grilled Flank Steak with Avocado Pineapple Salsa

4 servings
1/2 cup unsweetened pineapple juice
1 Tbsp. lime juice
1/2 tsp garlic salt
1/2 tsp ground cumin
1 beef flank steak (1 lb)
1 cup cubed fresh pineapple
1/2 cup salsa verde
1 medium ripe avocado, peeled and cubed (I used two, because I LOVE avocados)
1 green onion, finely chopped
1 Tbsp minced fresh cilantro

1. In a large resealable plastic bag, combine the pineapple juice, lime juice, garlic salt and cumin. Score the surface of the beef, making diamond shapes 1/4 inch deep; place in bag. Seal bag and turn to coat; refrigerate for 8 hours or overnight.
2. In a small bowl, combine the pineapple, salsa, avocado, green onion and cilantro. Cover and chill until serving.
3. Drain beef and discard marinade. Using long handled tongs, moisten a paper towel with cooking oil and lightly coat the grill rack. Grill steak, covered, over medium heat or broil 4 inches from the heat for 6-8 minutes or until meat reaches desired doneness (for medium rare, a thermometer should read 145 degrees, 160 for well done.)
4. Let stand for 5 minutes; thinly slice across the grain. Serve with salsa.

3 oz cooked beef with 1/2 cup salsa equals 274 calories

Happy grilling!

Thanks for the Memories

Grandpa Zim and Grandma Myrt, camping in Yosemite in the 70's

I wrote the following story about a year ago while I was coming home from a visit with Grandpa Zim. I thought I'd share it with all of you.

Thanks for the Memories

by Marna Fahrney on Monday, 25 April 2011 at 12:47 ·

Headed back to Rock Creek, I am experiencing a rush of emotions and memories. Having spent the weekend in the house I grew up in I am now feeling a bit nostalgic. Growing up, we never know which moment will create a lasting impression and become a treasured memory. As a child, I just lived. I didn’t realize that the daily activities, regular camping trips and time spent together would one day be the memories that I look back on with love and gratitude.
Forty years have passed since Myrtle and Zim chose to care for their granddaughter Marna. Time goes forward. There is no way of stopping it or slowing it down. I see the changes when I look in the mirror. I saw the changes not only in Grandpa, but also in his house. I took for granted that they would both remain the same forever. There are more age spots and veins showing in Grandpa’s hands. There are an increasing amount of cobwebs and areas of peeling paint on the outside of his home. He now walks slower and a bit more carefully. The house, which he purchased in 1955, is finally showing its age with a rusty iron gate, empty flower beds and hazy windows. I never put much thought into the fact that in order to keep a house looking well kept; one must put in hours upon hours of work. I recall the many trips that Grandma and Grandpa made to the local hardware store and the nursery. But it never dawned on me that this was actual work for them. Their house was always the same, lived in but tidy, homey and comfortable. Their yard was filled with flowers, trees and hidden places. We had oranges, avocados, lemons, figs and a garden full of delicious vegetables to enjoy. In Elementary School, my Grandpa still worked. Not once did I ever wonder what my Grandma did all day. Now that she is gone, and Grandpa has slowed down, the house on Volante Drive, the one with the enormous orange tree in the front yard is missing their special touch. I want to relive those years so that I can appreciate them more and be more in the moment. I now understand that even at 40 years of age, I am making memories each day, with each moment.
Grandma shared many of her memories of being a child growing up in Monterey Park, before paved streets and tall buildings and rows of houses. She had a dog named Bob. He was a bull terrier and followed her on her many adventures through the dirt fields near her home. This was a time when children roamed free, explored, played and enjoyed the great outdoors.  Before she met Grandpa Zim, she would swim at the pool in Alhambra. They wouldn’t find out till much later that they both spent many Saturdays there and were more than likely at the pool at the same time.
The year was 1937. They had both graduated from High School and each got a job at Kress’s Department Store on Main St. in Alhambra. My Grandma was petite with hazel eyes, warm coffee colored hair, and the most beautiful feminine hands and long dainty fingernails. Grandpa was tall, dashing in a dress shirt and slacks and had a shock of wavy auburn hair. He worked in the back of the store, stocking and making deliveries.  She worked behind the counters of jewelry, makeup, perfume and gloves. Becoming involved with a fellow employee was strictly forbidden. Grandpa recalls, with great disdain, the person that enforced that rule, and many others. “Old Lady Dunn.” She was a rather large woman with an even larger voice and manner. It was never a good idea to cross Ms. Dunn, if you knew what was good for you. I heard this story so many times, mainly because I asked to hear it again and again, that it now plays in my mind like a movie.  I can clearly see Ms. Dunn setting forth her rules of expected behavior. It was fate or destiny that my Grandparents met and began seeing one another. I always asked if they were worried about “Old Lady Dunn” finding out that they were a couple. Grandma gave the same answer every time. She didn’t care. She wasn’t about to let someone tell her what to do. She was somewhat feisty for a young church-going girl in the late 30’s, but that was my Grandma, filled with determination and purpose. Grandpa told me that one of their first dates was at a Chinese restaurant just down the street from Kress’s. He still loves Chinese food to this day. Grandma said that she was very excited to go on a date with Zim when they first met, her reason? He had a car! Her last boyfriend only had a bicycle. It wasn’t until after several dates that she found out the car actually belonged to Grandpa’s father. “So much for that!” she’d say.
They told me these stories with such detail that it seems I was a part of them as well. Either they were great storytellers or I was a good listener. I am now yearning to hear more stories, and also looking forward to writing about those that I already have in my heart. I wonder if I have what it takes to make my memories come alive again. Bob Hope’s famous song is now playing in my mind and I am humming along…”Thanks for the Memories.”