Cooking with the Margo and sometimes her friends too....

I am only now starting the adventure of cooking with little Margo on a more regular basis.  I know, I know, I have cooked cakes with her and her friends when she was but a three year old, we even made very pretty cookies, but now, I am looking to teaching her about cooking.  Really, really learning about cooking and measuring and learning the little tricks I know.  No, I most likely do not know a lot of tricks with cooking; I do improvise quite a bit, because I may not have everything I need.  Even when I go to the store with a list of ingredients in hand, I somehow forget to purchase something.  I have decided to chalk it up to those pre-menopausal losses of memory and organization.  (Ok, I added the organization part on my own; there is no loss of organization in this stage of life, for those of you who are organized!  But the memory part is true!) 

Our adventures in 'real' cooking started about a month ago, when I invited little Margo to help me prepare dinner.  She was quite excited about the prospect of making dinner, including the ceremonial washing of hands and wearing her own apron.  I was provided the chefs hat for that meal.  She explained to me, "Mom, you are the chef and I am the girl assistant, I learned this from Ratatouille."  I suppose being compared to Ratatouille was good, she was very clear to point out I was not the mean chef at all.  With that settled, Margo's job was to peel the potatoes and the carrots and the rutabaga, for the mashed side dish.  At first I helped her hold the potato and the peeler as she used them; I was rather concerned her lack of coordination would mean missing finger tips later tonight.  She did seem to master the peeling task as best a 6 year old can do.  Her favorite part was placing all the items together in the pot to be boiled into our family specialty.  The best part about this is that she ate this side dish with gusto! 

Today, we decided to tackle Krispie Fish "Fingers" with Lemon Mayo Dip,  and Handheld Apple Pies. Both Recipes can be found in Annabel karmel's, "Top 100 Finger Foods, 100 recipes for a healthy, happy child."  I had been perusing this book for the past two weeks, thinking it would be perfect to help Margo and I get into some new cooking styles.  I do not think I can make the dish look as beautiful as Annabel's presentations; however I knew I could cook.  It didn't matter I had never fried a breaded fish stick in my life, nor made little apple pie type of finger foods.  Heck today was my adventure day for cooking.  So yes, I made a list, went to the store, got home, cleaned the kitchen and put all the food away, then picked up Margo from school.  She watched Curious George on TV, while I gave the kitchen one last quick makeover.  It really was clean and organized when we started. 

Here is the photo of my kitchen after we completed making the Krispy Fish Fingers....I swear to you it was clean when we started, and no we had not been cooking for hours and hours...well I did mention my organization issues earlier on in this blog!

In the end I burned the first test fish fingers while trying to fry them...did I tell you I rarely fry!  So for dinner, I baked them on a skillet in the BBQ.  It worked great, and I only used a little oil so we still had the Krispy affect.  Oh I must confess, I used Cod, (memory), Corn Flakes rather than Rice Krispy's, (again memory), I added some Flax seed (to help my memory) to the mix as well as the sesame seeds.  We all enjoyed them.  Yes I cleaned my kitchen one more time, to create those hand held apple pies.

Margo helped me here too, she not only buttered the filo dough, but created monster tracks on the dough as well.  No I did not yell when the track caused a hole in the dough...ok, I did get a little excited.  This was the first time I ever used filo dough correctly, with butter....lots of butter if the truth be told.  But in the end I baked these little cuties in the BBQ too.  It worked out great.

Humor must always accompany my cooking!  Why?  Come on look at that photo of my kitchen, I must have a sense of humor, or I would never cook again!  We completed the serving of the desert with our friend, "The rubber chicken", that was the final monster who wanted a taste of the tasty apple offering.  In the end, we both had a fun time cooking together, making real memories and learning a few lessons about cooking.

I am so glad my husband does the dishes!  At least he enjoyed his dinner, actually we all did!

I enjoyed this cookbook by Annabel Karmel, and was glad I received it free while being a part of Silicon Valley Mom's book club.

Bon Appetite;  Mommy Max, the French Mommy born in California.

Camping in the winter....

This past weekend, we took the plunge, and went camping at New Brighten Beach State Park, just outside of Santa Cruz, California.  For two weeks prior to the trip I had been watching the weather forcast.  Rain on Friday, and Saturday with a possibility of sunshine on Sunday.  I skipped the forcast watching on Friday, figuring if it rained or shined we were committed to go camping.

Mark took the day off, just to help both of us get ready.  Margo attended school and was relieved to know we would pack for her while she was at school.  We were set to meet up with friends somewhere around 4:00 PM at the campsight.  Of course we were just pulling out of San Jose at 3:45 PM, no we did not arrive at 4:00, but we did arrive only 3 minutes behind our friends.  Good thing they left late too!  Birds of a feather flock together I say.

Folks I mentioned our little adventure to, gave us more then double takes, more like the expression "what are you thinking, it is going to rain..."  Well we just decided it was time to learn to do things with or without the rain.  The weather was not going to dictate our life of adventure.  So off to New Brighten State Beach, we went.  Community and camping always seem to go together.  Our friends set up their camp in a matter of minutes.  They had the RV.  We on the other hand were totally retro, meaning, tents, camp stove, rain gear, etc... etc... etc...  Fortunately for us Brian and Kim were very helpful in the setting up of our camp.

Saturday morning found us walking the beach. It was beautiful. Margo was intent on building a sand man, so we provided the carrot for the nose and other items from the beach for the hat, (a rock), hair, (seaweed), and mouth, (twigs). She actually did a great job with the materials at hand. Next thing I know, she is lying on her back going through the exercise of making 'sand angels'. Now you might be thinking it sounds like snow adventures...but we really were at the beach. This just goes to show the imagination a child can have in tune with the winter season.

Were we prepared?  That was a good question, you tell me.  Lets see on Saturday you could have found me at Ross looking for a blanket to help us keep warm at night.  The sleeping bag was not warm enough...I swear it was freezing temperatures!  But no rain!!!!  I also needed my internet fix...I know, I know, nature needs to be enough, however I still had a few responsibilities to look after.  Thank goodness for Starbucks.  Yes I loved the coffee too!  Mark stayed back with Margo, the two spent the afternoon, folding and flying paper airplanes. 

Oh yes, I forgot to mention our supplies for Saturday dinner were eaten by the little bandits with the sharp claws.  We forgot about the hunger of our furry friends.  These little guys totally enjoyed our chocolate, marshmellows, tortilla soup, cheese and sour cream.  I am not sure what order they ate them in, although there was a trail of leftovers.  Good thing Kim had packed extra food...enough to last the weekend.

Both evenings were enjoyed eating good food around the camp fire.  Smores were the highlight for all of our sweet tooths.  The saturday night variety seemed so much tastier than the night before.  I wonder why, perhaps the chocolate was a little better, or we were all a bit more relaxed.  We loved the fires every night, morning and afternoon.  I did mention it was cold and sunny.  Right now, we are working through our smokey laundry.

All in all camping in the winter proved to be a fun adventure.  I think you just have to go with the right people.  Thank you Brian, Kim and Christopher!  We had a great time.

School Days in Togo, West Africa

The morning starts with a classroom filled to the brim. They place 63 students aged 6, 7 & 8 all together in their classroom.  There is one teacher!  There are no parent volunteers, because the parents are all working to literally put food on the table. 

Chalk dust is everywhere.  If you have such an allergy, school is no place for you.  There are rags to wipe clean the chalk boards, and there are many chalk boards.  The front of the classroom is lined in large black slate chalk boards, covered with words or numbers or whatever the lesson of the day happens to be.  The desks are covered with individual slates boards, the types we would by our children as a toy.  There are no pens and papers for this class right now.  It is better to write your answer on the slate and wipe it away prior to the next question.  This reminds me of class only imagined in Laura Ingles Little House on the Prairie.  But it is reality, here in Togo.

Uniforms?  Sure each child has at least one.  If they get it dirty, I was told the teacher tells them to turn it inside out for the rest of the day.  I personally find that to be a convenient way of stalling on the laundry.  I wonder if I could do that with Margo at school, or would I start seeing notes sent home about the appearance of my daughter. 

What else do I notice about both classrooms we visit?  There is order...yes order I say.  One teacher has been at her profession for three years, since she graduated from college herself.  I inquired as to issues of discipline in the classroom, her response.  "I have no problems."  I believe her.  The kids here seem to want to learn.  Yes it is crowded, yes it is hot, and I am guessing many have not eaten breakfast, But, their hands go up to get a chance to answer the question.  Or their hands go up to be chosen to review the French grammar on the front board.  There they go, holding a small plank of sorts as their pointer.  That chosen child is now directing the class for that moment, with their pointer and their answer.  With the correct answer, the teacher instructs the kids to give themselves a cheer.  It is a cheer of specific rhythmic clapping.  It is performed in unison with much vigor.  And its sound is beautiful to me.  Here in Lome, Togo, children enjoying learning even though they do not have the best of anything.

This is the successful story of one young teacher, dressed in a white blouse and long black skirt.  She is committed to these children, and they in kind respond back to her.

I was telling the social workers how impressed I was with this class.  And she quietly responded, it is possible this teacher is here just for today, because the government knew we would be coming.  I was a little doubtful, but when we entered the next classroom I found myself believing the story a little more.

This room still had order, but it seemed a little tighter.  The kids seemed more afraid than happy and joyful.  The teacher was male; he wore a Hawaian type shirt and a baseball cap.  He carried a piece of orange hose with him, anywhere he walked in the classroom.  He did not smile, not even once.  Yes this class room had order, but I wonder if it was missing the wonder in discovery?

Next Monsieur le teacher barked out his order for dictation.  "écrivez, le numero dix," he said.  The children bent over their slates and wrote the answer.  Each would lift it up high over his head to show the answer.  Mister teacher would tap each slate and pronounce, "correct, or Pas correct".  By the way he was holding the piece of orange hose above his shoulder on the right and point to the child to answer the question with his left hand.  Yes if you are imagining a lion tamer that would be an apt description.

Moving on from the math lesson he went on to French grammar.  Again dictations would be pronounced and each child would diligently write the answer on the slate and raise it for their teacher's approval or disapproval.  He never smiled.  I was not sure if he was glad we were there.

We decided to sing a silly song to the kids, just as we had done in the classroom before.  It took a while before they started to laugh at our ridiculous gesturs.  Even the teacher lightened up for a minute or two.

Children in Togo do not speak French at home, but as soon as they enter kindergarten, their classes are taught in only French.  French becomes a language used to provide some sense of unity among a country with at least 32 different tribal peoples and distinct languages.  The problem is more children drop out of school before they have a chance to complete the course. Why?  Some need to work, others don't like it.  Would you like it if your teacher was the gardener? 

You see, the last teacher we saw, was the gardener for the school.  I applaud him for stepping up to the plate to give teaching a try.  I give thumbs down to the government for not paying its teachers, so the school had to hire the gardener.  I can understand why he had the piece of hose in his hand during the day.  It surely was an item of familiarity to him as much as a stick to the children.  And yes, I was told, he most likely hit a few of the kids with that hose upon occasion.  But this was not the case today. 

I reviewed some of the course work materials provided to the students.  They were little paper booklets with exercise sheets in them.  They looked similar to those my daughter gets in her school.  There were simple posters on the wall, describing the germination of a seed, and all its parts.  So yes there was a sense science was taught.  But in the end there were no brightly colored papers hanging on the walls, no letters of the alphabet or number lines hanging on the walls.  They were just walls.  Yet in at least one of the classrooms, there were children eager to learn.  These are children who laugh and enjoy the moment of silliness we provide.

These two classrooms are found in government schools.  Currently serious parents who appreciate education send their kids to private schools.  And if I understand correctly, there is a small voucher from the government of sorts to help with the cost.  Our kids are also provided funds through our giving with Compassion International, to help with attending a private school if that is the desire of the parent.  You never know what kind of education you will get at the public school.  A teacher or a gardener, it could be either one.

In some ways the public versus private school education discussion sounds all too familiar over here.  Over there the difference can be between a teacher and a gardener.  I wonder if our children like their schools?   I wonder if I will need to send Margo to a private school one day with all the cuts and politicking going on in our part of the world.  Will we see vouchers?  Would that mean our public schools would be abandoned?  I don't know the answers to any of these questions.  But I did just tell you what I observed in Togo.  I am just glad we have a school down the block to send little Margo.

My first drives through Lome...what did I see? What did I learn?

My first drive into town from our hotel was an adventure of its own. It was early afternoon, we had time for a 30 minute nap, followed by a long lunch near the sea shore. Our mini bus pulled out onto the main road, and I immediately began to take pictures out the window. My thoughts were captured by the elegance of the women balancing their purchases or wares upon their heads. Each one, carried their load with strength, grace and confidence.

I noticed the smells, of once burning plastics, or was it oils, I was not sure. The grounds were covered with small fire embers, piled to the sides or in the middle of some of the smaller roads. I really did not notice piles of garbage, or the huge over crowding I found regularly in Calcutta, India, many years ago. I saw lots of goats; big goats, small goats, momma goats, the whole shebang. So though there was poverty, there did seem to be a sense of order about the town.

Why the goats? Why the little embers? Both these tools tackled the same problem...garbage. Yes, the people of Lome, burned the garbage in small piles every night; this accounted for the smokey smell about the city. The goats roamed free to take care of the remainder of the garbage. It was an interesting way to deal with an issue that could wreak havoc in a city where I saw no garbage collectors.

I also learned the basics of sales and store ownership through our minibus window. Have you noticed the picture of the outdoor lean-to with the hanging shoes? Yes you guessed it, the local shoe store. That store owner provided quite a display of his wares; other vendors had far fewer shoes to sell. Attaching items to poles, or letting them hang was the official style of display.

Would you like a little gas to run that motorcycle, or Moped for the day? How about a bottle of petrol? The roadside gas stop. It was a table with a variety of bottles filled with oil, or gasoline, or whatever made your engine go. It is sold in small alliquots, just what you need for the day. The new 'just-in-time' lifestyle. You purchased what you would have used for the day. This concept extended to everyday items of food and spices. In the opposite picture you see a stand, selling sugar by the cup or less, or even tablespoons of salt.  Note the pre-measured cans of charcoal, just the right amount for the days cooking. In reality, just-in-time becomes, just enough.

Shopping for a little food everyday, or if you happen to be among the poor, you are shopping only on the days you have a little money. It is a hard life here in Lome, Togo, for those with materially little. There is no refrigeration, nor running water at your home. Your home may only be a 6 by 8 foot steel shack with steel rooftop. Imagine that as your 'castle' for your family of six. Oh, did I mention the temperature was up to 95 degrees and the humidity was above 70%? The floor was pounded dirt, and a bench was hidden inside. The treasures of the family were stored neatly up the side of the walls inside your home. This was the picture of the simple steel shack you saw in this post. This really was the home of Liza, my sponsored child. Their reality, they will not have food every day, and her stove/oven was the size of bucket. In fact the clay oven was formed in a bucket, I could see the imprints of the bucket seams on the side. There was a tree just outside the front door, a place where the neighbors and family members would sit to keep out of the heat of the day. It was a house like this, and many others which were hidden behind the tall walls lining the streets of Lome. If we had never been behind the walls, I would not have known or seen this poverty. Lome, the city of 'poverty hidden'.

But within these hidden areas, there was also a richness and wonder to life, that did not escape my notice.  But for this next adventure, it really meant, getting out of the bus, moving beyond the window panes, and learning the 'more' lived out by those with so much less...all discovered when meeting my families in Africa. 

Lome, Togo, it only took us 3-days to get there....

Joy Standing guard over the 15 bags at SFO, the start of our adventure.

It was Friday, we arrived at the airport excited, all four of us. My husband drove us, Rod, and Timothy, the two others who were part of our group, leaving for Togo West Africa. Peter, our guide and leader extraordinaire was to meet us at the airport in San Francisco. It had already been decided we should arrive around noon, to ensure we made it through the new and improved TSA screening process, and catch our plane. We were the first to arrive, eventually followed by Peter, our Compassion leader for the trip. Then the others started to arrive. We were all assembled, and now in line to check in, however, no Air France employee was there to meet the already long line of passengers waiting for service.. Our 15 bags to check in were piled in a spot taking up quite a bit of square footage of the terminal floor. And so we waited. Hurry up and wait best describes the first 3 days of our trip! Then the light on the flight board started to flash, Delayed….Delayed is all it said, and we knew we most likely would not arrive in Lome, Togo for quite a bit longer.

Four countries, three days and two nights later is when we actually arrived at the Lome airport. Was I tired? Yes, did I have a clue as to the day of the week when we arrived? No, not really. In the midst of those three very long days, I was already quickly becoming the group’s French / English translator. It did not matter I think my French level was that of a 4th grader, and I gave myself a lot of extra pats on the back to even say that. But let’s go backward a day or two, and learn together about adversity, flexibility and the making of a team. Why? We became a team during those first three days of travel together.

I need to tell you about Peter first. He was our guide/leader provided by Compassion International to lead our team. I wonder what he thought of us upon seeing our group. Once getting through security and ending up at the gate to wait, everyone pulled out i-phone, macs, laptops etc…to get connected one last time while here in the USA. We did not talk much one to another, but dealt with our own insular worlds, reading magazines and even a book or two. An hour into waiting at the gate, Peter stands up and says, “ok, I am ready to talk with you and let you know a bit about the trip.” We gather about him, sitting on the two rows of chairs at the gate, and we wait. “I was a compassion boy,” he states, and then begins to share a little of his own background with poverty and coming out of it because of Compassion International. Peter was from Uganda, Africa, so he was familiar with the people we were about to visit, their customs, and perceptions of the spoken word.

“Flexibility, our middle name was to become flexibility,” Peter stated. “Yes there is an itinerary, but, if we are engaged with a group or a family we will stay and listen and give them the time. The trip is not about the itinerary, it is about the children, the families we will meet. Listen,” he says, “Listen,” Peter said again. “Ask questions; discover the issues or complexities of their needs at hand. Do NOT, I repeat DONOT offer solutions. Not even the brainstorming we American’s like to do! In fact do not discuss the possibility of a solution in earshot of those we are visiting.” Why, you might ask? Because we all had that same question on our lips. Peter’s answer came as a little story about coffee. “When I came to America, and my friends would say, let’s get together for coffee sometime, I really thought they meant it. I was so hurt when we did not go for coffee; I took them at their word.” All of this to say, if we mentioned the possibility of solving the problem, or ideas how to expand the work, it was now an instant promise of help…It was the ‘done deal’. Here in Africa, what you say is what you do, or what you mean.

There is a hierarchy in Africa, the man is tops, followed by the woman and then last of all, the children. For Peter, this meant “I was never able to speak to my father eye to eye, until I was 24 years old.” Later during the trip, we would learn more of Peter and his life growing up, how he was sponsored by the director of Compassion in Uganda, How he learned the value of his life, and other children, his education which is vast, and the door of opportunity opened to him, because one person, one family cared for him through Compassion.

Peter continues in his discussion, “The men and women will watch how we interact with the children. The fun we have with them, the love we have for them, the care we exercise towards them. Something happens in their observation and suddenly they too want to participate with their own children in the same fashion.” It is Peter’s final comment from that first discussion in the airport which ruminates with me throughout the initial days of travel, “Prepare to be loved,” he says, “prepare to be loved.” “You will have 6 or 10 kids hanging off of your arms and hands as you walk through the centers. You will be the mother or father to your own sponsored child, not because their mother or father are not there or do not care, but because the concept of family is so broad and engaging in Africa.”

Flexibility training, I now believe with all my heart, missing a plane, traveling all night, not once but twice, encountering food allergies, and colds, among a group of 10, was the perfect preparation for our trip. And so, the story of our fist three days continues…

Peter, Rod and Timothy, wait for the bus in the sleet, while we wait inside the airport at Paris.

We arrived in Paris on Saturday morning, and we literally ran to the next gate, all 10 of us, thinking, or wildly hoping they held the plane for us. But that was not the case. We soon learned traveling to Lome, Togo was literally not an every day occurrence, and the earliest we could leave would be Sunday afternoon. During this run to the new gate, Rod dropped his passport. And yes, for about 30 minutes, we wondered if he would be leaving much later, assuming a visit to the US embassy was needed. So imagine for the moment, Rod is being walked around everywhere we had passed, since the most recent security station, with the police officer at his side. Another group, containing John and a few others, went off on their own to look for Rod’s passport. They could go anywhere because they had their passports and tickets. And yes we had already gone through all 10 plus carry-on’s, just in case his passport got slipped into one of our bags. In the midst of this, Peter was discussing with Air France, about what to do with the Americans.

In the end we were sent to the IBIS hotel, about 10 minutes from the airport, with a ticket ensuring we all would eat dinner and breakfast over the next 12 hours. In the midst of this we also had an opportunity to sleep. I am guessing I slept a total of 4 hours before arising at 4 AM Sunday morning. My roommate was also awake, so we just chatted. There was the hope of trying to get to Paris and see the Eifel tower, but it was freezing, and I only had a light summer jacket. Useless for this weather, in fact, I lasted about 5 minutes when trying to walk outside the hotel to get a look around France. We ate a wonderful buffet, and the sounds of French being spoken everywhere was wonderful to me. I felt at home, not that I grew up in France or Quebec, but because my parents did, and they spoke French to us when we were young. So yes, hearing the language, weather I understood it all or not, always touched my heart.

In the morning, taking a roll call of sorts, or really taking stock in our health, the situation looked interesting to say the least. Sherry was covered in welts, that itched, and Dan’s cold seemed to be getting worse. So back to the Charles De Gaul Airport to check in to our new flight schedule tour destination, via Casablanca, Morocco, Agra, Ghana, and then last but not least, Lome Togo. Peter sent all the others to the gate, except Sherry and me. We headed out to find the medical clinic. You see those welts did not look so much like bug bites, but some type of allergic reaction to food. Now I really had to try and speak French and communicate to the pharmacist the symptoms of Sherry. The pharmacist, took a look and gathered the prescribed medicines with directions for Sherry, including she is not allowed to eat any tomatoes or eggs or drink wine for the rest of the trip. She had relief from the symptoms almost instantaneously once she consumed the medicine. I was relieved her issues had been addressed. I was feeling a bit bolder with my French, so I started to explain the cold symptoms of Dan, which seemed to be getting worse. I love saying the word for cold in French, it sounds just like, ‘room’, and then there is another description that sounds like ‘grip’. Using both those words, learning about the sore throat, no fever etc…another set of medicines was provided. The instructions reviewed and written down one last time to ensure I knew what to tell Dan. I just could not imagine flying on the plane with the ears, and sinus all plugged up, so I brought the medicines to Dan and instructed him on their taking. I was pleasantly surprised to see him acquiesce and take the meds. We were just starting day three of the trip, and we had many packed days set before us, so health was very important.  Some slept wherever they could, a row of chairs at the airport seemed safe.

The plane took off and landed in Morocco. I loved the airport in Morocco, it has a sign welcoming us to Casablanca, and of course I am only thinking about the movie and the line, “play it again Sam.” By now I am almost done with a book Victoria gave to me to read, oh my goodness, I was crying like a baby starting with chapter one. Why? Because it was a book describing the life of a man in the US who had it all, realizes it is nothing, and he reaches out to a man who has nothing, and then realizes he has everything. I think the title was “A lot like Me,” and now my heart was being prepared for the trip. Three hours in the airport at Casablanca was enough time to find some Moroccan sandwiches’ and a final discussion with Peter to hear his story. The next flight was to Agra, Ghana, here we did not need to leave the plane, and then our arrival in Lome, Togo.

We made it easily through customs, but Peter was being harassed for a bribe of some sort, which he totally refused to partake in. We started gathering and counting the bags, 1, 2, 3 all they way up to 14, were assembled. Oh, oh, one was missing, the big black one, with precious presents for our children. Hmm, I digress, but I need to let you know, this trip was organized through our church; collectively we sponsor 49 children in Togo, whom we were going to visit, bearing gifts of course. Well, some of the gifts were in that big black bag. So I went off with Timothy to the baggage service area, to explain the situation. It took a while, in fact most of the team had passed through the customs, which was not much to discuss. We had the paperwork in hand; a telephone number to call, and now joined the group on to the bus. You must realize it was now six or seven in the morning of Monday!

Flexible, didn’t I tell you our middle name was to become flexible. It was decided, once at the hotel, we could sleep or rest or do whatever for the next two hours, and then it was time to eat lunch, and the start of our very busy first day. Let’s see, we have been traveling for about 72 hours or so, with a small break in between at the IBIS hotel. Now we have two hours, before the program starts…I am not sure what day of the week it is either, I just plan to go with the flow. In the midst of it all, we became a team, so yes, that was worth the extra time, I think.

What works to fight poverty and is set up to affect thousands in Haiti?

Group picture of all 53 children we support as a church,  Woman walking along the road, Me enjoying our two children we sponsor as a family. 

I just returned from Togo, West Africa this past Sunday afternoon. It was an amazing trip, and I learned much about fighting poverty in very real tangible ways. These are methods that provide a true reality of integrity and honor to the giver and the receiver. The responsibility was shared among the donors, (hopefully you and me), the Compassion Workers and Volunteers, the Children Center partners, and the children and their families. That's right, not only do the children participate in the process of combating poverty in their own lives, but their families step up to provide the emotional support, and time it takes to participate in the program. Compassion International has been around well over 40 years, combating poverty one child at a time. They only recently opened Children Development Centers in Togo, during the past 6 months. I visited the centers and the children, and even several families. I was totally impressed with their approach, and what they have accomplished in such a short few months. In Togo, their work is very young, but they have had a presence in Haiti for over 40 years.
This means, a full generation of children has graduated from the program with their families and are living more fruitful lives. It also means the program is reaching out to over 77,000 at risk children and their families today even before the devastating earthquake struck last week.

Tim Glenn, who works with Compassion international says, in his blog titled, It’s Time to Start Over in Haiti:

 "At the border of the Dominican Republic and Haiti, I saw a couple of relief supply trucks that had been turned into makeshift storefronts. People were trying to sell the food, water and clothing inside. Another example of how important it is for you to make sure you partner with an organization that has established distribution channels.  Many organizations can get stuff here, but don’t know how to distribute it. Parking a truck on the side of the road can cause mayhem. We don’t know exactly how many of our kids are affected. Getting to them all is terribly difficult. Many families fled when the quake hit. Many are sleeping on the streets. Rounding them up is tough. Perhaps one of the most inspiring things I’ve seen is our Haiti staff here. Keep in mind, many of them lost everything in the quake. They lost homes, possessions and sadly, some of them lost loved ones. Yet here they are, working at our makeshift camp every day, trying to help others. Serving in the midst of their pain. Amazing! Please continue to pray for them. They are heroes of the faith. Compassion partners with established local churches in Haiti. We have for more than 40 years. They know us. We know them. And shouldn’t the church be the distribution channel for relief in times of hurt anyway? You are providing for tons of supplies to make it into Haiti. Our first planeload is expected to arrive Friday in the Dominican Republic. It will be transported into Haiti on Saturday. We’ll be able to provide two weeks’ worth of basic necessities to more than 77,000 people"
Please donate using the button above, and become a part of getting another two week kit worth of basic necessities to these 77,000 people, already known by Compassion. I know first hand what Compassion has done in Togo in such a short time, I know they excel in integrity and targeted success. So please support this work in Haiti, as they touch those burdened by loss and death, including their own aid workers.

Thank you,

Maxine

I’m leaving on a jet plane…..West Africa!

No it is not a Safari, nor will I be travelling with my better half, or my precious little Margo. I am heading off to Togo West Africa with a small group from Twin Oaks Church. We will be joining a group leader from Compassion International, and begin a visit to the children we each sponsor. It so happens our little church sponsors about 50 children in all from the same area; meaning we will have a gathering of all 49 kids. We are packing gift packs of toys, pens, paper, clothes, and even a few wooden spoons here or there, to deliver to each of our little charges. What is the goal? My goal is to learn as much as I can, about poverty and successful ways of combating the situation. The purpose is to learn more about what Compassion International really does to help each child we sponsor. Their motto evolves around, saving children from poverty, “one child at a time”.

More than once in the past few months, my own heart has been tugged at, about our local poverty. Our local poverty is different from what I will see in Togo. I am also thinking the method of combating poverty in Togo, will have a better sense of self esteem, and growth for those children going through the Compassion International program, than for those suffering homelessness over here. I am not an expert in any area of poverty, understanding poverty, or even trying to combat poverty. There have been more than a few times I have looked the other way when asked for a handout from someone on the street.

But this year, and the last few months of last year, I have been learning engagement. Actually, even before last year, the concept of engaging the poor and broken has been tugging at my own heart. Sometimes it has been as simple as looking into the eyes of the homeless person, talking to herself, pushing her carriage, as I ran across the bridge. In that simple moment, I was saying, “I see you, I know you are here.” Other occasions it involved listening to their story of job loss and travel to find work. Grabbing them a bowl of soup, and wondering why can’t I do something more permanent? I left him by shaking his hand, wishing him well, and inviting him to my church when he comes to my city. All of that felt still feels so empty.

My next step was to purchase a bag of food for a homeless family. The dad was asking for money outside the Lucky grocery store, explaining, “I have no food to feed my daughter and pregnant fiancée, we just fell into hard times, things will get better when my fiancé completes her studies next year…” I wanted to close my eyes to him too, but I kept feeling a nudging, so I invited him into the store with me to purchase a bag of groceries for his family. I did not feel ‘better’, only conflicted. I engaged in conversation with him, and learned about the past two years of looking for work, and then him finding help because someone negotiated a better rate at the hotel on his behalf. Then I recognized him, it was Damien, he attends church with us on Sundays. Now I was starting to become engaged.

Most recently, I sent a letter to our sponsored child. Why, you might ask? I want to encourage her, to complete her studies, and enjoy the life about her. To let her know, we are her family, over on the other side of the world. Simply put, I need to start a conversation with her and discover her life. So now, I leave for Togo, this Friday, January 8th. This day will most likely keep me moving forward on my journey to understand poverty, and perhaps learn ways to keep it at bay. I hope and pray I am changed for the better.

I hope to write this blog from Togo, so expect to read something soon about this 10 day adventure. See you all when I return on the 17th of January. Love, Mommy Max

Happy New Year to All!

It’s New Year’s Eve, the night; we wait for the entry of the upcoming decade.  Little Margo does not get it quite yet.  She has no clue about the celebration and staying up late…we have not yet introduced this activity to her.  But perhaps tonight, I shall do just that.  Go and wake her before the strike of midnight, provide her with a pot and wooden spoon.  Then we wait; we wait for the upcoming ruckus to start, and we join in.  Every year we hear the yells of “Happy New Year!” in the streets of our neighborhood.  But this year, we will make a little noise ourselves and introduce Margo to the tradition of welcoming the New Year.  Better put, the New Decade.  You just got to love it!

Happy New Year's my friends!  It will be a great one for sure!

Christmas here lasts for two days....

The affair with Christmas starts on Christmas Eve.  We all head to my brother Guy's, and eventually arrive two - three hours later.  This has been our ritual for at least 18 years now.  I still remember the first Christmas I experienced with my husband at my brother's.  We were engaged at the time, and I so thought I was giving him the perfect present.  An NFL football, and something signed by Joe Montana, oh, plus a membership to the 49'er fan club.  Yes, it was done in fun, my hubby to be, loved sports.  Add to this observation, any time we went to a toy store or sports place he would head for the footballs.  So perhaps it was not all done in jest on my part.  I still remember when he opened up the package...hmmm...the smile was a little less than I expected, but it was still there.  Then he gave me his present...oh my goodness, it was a beautiful hand made jewelry box.  Boy did I feel dumb not taking the giving a little bit more seriously.  In reality, I was very serious, the problem was I miss read the man.  We still laugh about that Christmas, to this day. 

That Christmas was the first time I ever played with a Barbie; my niece was very young at the time, and she noticed I was not enjoying the experience as much as she.  Nicole looked at me with the big wide eyes of a 6 year old and said, "Auntie Maxine, don't you like Barbie?"  She was shocked at my answer, but allowed me to continue playing with her.

Christmas Eve is the night we gather, to eat a beautiful meal, talk, drink wine and exchange gifts among each other.  Now that the kids outnumber the adults, or at least it seems that way, it becomes a frenzy of unwrapping gifts.  Instead of children, we watch experienced sharks, shredding their package wrappings.  They each look at the acquired gift, and quickly move on to the next.  At least that is the way of the younger ones. 

The older teenagers, know better, or at least they have become a little more sophisticated about the process.  You still hear the glee when the perfect gift is opened.  That is the gift that captures their attention for a long time.  Sometimes, they will even come over and give you a big hug along with the thank you.  That is when I know, I bought the correct item.  By this time we are wading in wrapping!  The beautifully decorated area, is now full, of kids, parents, grandparents and wrapping.  The toys are stacked neatly, or not so neatly somewhere so they will not be lost

The next day is Christmas, this is the morning that Santa leaves his stash of goodies for those who have been, good, and a lump of coal for those who have been less then good.  We are still at my brothers, who can have Christmas without a handful of kids.  Little Margo, she loves staying at the cousins.

Mark and I arrive back to the house at 7:00 AM or so, and find the room is dark.  The two littlest ones, have been awake for about 30 minutes or so this year. They are found snuggling in Auntie Cori's bed, waiting for our arrival.  Next the teenagers are awakened by two small girls.  Then, the rush, or run to the Christmas tree.  "Santa was here, Santa came!" are the shouts uttered by all of our lips.  Everyone in this house believes in Santa.

First the cookies and carrots are carefully examined.  "Look, the cookie has a bite taken out of it, and the carrots, they are partially eaten too."  The wonder of this little experience is noted in the voices of the youngest two.  So again, the Santa story is preserved one more year.  Passed down from one generation to the next.  At last, the gifts are found, and unwrapped, but the frenzy does not exist.  These gifts produce the oooo's and ahhs any Santa would enjoy.  We are all content with the choices by Santa.  Now the rest of the day is set before us.  Eating our traditional meat pie, with grandmanma's ketchup.  All made with love and spice, and everything nice,...and then we shall gather around the table and enjoy each other in that very special Christmas way. Christmas, something to always be cherished, for the complete two day celebration. 

Christmas and the Kindergarten Teacher Gift.....

I can't believe the holidays are upon us! Tomorrow is the last day of school before the Christmas holiday break, and I only now purchased a gift for little Margo's teacher. I was reminded today of the impending tradition, when I saw one of Margo's classmates present the box of chocolates to Mrs. B. It was not wrapped, and Arnold began to point out a variety of letters on the box to Mrs. B. She accepted the gift with grace and acknowledged his current accomplishments with the alphabet on her newly acquired box of chocolates. Margo is currently oblivious to the gift giving towards her teacher thus far. I have mentioned it a few times, but no bites on her part. I will say she was quite excited about the books that Mrs. B. gave to each child in her class today. The individually wrapped gifts, contained the hand written name of each child on the tag, followed by, "from Mrs. B". Margo's friend came over to our house with her gift from Mrs. B. too, today after class. Both girls decided to wait until Christmas to open up their treasured present from their teacher.

Back to my quandary, what do I get for Mrs. B? I didn't want to do the chocolate or the wine, although both can be quite delicious. I wanted something a little more meaningful, and so I decided to write Mrs. B. an essay about rose bushes. I found a pair of beautiful rose bushes at Costco today, and thus began my inspiration for Mrs. B. and her lively rose bushes in her garden.

Once upon a time, there was a rose gardener, named Mrs. B. When I first met her, the garden was just starting to be developed. In fact I was not sure Mrs. B. could really be a gardener, because she was just starting out. I knew she was accomplished from her years of training at the university, and then she had even worked with the 1st grade roses for a year, but this year, Mrs. B. had to plant her own roses from almost scratch. These were the Kinder roses. They can be tough to manage sometimes I have been told. I wanted to discover how Mrs. B. would go about bringing the dormant roses to life.

The difficulty of planting a new rose garden, was understanding where the seeds were germinated and nurtured during their early days of life. I believe each of the 20 or so little plants were started with the best intentions at their home nurseries. Some of these nurseries have had a few of their older rose bushes grow beyond Kindergarden, before their most recent batch; other nurseries were experiencing the Kindergarden for the first time. This very wide variety of nurseries was providing a very wide variety of roses for Mrs. B's garden. Some of the dormant roses really did not sit well in one spot, nor did they keep their little thorns to themselves at times. However, Mrs. B. actually had them sitting on their own square plot after a couple of days. The colors of the plots were purple, green, blue, and yellow. She began to nourish them with the Alpha Bet fertilizer. It was working quite well. She combined this technique with the number quota. Soon each of the rose bushes was providing a variety of services about the garden.

One would describe the weather for the day, and let everyone know if it was cloudy, rainy or sunny. Another was in charge of the gate, ensuring it was closed and opened at the appropriate times. These little dormant rose bushes were amazing. Some could turn the light off and on upon request. Others would bring the attendance list to the main barn for filing. In fact each of these 20 dormant rose bushes was given jobs to do on a daily basis. Some were even table captains for the week. And suddenly, one could observe, that this new freshly tilled garden was becoming quite organized.

In reality it has only been about three and a half months since the garden began. In fact the nursery owners were still very interested in this kindergarden plot. I am one of those owners, and we gather everyday, outside the plot and wonder, what is happening inside. We actually share stories of things we've heard from the rose bushes themselves about the development of their garden. The over all consensus was our little rose bushes seem to all like Mrs. B. Sometimes Mrs. B. was away for a day and a substitute gardener came in to run the Kindergarden. Some of those days were marked by a little disarray about the garden. Soon Mrs. B. would return and start the repair work once again. Fertilize with Alpha Bet, and water with cheers.
Bit by bit, I watched, I saw the little leaves began to sprout. I head the stories read to me by my little rose bush. I watched the stubby little branches start to write words and then sentences that looked like run on words, and required some deciphering with a hoe. Eventually I was able to read this work. But you Mrs. B. already had the knack of sorting one word from the next. You weeded all about and throughout this garden. Sometimes it was a simple reminder of what needed to be done. Other times, the sacred "superstar" was turned over for the hour, and that seemed to cause the rose bush to grow in the most appropriate manner. I have heard it rumored that a "superstar" was torn asunder...and eventually the little rose bush returned to better growth patterns in the garden.

Do you remember all your precious rose bushes for this year Mrs. B.? Each one is a gift for you to grow, to nurture, and to create opportunity for growth in independence. In fact you garden more independence from each bush than we do, even though we were the original nursery. I know, once in a while, you were 'stuck' by the unruly thorns in these little dormant rose bushes. But I also know, in the next six months, each one of these little rose bushes will bloom. We will all be amazed by their colors, and fragrance, and in the end, we shall reflect along with you about the wonder of the dormant rose, now grown in the Kinder-garden by Mrs. B.

I really just wanted to give you the Elvis cheer, Margo has taught me so well. "Thank you, thank you very much!"

Play Dates and Little Margo

Four weeks ago after school Little Margo approached a friend and said, "You really must say yes and come to my house and watch the museum at night film. It will really make you smile....." She can barely catch her breath, nor provide me the opportunity to interject, "let's do the play date tomorrow..." Her friend's dad interjects, "Baguette, needs to be somewhere after school," so a new time was set for 11:00 AM in the following Saturday.

This week, after school I was given a request by one of Margo's friends, "Margo's mom, can I come to Margo's house to play today?" Before I have a chance to say anything, she runs to her dad and informs him of the invitation, and then promptly turns to Margo to let her know the same thing. I am mystified, I was just run over by a little girl only three feet tall, and most likely 30 lbs to boot. I relent and even include the twins to the event. It has now become a hot chocolate and banana nut bread affair. The day before, Margo invited one boy and two girls to come over for hot chocolate. It had been an exceptionally cold day, and well there were some cookies to eat as well. So Yes, come one, come all to Margo's house. That afternoon there were 6 kids and three parents not including me.

The kids all played together for all these different events, and even more play dates. Why am I doing this insane thing? We are talking about two to three play dates a week for the past three weeks. Am I a sadist or just plain wimpy? Meaning I can't say no to a pleading face? No, no, no, I say it again no, I am not insane etc... There really is a method to my madness.

I remember the afternoon so clearly when Margo stood at the top of the stairs and said, "Mom, I don't know how to play with more than one friend at a time. It is very confusing." That was very interesting, and insightful for me to hear. This little comment reflected much about her brains lack of organization, so now it worked in social settings too. Here is the presence of Dyspraxia in its subtlest form. I suddenly realized I needed to provide her some opportunities at our home for 'gang play', before she would be able to figure it out at someone else's house. You see she had been to a friends house for a play date about 5 weeks before, and her friend included three or four other girls at the play date. Margo was totally lost, she wanted to lie down, or play in the sand by herself. It was difficult to get her engaged in any group activity. Some of which included dress up, and even drawing. These are some of her favorite things to do.

So now, after school, when Margo asks to have someone come over, I will suggest she invite a few other friends as well. She does, I break out the "instant hot chocolate", while they play games upstairs. Now these games can be dress up, castle or some other imaginary game called witch and children, snails or turtles etc...She is beginning to develop skills to participate in after school group play. She is learning to share her time and friends with others in the group at the same time. Little Margo no longer wants to do nothing, but is smack dab in the middle of the group activity.

I still encourage the one-on-one play dates too. These provide me a chance to get better acquainted with her friends individually. Often times I might be invited to "tell a story" about the two turtles or snails crawling on the floor. These two animals often times look just like little Margo and her friend under empty laundry baskets for shells. So yes I get my imaginative play dates in too. And well what more can I say, Margo is learning to play with more than one friend at a time. Now that is a good skill every kindergartner needs to learn...

Close Encounters of the third-grade Kind..."a little inspiration"

Margo's Kindergarten Teacher, "A monkey for Haloween"

I started reading Phillip Done's new book, "Close encounters of the third-grade kind", and was almost inspired to become a teacher. Of course I could not do it right now, but I thought when my little one was a little older, I could work on a teaching credential. But then I kept reading the next few chapters and was inundated by lists. Lists of what a elementary school teacher creates everyday or week to keep their lives in order. Then it hit me, I may be one of the Messys. Mr. Done states, "I'm convinced that there really are only two types of people in the world-----those with neat desks like my boss's and those with messy desks like mine. Tidys and Messys, I call them. It really is a Mars-and-Venus sort of thing." His discussion continues, however he reveals himself to be of the "Messy" variety. I can not tell you if that means he is a Venus or Mars type of person either. I can't even tell you if I am a Venus or Mars type of person. But I can tell you I am of the order of Messy's according to the book. I was not disheartened after this realization, because as I continued to read the book, I discovered the impact this "Messy" teacher has on his students.

So I started to read the book, not because I wanted to become a teacher, but because I thought I might learn something about relating to young children. I figured this would come in handy since my little Margo is only 6 years old at the time of this writing. Plus, I know how much Margo loves her teacher Mrs. B. In fact she has loved all of her teachers since preschool and Tuesday-Thursday class. So perhaps I could learn a few secrets about what makes a good teacher and then somehow figure out a way to transpose that into what makes a good mom.

And learn I did. I discovered caring for a student requires more heart and creativity than just brute force and organization. I lack immensely in the area of organization, and brute force is not another of my strong points these days either. So on with creativity, curiosity and imagination. These three C words are the "five dollar words" I discovered in Mr. Dones book. In many ways, his actions and interactions mearly mirrors the creativity, curiosity and imagination displayed in his students throughout the chapters of this book. Now it becomes my turn to use the three C's in my parenting style. (ok, ok, it is really two C's and an I, Creativity, Curiosity and Imagination)

I started in small baby steps, for instance my daughter writes a backwards J. Instead of saying "gee honey that is backwards", I told her a story that the letter "J", likes to look at the letter that comes before it, and voila, she begins to make the correction. What about the emotional side of parenting...how can I apply the three C's there? Just yesterday Margo started to talk about wanting something important to hold or work with so she would be important. Oh my goodness she was just about ready to start crying a bowlful of tears. So I grabbed her in my arms, turned her towards the Christmas tree and began pointing to the very old ornaments hanging on the tree. "You see that red ornament Margo?" "The acorn shaped one momma?" she replied. "Yes that one, it is about 40 - 60 years old. It belonged to grandma Julie, it is a very old, and important ornament. Do you know, you are the only 6 year old I know who was allowed to place that ornament on the tree by yourself. In fact there are a lot of very special and important ornaments that we let you place on the tree all by yourself." There was a pause in the conversation, her eyes dried up, and she began to smile and tell me about her favorite ornament that she put on the tree.

There is a lot to be said about her comment regarding "...feel important." Doing things makes her feel important; good teachers make us feel important. Great teachers allow us to discover the answers to the secrets in life, both in joyful and sometimes painful moments. This book reminded me about what makes a good teacher. Knowing these traits is something I can apply to my relationship with my daughter. I am not sure I will ever become a certified teacher in my future, but I will become a "life teacher" to my daughter. I am sure I will have many interesting stories to tell from the experience as well as an enlarged heart for her and her friends.

Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind is the featred book for the Silicon Valley Moms Group December book club.

Its Harvest Time at the farm...

In August we start to prepare for the walnut harvest in October. I help my dad with the pipes. Water pipes that is. We must water the orchard one last time before the harvest. Water helps the trees handle the last bit of summer heat. It also helps the walnuts get their last growth spurt going. Plus I get to get wet on a very hot summer day! It is a lot of hard work. My dad could not set the pipes without me. See I can carry one all by myself. And I could not walk through the mud without the help of my dad. I am just like Grandpa George and get stuck in the mud. I just start to sink in it and then I get stuck. Grandpa George used to be strong enough to pull himself out of the mud when he got stuck in it...but now at almost 89 years old, he just can't do it without a little help from his sons. One of them is my dad!

Last year was my first year of really doing some work on the farm. Grandpa George let me in the club, by allowing me to pee and poop in the orchard. Hey that is what you do when you are working outside. From that moment on, I knew Grandpa George knew what was important to a then 4 year old. In fact I ask for permission to 'mark' the field every chance I get. You got to try it some time...but be sure to ask the farmer for permission.


In between August and October, the nuts just grow. There is one more watering session. But this time it is to create a hard surface for the walnuts to fall on. Grandpa George will pull the roller with the tractor all over the orchard. It is really heavy and flattens the dirt. Next my dad will help put out the pipes to water the area again. It takes 14 days, because you only water one row at a time. The watering is not as deep, but it still gets muddy. I do not get to help this time around because I would leave my footprints everywhere. Remember I am only 5 and 11/12ths.







October arrives and the guys have gotten all the gear ready for picking. I miss my dad every weekend. He goes to the farm every weekend, to pick and hull the nuts. This year the nuts are few, only about 2 tons for the whole crop. So I get to go and help pick on the last Saturday of our season, November 7th.


My uncle drives the picker, down the rows. The rows of walnuts were raked into existence by my dad and grandpa George. There was a lot of rain in early October, it sort of knocked a lot of nuts down and it also made the ground really, really soft. Now instead of being flat, it has the dents made by the big tractor tires. The nuts are getting stuck in those tractor tracts and lost in all the tall grass that has grown because of the rain. Oh well, my dad says to just get what we can. I help by using the rake to get the nuts out of the grass. Then I pick up the nuts, toss them into the bucket and empty the bucket into the bin. This is a very fun job, especially when I got to work with my dad. We even threw grass at each other in between emptying the bucket of walnuts. We worked together for a couple of hours and then our work was done.

My favorite part was pulling my sleeping bag out and laying down in the back yard to watch the stars come out just before dinner. My dad was right there with me, showing me the stars. Just like he was right there with me showing me how to harvest walnuts. Next year I get to help sort, well maybe not, but you know, then I will be 6 and 11/12ths years old.