Best Fruitcake, according to Ralph

In a chat with red-haired Ralph at Opryland Theme Park ticket booth,
where we were working in December 1995, I shared with him that I
hated fruitcake. Ralph told me that he had a recipe that he was sure
I'd love. I didn't try it until many years later, and Ralph may be making
fruitcake in heaven by now, but he was one wise old Tennessee man.
Here's the recipe, with my healthy updates.

12 oz. light raisins (yellow)
12 oz, dried cherries or cherry cranberries
12 oz. dried apricots, chopped
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips (miniature)
1 pound pecans, chopped
1 pound almonds, chopped
2 cups shredded coconut
14.4 oz. chocolate or regular graham crumbs
2  regular sized sacks of marshmallows
1 cup apple or orange juice

In a very large pan, mix all ingredients except juice and marshmallows.
Over heat, melt marshmallows  in the juice and mix well.
Pour over the dry ingredients and mix well. Pack in 5 loaf pans.
(if foil, line with wax paper) or ten mini-pans. Cover with wax paper
lined tinfoil and refrigerate for about 14 days.

Wishing you a joyous holiday season,
Raintreepoet.

In these challenging times "The Little Red Hen" has a message for parents

This contributed by a friend:

The Little Red Hen

When I was a child, my mother taught me to read with the help of a book of fairy tales. We would sit together and work our way through the stories, sounding out the words, syllable by syllable. (This was in the era before pre-K programs, Sesame Street, and educational apps.) All that was required was a mother with time and a book from the library. By using this simple, time-tested method, both of my sisters and I were taught to read before we entered the first grade.

In addition to helping us to learn the English language, the stories often imparted a moral lesson. As we read the stories, we also discovered something about how society expected us to behave.

One of the most powerful moral lessons is found in the tale of The Little Red Hen. As young children like animals, this story is set in a barnyard, and the protagonist was a little red hen. One day the little red hen finds some wheat seeds. She explains to her three barnyard companions (a lazy dog, a sleepy cat, and a noisy yellow duck) that with the seeds, they can make bread. She then asks, "Who will help me plant the seeds?" They all reply, "Not I." She then proceeds to plant the seeds herself.

When the wheat is ready for harvesting, she again asks her friends, "Who will help me reap the wheat?" Once again, they all say, "Not I". At each step in the process (milling the wheat, making the dough, and baking the bread), she repeatedly asks if they would help, and they consistently refuse to offer any assistance.

Finally, the bread is baked, and the little red hen wearily turns to her friends and asks, "Who will help me eat the bread?", to which they all enthusiastically cry, "We will!"

When my mother and I first read the story together, she closed the book at this point and asked me what should happen next in the story.

"The little red hen should eat the bread herself."

"But what about her friends? They want some of the bread too."

"They didn't help her make it! They shouldn't get any of it!"

My response to the story was similar to that of most children and that of the little red hen, who responds rhetorically to her question, "I will!"

It is very interesting that, after twelve or more years of education, most people's response to the story's moral message becomes much more ambiguous. Their indigent, childhood declaration of "You don't work, you don't eat!" becomes "Well, there is enough bread for everyone ... right?"

What in their education has subverted their earlier moral sense?

The answer is simply that they have succumbed to an intellectual con game: their teachers, books, etc. have told them that the lazy dog, sleepy cat, and noisy yellow duck are merely victims of circumstances beyond their control; through no fault of their own, they cannot provide for themselves, and it is the moral obligation of the little red hens to feed them.

Some time after I learned to read and before it was time to teach my own children to read, such books of folk tales largely disappeared. They were replaced by Dr. Seuss, books of gibberish completely devoid of any moral content, or the Children's Television Workshop, which taught my kids to ask Santa for a Tickle Me Elmo.

Is it at all surprising that children today possess no moral compass? Most busy parents have largely delegated the teaching of morality to the schools, and the schools have either avoided the teaching of any moral message out of fear of offending someone or more often promulgated a philosophy of self-sacrifice.

In an adult barnyard story (George Orwell's Animal Farm), one of the first acts of the revolutionaries is to relieve the parents of the burden of their children's education. Later in the story the parents are horrified to discover what their children have become.

At a time of frenzied concern about the epidemic of school shootings, maybe it is time for parents to ask themselves, "Who will help educate my child?", they need to answer, "I will!

Grant Merrill

January 29, 2013

(696 word)

Me, too!

I don't twitter, so this will have to do. I was forced out
of a radio career by a predatory boss.
I was beginning at my first commercial station, K---,
after one  year of training on college radio. The station manager
was so friendly and welcoming that when I was asked to
lunch my first week, I thought it was business. When he
was flirty with me, I assumed that it was his friendly way
of making me comfortable in my new disc jockey job.
When he called when I was on the air, I thought it may be
his way of monitoring an employee.
When he asked me to ride on a wagon beside him in a parade
I thought it was part of the job. I smiled my biggest and waved
wildly to give a friendly impression of our station.
One day he asked me if I'd ever been to a rodeo. He knew
from our lunch conversation that  I had divorced a rodeo cowboy.
He added that he had tickets to a PRCA (Professional Rodeo
Cowboys Assn.) Rodeo in the KingDome, which was in Seattle.
He asked if I would like to go. At the time, I thought that if I
I turned him down, I would jeopardize my new job which I loved.
So, I said, yes.
A few days later, he came into my booth and said how much he
was looking forward to enjoying the rodeo (a night event, 70 miles
north) with me. I got a chill. It wasn't until that moment that I
realized that my manager had much more in mind. Was it tone?
The way he looked at me? I don't know. What I did sense is that
he viewed me as a tastey morsel and it would be foolish to ride
alone with him to a distant city.
I was so stunned and mortified that I could not tell him in the
moment that I had changed my mind about going with him to
 the rodeo. I waited until I was safely at home, called and left
 a message, begging off with some awkward excuse that even
sounded like an excuse to me. He  did not return that call.
 He waited like a mean old stinking tomcat for the right time
 to pounce on his silly little D.J. mouse.
My next shift was Sunday morning. I was to open the station
at 5:30 a.m. The lights were on at 5 a.m. and Tom, a long time
disc jockey for the station was prepping to go on the air. He told
me the bad news: You have been written out of the schedule. He
wagged his finger at me, teasingly. I said, It's not funny.
I was so upset, Tom, the D.J. said: If it was me, I'd call the prick
right now and give him a piece of my mind.
He sounded sincere and sympathetic. He dialed and handed me
the receiver into which I yelled: John, you can take the station
tower and stick it where the sun don't shine! I smiled, satisfied.
Tom snickered as he hung up.
Later, I was told that radio is a blackball industry and if I made
any fuss, I could forget a career in radio. I loved being a D.J.
and  I never worked in radio again.

It can and does happen to women every day in every field. Let's
stop it now.

raintreepoet, protesting.

Is Anybody else Sick of online Marketing Surveys?

From: "Scarborough Research" <Scarborough_Research@surveysavvy.com>
To: me
Sent: Friday, September 15, 2017 10:25:19 AM
Subject: Scarborough partners with Nielsen - participate in the online usage study

To Scarborough Research Survey:

Changed my mind. Please take me off your list.

The deeper I got in, I realized that it is a targeted marketing study.

I am cutting back on my consumerism, consciously.

I don't like that others on the planet lack food and clean water.

 It hurts my conscience.

I may not be able to help them, because I have limited means, 

but I can learn to do with less in solidarity.

I am grateful to have ample food and clean water. 

I pray that we human beings start taking care of each other globally.

Perhaps that would alleviate the jealousy of terrorists...

Don't get me wrong, I love America, Land of the free, home of the Brave.

 I am proud to be an American and feel lucky to have been born

here!

Of course there are things I don't like about us and consumerism

is the main one. Do we really need all this stuff?

I learned early on the difference between want and need and

too often want turns to greed. And frankly other people starving

bothers the heck outta me.

I started to notice as a kid all the fuss about helping the poor at Christmas.

I remember wondering who was helping the poor the rest of the year.

I am not headed any particular direction with this except to say I hope

when you are paying $1000. for your Apple 10, just because you can,

you remember that it is a want, not a need. I really hope you think about 

that! The buck stops with you.

raintreepoet, pondering.

---

Last Bus to Wisdom

Last Bus to Wisdom   by Ivan Doig was his sixteenth book

 and the first I have read. I discovered this delightful novel in

the Montana State Museum gift shop in Helena, the capital

this past summer, while on a road trip.

Doig was a master storyteller. This novel is peopled with

strong, flamboyant characters and a twisty, turny plot that

will leave you breathless

Donny, who tells the story, is a latter day Huckleberry Finn.

He is an irresistibly charming rascal. Donny has the curiosity

and gregariousness to imprint indelibly in a reader’s mind.

Herman, the German, Donny’s pardner in crime is also his

perfect foil. They keep each other honest and help each other

survive.

Ivan Doig did quite well as a best- selling author before I was

aware of him. I did notice his name on best- seller lists several

times. I read constantly and hadn’t gotten around to him yet.

 I so am glad I finally discovered him! He is simply one of the

best storytellers I have run across in a very long time.

So much “wisdom” was imparted as Doig’s twisty plot unfolded

I began to think the title was metaphorical. I was slightly

 disappointed, having visited Wisdom, Montana years ago.

However, I was gratified when almost three quarters of the way through,

 Donny and Herman did manage to get to Wisdom, which

implemented their redemption and gave them a place to

finally be at home.

This novel is one of those page turners. I am sad Ivan Doig

is gone. I am glad he wrote fifteen other books. I plan to

read every last one of them. The Last Bus to Wisdom is

that good! I give it my highest recommendation.

Raintreepoet, reporting.

Much Ado About Something!

It’s a lazy hot afternoon in August and I am sitting about reading a novel

(One by Richard Bach) and wondering what else I should be doing

I just had a gin and tonic with fresh lime and some smoked salmon

And I am feeling relaxed and perhaps feeling in the mood for a nap

I’ve been editing my own novel (The Legend of Brady Madden,
Bigfoot Hunter) to get it ready for readers …

However, it’s in the 90s today, so I need a break!

My cats, Oliver and Winston have melted into the carpet

There will be no action from them until night fall

It is finally quiet here, after a morning of loud blowers that

The landscapers use to  torture the inhabitants with

And to think I pay monthly dues to be subjected to this!

I plan to sell in a couple years and move to a quiet place

In the country

I live in a condo, so I cannot put up an air conditioner in

the window…must swelter and be uncomfortable

The Nazi Board keeps raising the dues and doing unnecessary

work to justify it

They march the property as if they own the place (like we are

apartment dwellers, not owners!)

The laws are murky, so nobody does anything about it

I have written to my congress people and been ignored

I have asked for the financials and the meeting minutes

from the board and been ignored!

I have fantasies of beating the daylights out of the ringleader

I will not- I am a peaceful sort

I am thinking of spending some savings on an attorney

I will not have anything to talk about

 until the board gives me the information I ask for

Is this really the land of the free?

I guess I had better get brave!

Raintreepoet, contemplating.

"You are what you eat!"

 


Not being a carefree youngster anymore, I am thinking more about health.
I was raised by a Registered Nurse mother dedicated to wholesome nutrition.
We planted a huge garden every spring, drank Guernsey milk from our dairy
and ate little not crafted by hand under her tutelage.
Mom's oatmeal bread was legendary, winning purple ribbons at the county
fair into her 70s.
We made and bottled our own root beer and for the adults, mom was a master
(small batch) winemaker of elderberry and dandelion wine.
Thanks to her, I have been aware of good health habits all my life. Now in my
60s, I am living, walking proof of my efforts.
Unlike many of my contemporaries, I am the correct weight for my frame,
possess enviable blood pressure and other excellent statistics. And thanks to
good nutrition, yoga, Pilate's, hiking & biking, I am energetic and vital. I cannot
imagine being any other way; I shall continue to fight the good fight against
malnutrition and physical unfitness.
Our culture is not conducive to health. I recently re-read Sugar Blues by William
Dufty. It was published in 1975 and still rings true.
Yesterday I viewed "What the Health" on Netflix. Two opposing views: the first
blames sugar and the second blames meat and dairy
The fact of the matter is that they both agree that our choices are confusing because
the are driven by the greed of the food, pharmaceutical and health care industries.
When I see people eating in restaurants (which I resist frequenting) I see a direct
correlation between their food choices and portions and their physicality.
This is not rocket science, folks! As a population, Americans are digging their
own graves with their forks and spoons.
My suggestion? Eat consciously. Fuel your body. Study what is good for you and
eat right to build your own health and avoid disease. Guess what? You can have dark chocolate, if you need a sweet treat. Fresh fruit is good, too
 There used to be an old saying, when I was young, "You are what you eat! It so resonates with me now, in the autumn of my life...

raintreepoet, reflecting.

In my Opinionated Opinion

You know those address labels,

 non-profit organizations send you to guilt you into giving

them money for their good cause? 

The address labels with your name embossed on them.

 The ones younever ordered, but they keep showing up

 in your mailbox, like it or not?

By now, if you have not round-filed them you have hundreds,

perhaps thousands—more than any one person could ever use.

Had you given into the guilting, you would have spent hundreds

of dollars for them all.

The whole proposition was disturbing to me so I decided a long

time ago that I wasn’t going to pay for what I don’t need,

 didn’t order and since I already pay my taxes,

 I have already helped subsidize all these non-profits,

 who write everything off, anyway.

These labels aren’t exactly FREE, but possession is 9/10s of the law

and clearly they are printed with my name and address,

 so it is logical to believe that they belong to me!

 Ever since that light bulb moment, I use them with impunity 

and have no regrets.

(After all I have had friends that work for “non-profits” who made more

money than me and had way more benefits.) How dare those non-profits

try to guilt people into paying again and again for what our tax dollars

have already  paid.

The unmitigated gall…

Raintreepoet, grinching.

Neither Shakespeare Nor I can compete with you

This on the occasion of a fellow writer wanting me to listen to him read what he had written, when my mind was other places. He was miffed. I was miffed right back.

 Rebuttal on ten note cards...

1. Okay! Here is my defense: There are 64 plots to man's narrative since the beginning of human history.

2.Chances are, if you talk to me in "plot" you will hit one of the 64, which might cause me to respond with, "That's familiar."

3. Pardon me, for having been an English Literature major and having heard those plots more than a few times.

4. I believe I have already told you that I am a "character driven story" fan and that "plot" is pedestrian to me.

5. So, "Mr. I am Offended because you aren't listening to me", hear this: If I wasn't compelled to listen that should be a clue!

6. Perhaps your plot drivel/driven narrative is not beguiling me!

7. You, as a writer have no right to manipulate or bully your reader

8. when she happens not to be entertained. The fact of the matter is, newly declared writer, if you write with the need for always positive feedback

9.  you will forever be waiting as a thirsty man for water. Write because you love it,

10. because it is rewarding in and of itself or cease to write at all. If the act of writing is not self-fulfilling for you, you were't meant to be a writer---but with that dogged attitude, you will probably be published long before me! 

raintreepoet, reporting.

Back to the Farm

5:15 a.m. - The big dogs that guard the sheep

wake me

Their bark is always with purpose-their job

to guard 40 odd sheep and 34 new born lambs

This is my spring break-my escape from the city

to a place much like my own agrarian roots

I’ve missed my family farm for decades

City folk bought 5 acre plots of it- so,

it is no more

But my friend’s family farm, 70 acres, is in tact

with its refurbished 70 year old barn

I come here for respite and to recall my own

farm girl days

My friend and I met as teenagers in Seattle

at the Washington State Dairy Princess Contest

Neither of us has been close to a dairy cow in

nearly half a century, so we laugh, wistfully

at the hard work of our youth and the fancy

dresses we wore to the big city

America was once 87% agrarian and now it is

something like 2 or 3%

People hunker in cities, drink Starbuck’s and

wander through clean, clipped parks to try to

feel what Mother Earth is really all about.

I am proud of my country bumpkin roots.

When I retire in a couple years, my fiancée and I

plan to move back to the land outside some

small town in the west that doesn’t have a

Starbuck’s. Then I’ll wear cowboy boots and

herd my cats and dogs…

Raintreepoet, reminiscing & looking forward.