DUDE! Stop littering!

Okay, I've reached my limit. Clearly there is a conspiracy to make me crazy with people blatantly littering. On Sunday, as I left Target, the man in front of me was emptying his pockets onto the ground as he walked. Methodically reaching into his pocket and dropping the garbage onto the ground. The third time he did it, I burst out with, "Dude! You did not just drop your garbage onto the ground, did you?" He looked at me, thought a minute, and said, "Why don't you pick it up for me." That didn't sit well, so I retorted that it was his job to do that. What a pig. 

Yesterday, as I was driving home from work through downtown, kids were throwing garbage from the open widows of their school bus, and loving every minute of it. I was disgusted. I pulled up to the driver's window and pointed to the back. Whether he cared enough to pay attention, I don't know. I thought about calling the bus company, but what would they do? 

Then today, I again was driving through the city as the driver in front of me tossed her cigarette butt onto the pavement. I nearly wept with frustration. 

I've written letters to the editor about the litter in our neighborhood. I cannot stand to see the fast food garbage just tossed onto the road. I feel helpless when neighbors' recycling blows down the block on a windy day...is no one else seeing this??!! I feel like the only one who cares. 

Home On the Ranch

The summer after my freshman year in college, I went to Granby, Colorado to work on a guest ranch. I have always loved horses, so this was more fulfilling a dream of mine than worrying about what the wages would be--though my mother worried enough for both of us and commented for years about how she didn't think I made enough. I arrived on a gorgeous June day and fell in love with the red-roofed cabins, the sky bursting with stars and the herd of horses that ran past my room every morning during round-up. Pure heaven.

Drowsy Water Ranch employed about 25 people that summer from all over the country. And oh, the range of personalities! I made friends and gained enemies. I was the youngest staff member, but let's just say that I discovered new lows in immaturity from some of the older & wiser staff members...ahem. Our bosses were friendly, conservative, and I learned a lot from them. And I got to ride on my days off—what a joy! The ranch sits at about 8,000 feet, 2 hours west of Denver, nestled in the mountains near Winter Park. We rode through rainstorms and in bright sunshine, and  there was no greater pleasure for me than being in the saddle. I got teased for my choice in horses, but I didn't care. Laredo, a Palomino, was a dream to ride. 

The summer had its dramas: Randy Sue, one of the owners, was in a car accident. Two of the horse wrangling staff got engaged. One staffer was sent packing after she verbally dressed down one of the owners' sons. I took full advantage of my surroundings and my freedom from Ohio and college, borrowing cars to go sightseeing in Winter Park, Estes Park, and Boulder. Lots of young people travel to Colorado and never return to their hometowns. That didn't happen with me, but I've always felt my true home is in those mountains on the back of a horse. Maybe someday. For now, I'd be content to take my son and husband to the ranch to share a little of my history with them. But it's cheaper to go to Europe!

Is it too late to learn how to run a ranch?

Picky, Picky

What happens to kids when they turn six? Last year, long about June when my son added another year to his age, he suddenly morphed into A Picky Eater. I thought kids were choosy when they were toddlers: au contraire. The child who used to eat black bean patties, salmon, tilapia, avocado, and sundry other healthy foods suddenly realized he was being far too agreeable at mealtime. Now, it's a semi-battle to get him to try a new food. I've had enough, and lately I've been trying to get creative...without negotiating. 

One of my favorite writers is Catherine Newman, who recently began writing about her family recipes. She posts wonderful dishes like Dinner Beans and Fluffy Pancake and Homemade Vanilla, and her photos usually include her two kids, merrily helping to prepare the meals but also merrily eating them. So, I thought I'd show these photos to my son, hoping he'd be inspired by pictures of other kids—especially the boy, Ben—happily eating Carrot Salad and Black Bean Dip and Borscht. (Well, maybe not so much the borscht. Who am I kidding?) What has she done differently from me when it comes to feeding her kidlings? I strive to make tasty dishes, both old favorites and new concoctions. Occasionally, Henry will give something a try: to be fair, he DID try the hummus I made for him earlier this week. But the comment he made about it afterwards was priceless. "This must be for OLDER kids!" Ha!

I'm not giving up. I've invited Henry to help me cook, I've bought him his very own cookbook and asked him to find a recipe or two that interests him which I will then help him to prepare, and I'm still scouring the Internet for no fail kid's meals. Must I resort to "hiding" the beans in the pasta sauce, or whatever it is that Jessica Seinfeld wrote about in her book?? I sincerely hope not. Oy.