Frugaliciousness

My new favorite website is Hillbilly Housewife, and we have been enjoying its simple and inexpensive recipes. Today for lunch we had pinto beans with "hoecakes"--kind of like pancakes made out of corn meal--which we served on a yummy pile of applesauce.

For dinner came the dumpling experiment--my first time cooking a batch of soup and dropping dollops of flour goo into it, letting them grow in the broth. I found the process very satisfying! This particular recipe, however, called for waaaaaaaaay too many dumplings of too large a size. I'm fairly certain that, were I to cut the amount of dumpling batter by 2/3 and use tiny pinches of it at the end into the soup, it would be extremely tasty. The texture was delightful but overwhelming.

The applesauce meal was accompanied by some of the cheesiest moments ever, as seen below. They were all a bunch of lovey cakes today.

More Bethany adoration from her siblings

And to think...just last week, they were all at each others' throats almost constantly. This has been a much better week for sibling relations.

The most terrible dog ever

Today while I was nursing Bethany upstairs in our bedroom, Zoya started screaming bloody murder downstairs. I have never heard her scream as dreadfully as I did this time. Her footsteps raced up to my room alongside her nonstop yelling, while I tried like crazy to unlatch the baby and get myself all put back together. I saw sheer terror in Zoya's eyes as she collapsed onto our bed. Oh my sweet Lord I thought. What has happened?? I honestly assumed she had seen an accident in our parking lot involving a child, or was attacked, or was almost kidnapped or something.

"MOM! THE MOST TERRIBLE THING HAPPENED!"

"WHAT HAPPENED?!?" I demanded, as the baby glared at me indignantly and began yelling at me too (her lunch being interrupted).

"A DOG CAME INTO OUR HOUSE!!!"

More inner dialogue. Is Loki here?? (My sis-in-law's dog Loki is bigger than all my kids put together. Did she bring him by?)

Suddenly, in walks--into our bedroom upstairs, mind you--the most adorable little doggie. And you know I'm not a huge dog person, but this was the sweetest little dog I'd ever seen. He immediately jumped into my arms and seemed completely at home. I was totally confused at this point, doubtful that Jen would get such a tiny dog to go with her great big dog.

But still, Zoya needed to calm down. "Look, Zoya." She began to warm to the little dog, which still seemed rather shocking to have in our house but was not nearly as scary as she originally deemed it to be. I left the baby with Zoya to watch for a few moments while I found my husband. Apparently, the dog had approached them outside and Psalm, being the sweet dog-lover that he is, decided to adopt the dog right then and there and opened up the door to let him in.

After awhile of wandering through my neighborhood, I then found another dog of similar size and stature looking unsupervised and lost. Another woman helped by scooping up the second dog and reading the tag, which had a phone number (the first dog didn't have a tag). We called the owner who was very grateful to get her dogs back. Psalm was sad to have lost his new pet. I myself began wondering about yorkies...what cuties!

I'm still in shock!

I have been vexed at the state of our presidential race. McCain was at the bottom of my list in spite of my Republican bent, and I have yet to see what the big hooplah is about Barack Obama. I was rather saddened that Hilary Clinton was out of the running, not because I would have voted for her but because I couldn't see another woman in view who had a chance of gaining the same ground that she did anytime soon.

So imagine my shock to receive a text message at 7 a.m. this morning from my sis-in-law Jen who let me know that McCain chose Sarah Palin as his running mate!!! WOW!!! Deride her "lack of experience" all you want---she has more executive experience than Barack does and has added a tremendous new energy and appeal to the Republican ticket.

Sniff...I remember shaking her hand at the Bear Paw parade here in our humble town of Eagle River.

:)


Things I love about Sarah Palin:

Her eloquence, confidence, passion for family, and "humble beginnings." She was a PTA mom and mayor and her husband is a commercial fisherman and North Slope guy. In my view, she represents the American dream. They're not loaded with money and glitz, but they've worked hard to establish a life for themselves and now she is working to give back to the state and country that she loves.

She walks the talk, living out her values in some very tough and beautiful ways that would challenge anyone. And brings her baby to work. Seriously, who is this woman??

She is a merciless budget cutter while simultaneously recognizing the difficulties facing her constituents in areas such as gas prices. (Thank you in advance for our rebate next month.)

She supports and lives among the military servicemen and women.

She actually lives in a state highly relevant to issues such as arctic drilling, global warming, etc. and understands them better than most people.

She makes McCain look infinitely cooler. In fact, I wish I had a t-shirt.

I'm excited!!!

Informal poll

Does my new "visitor tracker" creep you out? On one hand, I really enjoy seeing where all the visitors to our blog come from (I'm sure my grammar for that sentence was terrible, but it's escaping me how to go about correcting it). On the other hand, it also removes a level of anonymity that blog readers may enjoy (myself included). Should I keep it there or get rid of it? Feedback is appreciated! I'm still going to keep the map. :)

I'm impressed with the fortitude of our fish.

I thought our fish tank was serving as a hospice, but lo and behold, the sick, pitiful goldfish seems to have a new lease on life! I'm rather amazed. It is swimming again--a little crookedly, with a strange body shape--but swimming nonetheless and is eating with a newfound zest for food. I stand humbled. Wolfgang says that Darth Fishee has been praying. :)

Summer is winding down

Noah headed back down to CA this afternoon. The sun has been a more frequent visitor these past couple weeks than it had been practically the whole time he was here. We have been visiting our local Town Square Park once or twice a day and the kids' bodies just may be molded to the shapes of their bicycles at this point! Here are some recent pictures. School starts up this week for Wolfgang and his mommy. And right on cue, my sweet Bethany has woken up to eat. So off I go. :)

Status updates

Because you can't have just one.

Seriously, though, the hallmark of a Facebook junkie is when you think of your daily happenings as a possible status update. So here are all my updates from today:

Mindy is excited...I guess...about her brand new car window.

Mindy is wishing she was an interior designer with an unlimited bank account.

Mindy is excited to start organizing her new bedroom furniture.

Mindy is sobbing right alongside those Olympic gymnast moms.

Mindy LOOOOOOOOOVED her date with her precious husband last night!

Mindy's baby no longer smells like an old frozen bear, but she still has no socks and has to borrow Emma's.

Mindy's poor fish looks completely pitiful but still very much loved by her tank mate.

Mindy loves watching God make the seemingly impossible happen.

Darth Fishee has come a long way

Remember Darth Fishee, our bowl menace? He (or she) was always nipping and harassing the other fish. We started out with five fish and Darth worked it down to 2. Here's the link if you want to refresh your memory.

In the course of time, I began to find the fish rather fascinating. Now, Darth's little tank buddy is dying. The second fish is swimming very crookedly and having a hard time getting around.

Rather than harass it, Darth helps it get to its food. It has happened each and every time now that I've fed them. Darth comes up under the fish and pushes it up to the top of the tank where it can successfully feed.

Then Darth looks at me with these eyes that just seem to beg for me to do something. Geez. No pressure or anything. Poor little guy. I think Darth's a better fish for it all.

My children and their funny mouths

Zoya:
"Bethany smells like an old frozen bear. She hasn't had a bath in a million years."

***

Wolfgang:
"You should never drink a huge bottle of Mountain Dew, Noah!"

Mom:
"Yeah, he would go right through the roof with caffeination!"

Wolfgang:
"He would be able to kill someone with a single punch!"

Mom:
"Not sure I like that idea, Wolf."

Wolfgang:
"It's just a figure of speech, mom."

***

Zoya:
"Whoever invented blankees, I like that person."

:)

Grandpa's memoirs

My grandpa wrote down many of his memories from his life. The following documents his final mission during WWII which would end with him parachuting out of a plane, being imprisoned by the Nazis, and miraculously living through it all. There are some true pearls in here!

My Twenty-Fourth Mission With The Hundredth Bomb Group

Earl L. Richardson ~ Major USAF Retired

It was an early and dark March 4, 1944 at Thorpe Abbots, England. Day of the first Eighth Air Force maximum-effort bombing mission to Berlin. The ships were taking off one by one into the snowy morning gliding over the runway wet and slick. Pilot Reilly and crew craned their necks as the thirty-ton monster lifted into the air. The clouds formed a canopy at twenty-five thousand feet and the temperature was fifty-six below.

The Eighth Air Force was recalled. A few missed the recall and went on to Berlin. The Ninety-Fifth Bomb Group was leading with eleven B-17s of the “Bloody Hundredth” for a total of thirty-three planes. This was my 24th mission, the first without Jack Flanigan’s crew and without my lucky charm “Royal Flush.” Fortunately, the pathfinder mission to Berlin went uneventful for our plane. The flak was heavy for there were over four hundred anti-aircraft guns. The Hundredth lost one plane, the Ninety-Fifth lost five. The group received its second Presidential Citation for this mission.

Here we go again March 6, 1944. Talk about Blue Monday. Over eight hundred bombers of the Eighth Air Force formed over England. The flight plan was a straight line to “Big B” and back—maybe. Bucky Elton was leading the Hundredth’s “A” Group consisting of twenty-one planes. Swarthout was leading the “B” group of 21 planes. I was replacing the navigator on Dave Miner’s crew, leading the high squadron of the “B” Group. Miner’s crew and Flanigan’s crew lived together and this mission would finish our tour of duty.

We were fifty miles into German territory and somehow missed the fighter escort. The time was high noon and the area south of Bremen near Dummer Lake was a major checkpoint. The fighters hit the lead and low squadron from eleven o’clock. They were sufficient to completely wipe out or scatter the two lower squadrons. They charged in twelve at a time, over forty of them. Jones (Miner’s Bombardier) and I had a box seat while shooting at the enemy: fires, explosions, and gyration of the planes being shot down and thinking how lucky we were to be high and dry.

One amazing thing stays in my mind about Swarthout’s plane. Its vertical fin collided into a German Fighter, but somehow he managed to make his back to England. Out of the “B” group, fifteen bombers were shot down, and out of the Eighth Air Force a total of sixty nine were lost, the most ever in World War II.

The first enemy fighter I saw shooting at us was coming in on the high squadron less than five hundred yards straight out. I remember wishing I had Royal Flush’s manual nose guns because this plane was fitted with slow moving electric operated sights, which never had time to catch up with the target. As it turned out, this could have saved my life. By hitting the FW190 with rounds from our nose guns, we may have had a head-on collision. I am sure it was this first pass that killed Miner and copilot Kinsella. The FW held level and split off at less than fifty yards. The twenty-millimeter shells went into the windshield. We couldn’t hear a thing on the intercom after several loud explosions.

Several following passes came in higher, out of the sun, at one o’clock and further out, it seemed like they never stopped coming at us. Our right engines were on fire, I called this to Jones’ attention and said we had better get the hell out while stripping off my flak suit and looking for my chest-pack parachute. Jones answered that he had all the confidence in his pilot and crew, so we went back to firing the fifty-caliber machine guns. The last I remember (no oxygen) was the plane going into a sharp turning climb. Luckily, I regained consciousness just above lightly scattered clouds, we were briefed that scattered clouds would be at approximately four thousand feet.

Out of the clouds the B-17 was heading earthward in a straight gliding dive. Everything had occurred so rapidly that the natural fear one has approaching death hadn’t been felt. Time slowed down. The one thought which absorbed my mind was to find and get my parachute pack attached to my harness. I attached one hook, which proved sufficient. I could see the earth moving at a blurring speed. I dove out through the nose as the plastic cone had been completely shot out, pulled the ripcord, and the chute made a loud pop and at the same time the B-17 hit the ground with a thunderous explosion (over two thousand gallons of fuel on board). I was sure to go back to 25,000 feet when the bombs went off.

I landed less than a hundred yards of the burning plane. I could feel the tremendous heat, unhooked the chute, and ran for a ditch and hedgerow. I hit the ground several times, thinking that I was being shot at—turned out to be my ears clearing from the altitude. A FW190 hovered overhead while I was in the ditch taking off my shredded flying suit. The suit was denim and new for this mission but now it was a bundle of rags. Miraculously, I hardly had a scratch. The FW left the area and the B-17s bombs never exploded.

With my escape map, candy bar, etc. I started walking down the hedgerow toward a timber growth. The home guard was coming across the field, so I just kept on walking. They called “Hite.” I waved at them and kept on walking. Their second shout brought rifles to the shoulders of two soldiers and my hands to high heaven. While I was being searched I looked up and could maybe eighty or ninety parachutes floating down. The soldiers kept the civilians at bay for they were mostly from bombed-out Bremen and were carrying pitchforks, clubs, etc. They paraded me up a little one-way street of a village named Addrup.

I was glad I wasn’t wearing my Royal Flush flight jacket with the picture of Hitler, Tito, and Mussolini in a toilet bowl being flushed. The number of Germans that spoke English surprised me, and most all had the same question: why did America want to bomb Germany? I would say, “Democracy” and they would yell “Jew-lover” and spit in my face. Two soldiers put me in a wire closure. Later, at dark about fifteen Russians showed up, they were working as forced labor in the farm fields. The Russians would say, “You Roosevelt, me Stalin.” Later, a truck took me to an airfield where in a gymnasium there were well over a hundred US Airmen. We were put on a train to Frankfurt.

How did I bale out of the nose section of a fortress in a dive? Easy. The plexiglass nose cone was gone and all I had to do was miss the vertical fin, wings, props, stabilizers, etc. What happened to Jones the bombardier? I later discovered the German’s found his body without a parachute. The side fuselage door was the other escape exit being used. Gas and fire had been flowing past it and the first and third gunners were burned, but survived. I later saw them at La Havre, France on our way home.

At Frankfurt I was stripped and searched. My clothes were returned to me minus my shoes. I was led to a 3X6 foot cell with a wood platform for a bunk and no covers, but at least the room was warm. During the night they tuned the heat off and I woke up freezing. I began pounding on the door and the guard who spoke some English opened it. I was delighted to see my shoes by the side of my door. I asked him about the heat and he showed me a thermostat and instructed me not to pound on the door for attention but to pull a rope and a wooden arm would rise just above my shoes in the hallway.

After four days of this, plus a bowl of cabbage and potato soup each day, a soldier took me to be interviewed. There I received my first demonstration of a “Heil Hitler Salute” and heel clicking. This German officer acted like he was overjoyed to meet me. He offered me chocolates, cigarettes, his version of “real” friendship. Almost starved, I popped those chocolates as fast as I could. He showed me pictures of B-17s on the ground in England. He knew our squadron leader Blakely just made Major, but what he wanted to know from me was why I was flying with Miner’s crew on their last mission, and what was the target. They were very well informed; he showed me a file that included information on most members of Flanigan’s crew.

He kept asking me again about the target so I pointed to a section of Berlin. He blew his top and yelled for the soldiers to take me back to my holding area. The next day brought the same routine without the goodies. I stuck with my story and he yelled that this area couldn’t possible be our target because it was a residential area and was where his family lived. Out again I went, only to have him come to my cell to inform me that I had been telling the truth. He was just informed that he lost his family in one of the raids. Our target on March 6th was a factory about ten miles outside of Berlin.

On the eighth day they released me to the compound. I had my first cold shower and shave. In the mirror, I realized why everyone noticed me. The whites of my eyes were fire red from broken blood veins from the wind rushing through the open nose section. It took almost nine months for my eyes to clear up.

We rode crowded boxcars from Frankfurt to Barth and Stalagluft I. This was on the Baltic Sea, it was freezing cold and snow on the ground. Small world, I was greeted at the barbwire gate by a fellow from my hometown, Washington, Iowa and my ole sidekick Scottie who had been with me off and on since Santa Ana, California. At prison camp I was issued two blankets, a GI overcoat, a mattress cover to be filled with straw, the top bed on a double bunk with boards for springs, and fifteen more roommates in a 12X14 room. The blankets, coat, straw, and I were pretty thin fifteen months later when the Russians liberated us during May, 1945. It was like a dream come true when B-17s arrived to fly us to Reims, France for our first good meal and freedom, although our stomachs could only hold about 4-ounces of food.

My crew began flying the Royal Flush in early September of 1943. The Flush was shot down on its seventy-fifth mission, while flying with its third crew.

I was recalled for Korean Service May of 1951. Separated from the Air Force for the second time September 1953, served in the Air Force reserves and retired as a Major in 1959.

My Grandpa Earl

My dad emailed me these beautiful photos of me and my Grandpa Earl when I was probably Bethany's age. (I'm shocked at how alike we look, by the way! :) The things I most remember about my grandpa are:

His honor. The man exuded honor. Not in the pretentious way that made it all about him, either. He had a very selfless, servant's heart.

His hearing aide. I remember always looking at it and listening to the strange sounds it would make every now and then. Reading his accounts of getting shot at in WWII makes me understand why he needed this device!

His Readers' Digests. Everywhere! They were all over his house. And he got me a subscription too. He could always be found reading a Digest.

His generosity. He was generous, not only with his material possessions and finances, but also with his life. He married a woman with five kids! He also gave of himself by serving in the Air Force, and then later as a postmaster of Lake Isabella, CA. From his biography:

I became Postmaster November 1955. Changed the name from Isabella to Lake Isabella in 1957 when stamps were three cents and a penny for postcards. One of the highlights of being Postmaster was to help Loree McGuire stick three-cent stamps on the just newly-born Kern Valley Sun for mailing.

He told great stories. The next blog I'm going to post is his account of the final battle he flew in World War II. Now take that story and imagine sitting with him and listening to them while he chats about all his friends, alive and gone.

Grandpa Earl loved to travel. After he retired, he began traveling and didn't really stop until his death. As he put it,

Alaska two times, Panama through Mexico and the North East to Nova Scotia by Airstream Trailer. Back to Barth on the Baltic and Poland. Russia a week ahead of President Reagan. Vienna down the Danube River to Istanbul and England.

In 1992, he took my dad Mike, bonus mom Debbie (thanks for the term, Nanci!!), bonus brother Garrett, and myself to England with him for a reunion with his bomb squad. At this site are some pictures from a reunion there--not the one we went to, but the same place 10 years later. I remember walking along the graves there and wondering how anyone was keeping it together. To say it was "touching" would be a petty understatement. Very visceral, the loss of our countrymen while defending freedom.

Grandpa died on January 28, 2002. He was given a 21-gun salute. I wish he was still alive. I miss him more and more each year.

Here are some more pictures that my dad sent me.

My grandfather Earl Richardson

While doing some online searching, I found this picture of my grandfather Earl Richardson's bomb squadron. He is the man in the back row all the way on the left. His plane was shot down on March 6, 1944. Consequently, he spent 14 months as a POW at Stalag Luft I in Barth, Germany. I have asked my dad to help me locate the file (currently lost on my former hard drive) of his memories that he wrote down from his plane crash, capture, and liberation from the camp. On this site, he is quoted in a letter as saying that he was "flying as a replacement for D. Berthlof...who was ill with a sinus infection."

My man delivered.

(If that title seems vaguely familiar, it's because I find humor in quoting "Finding Nemo" for a post like this.)

Alex's best friend Paul and another good friend Kevin flew up a few days ago. Saturday was spent on a boat outside of Seward~~a gift from Paul~~where they caught a veritable smorgasbord of halibut, salmon, and pacific cod. At 4:30 in the morning, with 2 hours of sleep under their belts, they hit the road, driving the two hours to Seward where they got on a charter and fished until about 6:30 that night. They didn't get home until around midnight after filleting the fish, packing them, etc.

This was the sight I stepped out into in the wee morning hours: a fish-packing plant in our garage!



They set up our picnic table (formerly dining room table) in the garage with big vats of water in which to rinse the fish. Then they vacuum-sealed each and every one of those succulent fillets. That's a big bowl of halibut fillets right there in front (with the "cheeks" in the blue dish) and a bag of salmon that probably weighed 50 pounds!

I'm sure this is old hat for some of you Alaskans...but we have never done this before. The most fish I've ever seen at one time are four fillets in my kitchen. I'm still reeling! For the record, they were so tidy about the whole thing. Our garage looked (and smelled) completely unscathed at the end of it all.

Here are the guys with their catch (some of the other people on the boat weren't fishing as much, so Alex and his friends got to meet the boat's limit, not just their personal ones).



Four fillets scooted into our oven this evening, drenched in honey, butter, and pecans...


...and this is what became of the critters. YUMMY!!!


A good friend of mine once told me that having extra batteries in her house makes her feel rich. I know the feeling. I feel completely spoiled and satisfied. The Lord has truly blessed us through Paul's visit...even while the money is so tight right now, our refrigerator is stocked with gourmet fish. It's mind-boggling. Thank you, God and Paul. :) And Jen too! Because if it weren't for your refrigerator and table, the aforementioned garage scene would have happened in our kitchen!! Ack!!