Yummy

If you came here expecting more amusing tales of the sweetest grandbaby on earth, I'm sorry. You'll have to re-read my last two posts (admittedly dated now) for your Piper fix.

No, today I've got a question for you. What's your favorite food?

Let's say it's cheese. Cheese is wonderful, isn't it? So versatile, so tasty, savory or sweet, melty or crumbly, just delicious in thousands of ways...a truly delightful food.

Now let's say that you discovered that an essential step in cheesemaking involved painfully yanking several whiskers from the precious face of a newborn kitten.

I'll bet you'd be appalled. You'd probably write to the cheesemaking folks, demanding that they stop their horrible, abusive practices. You might stop eating cheese altogether, or try making whisker-free cheese yourself, at home. You'd certainly tell your friends, and maybe together you'd sign petitions, picket cheese factories, start a Facebook campaign.

Happily, no newborn kittens are harmed in the cheesemaking process (as far as I know). But there's an even more appalling practice going on, and I wish more people knew about it.

It's chocolate slavery. You can read about it here, and you can see a video about it here, but if you want the short version: thousands of African children, mostly young boys between the ages of 12 - 16, are slaves on cocoa plantations in Ivory Coast. This is the chocolate that is bought by all the US chocolate manufacturers, and that makes its way to your grocery store and to your table.

Slave chocolate.

I can't buy it any more.

Do you know a 12-year-old boy? Or a little boy that might be 12 in a few years? Maybe your son, your grandson, the little fellow next door? Let that sink in for a while.

Now that I know what's going on, whenever I see chocolate, I see the beautiful brown skin of a boy in Africa.

I love chocolate. I LOVE chocolate. To a large extent, I am the plus-sized gal that I am today because of chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. I've eaten my share of chocolate, and probably yours, too, sometimes all in one day. So lest you think I'm getting too preachy here (Hey now! Stay away from my chocolate!), I'll admit a few things to you now.

1. I haven't totally stopped eating it. If someone offers me something chocolate and it's already been bought or made by them--I'm eating it. I figure it's been bought already. Might as well.

2. And sometimes, I push that picture out of my head, and just buy some, anyway.

3. And I've told the fellow who first told me about chocolate slavery--stay away from sugar and coffee. If those are made by slaves, I don't want to know.

But I've drastically reduced my buying of chocolate, and I sort of hope that you will, too. Or you can buy Divine Chocolate (or some other Fair Trade brand). By doing so, you not only take a stand against chocolate slavery, but you help to support local cocoa growers who have slave-free farms.

Travels with Pippie, part 2

(Read yesterday's post for the first part of this story.)

So we head out to WalMart. There's a Salvation Army bell-ringer at the entrance, and I decide to give Piper her first experience in benevolence. I didn't really learn much from the McDonald's fiasco, though; my purse and Piper are still occupying much the same space, while my right hand is clamped to her head, in an effort to keep the fuzzy hat on. So we stand in front of the nice Salvation Army lady, at an impasse, and for a moment I contemplate just letting her search through my purse for my wallet and take an appropriately charitable donation from it.


I'm smarter than I look, though. I squat and set Piper on the pavement, and with one hand free I extract a crisp 5-dollar bill. "Here, Piper." I hand her the money and hoist her up to kettle level. "Put it in there, sweetheart."

Piper looks at me, at the money, at the kettle. Clearly, grandma, you have lost your mind. Even if I wanted to let go of this interesting piece of paper, I lack the fine manual dexterity to put it in that narrow slot. I believe I'll just taste it, instead.

I stand with an oof and take the money from Piper's hand. Grandma giveth and grandma taketh away. With a "Merry Christmas" to the bell-ringer, we head inside.

A blue-smocked gentleman offers us wipes for the shopping cart. Where was he half an hour ago, when we encountered that horrid high chair in McDonalds? Piper's cute little corduroys still carry remnants of that ancient stickiness.


I have a small list, but it involves visiting several different corners of the store, and it's not my WalMart. I'm unsure where to find any of my items, so we journey through all the aisles in search of such diverse items as face cream, aloe-infused socks, and goldfish crackers.


Piper is extremely interested in everything she sees; she reaches out with fingers opening and closing. "Meeee! Meeee!" That's sweet. It's almost like she's saying "me", a pronoun fairly advanced for her current vocabulary. We stop occasionally for a little lesson. "Look at the pretty pillow, Piper! Oh, Piper, look. Can you say flower?" Piper mostly says "meeeee" happily.

We stop at the greeting card section and I'm searching for the "For The Pastor" cards when Piper sneezes.

There's very little that can mar the cuteness of this adorable child--but the production of two perfect snot bubbles, one large and one small, comes pretty close.

Raise your hand if you think Grandma has a tissue in her purse. Or in the pockets of her jeans. Or anywhere else on her person. If your hand is raised, you're wrong. Well, this is why God invented thumbs. I make a few passes--Piper grins--and I casually put my hand in my back pocket.

A quick trip over to the grocery side, where I pick up a few items to take back to the House of Sickness. When I pull a box of graham crackers from the shelf, Piper repeats her favorite word with new urgency. "Me! Me! Me! Me!"

Hmmm. Maybe it's a real word, after all.

You know, I went through my own daughters' entire childhoods without ever opening a package before paying for it. I never sample grapes or snitch from the bulk candy bins, either. But I don't hesitate for even a second; the box is open and a graham cracker is in Piper's little fist before you could say "Revoking Your Grandma License".

After an uneventful trip through checkout, we head back to the car. Hat on. Hat off. Hat on. Hat off. Hat on. Hat off. After securing Piper in her carseat, I reach into my back pocket for my keys. They're not there, but Piper's sneeze is. Eww.

Keys located (in my purse, in the exact spot where tissues should be), we're headed back home. I start to sing a Christmas song, one that Megan has told me Piper likes. Sure enough, when I get to the end of the second line, I hear a whisper from the car seat: pum pum pum pum pum. The spirit of Christmas whooshes into the spot of my heart previously occupied by peevishness.

Travels with Pippie

The plan was for a girls' weekend: my friend Lisa and her daughter Maddie, my own daughter Megan and the adorable Miss Piper, all gathered here for two days of What Girls Do. I gave my house the kind of cleaning usually reserved for visits from the parents, and stowed away all breakable items at toddler level.

"Thanks for telling me your plans," said God, and with a benevolent chuckle, He stirred up a patch of wintry weather between Lisa and Maddie and here. He knew, of course, that I'd be needed elsewhere; Megan fell to the pestilence that's been raging through our family, and she needed to be in bed, hugging The Big Bowl. And grandma needed to be with Piper.

Now, I've spent almost every Friday of Piper's 15 months with her, but I've rarely taken her out in the car. Today, however, we wanted to give Megan an hour or so of quiet time. So I bundled Miss P into her car seat for a foray into town.

Indiana is cold in December, and Piper is a baby of very little hair. You know what's a fun game to a toddler? Take-off-your-really-cute-fuzzy-hat-and-throw-it-on-the-ground. Piper wins that game, every time.

First stop--McDonald's, where I realize that I've totally forgotten all of the traveling-with-toddlers tricks. I order a nice lunch for us, then realize that my purse is dangling from my left shoulder and I'm carrying Piper with my left arm. Do I put her down? What if she runs? Should I shift her to my right? But I really need two hands to fumble with my purse and wallet. Set her on the counter? This simple problem utterly flummoxes me. I decide to put her down, and she clings to my leg. Good. The teenager at the cash register looks impatient. I pay for lunch, and pick up my tray.

Um.

Set the tray back down, pick up Piper. Balance Piper on hip, pick up tray. I spot a high chair across the restaurant and head in that direction. Once there, I look at the chair stupidly for several seconds, unable to figure out how to get it and Piper and the tray all to a table.

Lacking a third arm to drag the high chair, I find a table nearby and set the tray down. Back to the high chair, which I now see is sticky with approximately two years' worth of stickiness. Well, I'll be sure she doesn't touch that part. I settle Piper into the seat and open up the fruit and walnut salad.

No plasticware...how am I going to give her that yogurt? How will I cut up the grapes? Oh yeah--I also forgot to fill my cup with Diet Coke. Didn't get a napkin, either.

I'm not going to leave her in the high chair to go fetch all those things. There's a family next to me; grandparents and a little boy. I start narrating my dilemma to Piper, hoping that someone will take pity and help us out. (It is against everything in my nature to actually ask a stranger for help. I can't do it.) So I babble: "Piper, I forgot a spoon! Oh no, Piper, no napkin! Silly grandma! And look, Piper, I didn't get any pop! What should grandma do, Pippie? Huh?"

There being no help forthcoming, I pull Piper out of the sticky high chair and head off to fetch the missing items. When I settle her back in the seat, I sense the other family looking at us.

Well, let them look.

Then I hear something that thaws my coolness toward them: the little boy, who says to his grandparents, "That baby's cute!"

Yes, she is.

"Grandma, can I say hi to her?"

Anybody who thinks Pippie is cute is a person of impeccable discernment. I smile at the little guy, and he says "Hi, baby!" and waves.

"She doesn't talk much yet," I say, and Piper makes a liar out of me by breathing out a soft hhhhuh and waving at her new friend.

"What's her name?"

"Piper." The boy's grandparents (who look way older than me) are smiling encouragingly at him, so I figure I've passed the "stranger danger" test. "What's your name?"

"Andrew. How old is she?"

"She's one. And I bet you're...five?"

Andrew nods. "And you know what?" He leans in to whisper to me. "I know everything."

"Wow, Andrew! Everything?"

He's serious about this. "Yes."

"Do your grandma and grandpa know everything, too?"

They laugh, but Andrew glances solemnly at them, then back to me. "No."

We make it through the rest of lunch, and head out to WalMart. I wish I had taken Andrew with me; it would have been nice to have someone with us who knew everything.

I'll write that saga tomorrow.

Australia, last day

We couldn't have had a more perfect last day. The weather was (finally) gorgeous, with broad blue cloudless skies. We left fairly early for a drive north to Hunter Valley, famous for its many wineries and for the Hunter Valley Botanical Gardens, Australia's most beautiful and popular garden site.

Passed a few mysterious signs for Bullsballs on the way; didn't find out what that was until after dinner, but it was the cause for much riotous speculation. Turns out to be exactly as naughty as it sounds.

The gardens were another occasion for me to run out of adjectives: I just kept babbling 'beautiful, beautiful' all day, like the professional wordsmith that I am. Rather than try to describe them, I'll just post a few pictures. There were millions (literally) of roses, Japanese gardens, pretty black swans with fuzzy gray cygnets, all kinds of blossoming trees, every type of flower and shrub and hedge and bloom you can name. The scent of roses was so thick I could feel it in my throat.

Ben was impressed to learn that there are many varieties of gum trees, of which eucalyptus is only one.

There was a storybook garden where we had our pictures taken with Humpty Dumpty and Alice's Tea Party, and a lovely chapel where weddings are sometimes held.

Before leaving the Hunter Valley, we stopped at a touristy little village and bought a few souvenirs. Then back through the mountains toward home--I particularly enjoyed the little wooden cottages, formally owned by miners, in the small town of Cessnock. They were a bit run-down and weather-beaten, but utterly charming.

Home for a final supper with the Porters, and delightful post-meal conversation. Lots of laughs with Matt, a fine young man. He and Kylie are really fun, and they made me miss talking and laughing with my girls.

We fly home tomorrow. I'm glad to be going home to my cat and to Piper, but will miss beautiful Australia and cherished friends.

Australia, Day Somethingth

Here's something to love about being in the family of God: church is church, no matter where you are, no matter how different the customs and styles of worship. We felt it three years ago in England, and again this morning in Australia. The common denominator, of course, is God's presence, and He was evident in a lovely way this morning at Deb and Steve's church.

After church we went to the Hog's Breath Cafe (a steakhouse with a fun pigs/license plates/tee-shirts decor) nearby and met Kylie and her boyfriend Al there. Three hours later, we staggered home for a quiet Sunday afternoon. Naps happened.

Pies for dinner--both meat and apple--and then Kylie broke out the Sesame Street Uno cards. Lots of fun (Ben won, in a supreme display of ungrateful guest-ishness. As for myself, I graciously lost).

Tomorrow is our last full day in Australia--a trip to the Hunter Valley Botanical Gardens, two hours away.

Australia, Saturday the 16th

Answer to the seed question: it's not an Australian 'personal product'. It's just a seed that made its way into the packaging somehow.

We started the day at Questacon, a wonderful hands-on science museum primarily for children. Being pretty immature ourselves, we loved it. Ben's favorite item: a large screen that he stood behind while it created psychedelic images of his body. He also enjoyed various pendulum displays, and a game of Toss-the-ball-while-spinning. Other attractions included an earthquake simulation room, a room with everything you could possibly want to learn about the science of musical instruments, and a block puzzle that I could solve but Ben couldn't. Woot!

Culinary highlight of the Questacon: Magnum bars, an ice cream bar that's like a Dove bar on steroids. Peppermint.

We left the museum and drove a few miles to Cockington Green, a magical little village where they've recreated dozens of English buildings of various styles to a 1/12th scale. In another section, there are buildings from around the world, all in miniature. The landscaping was, oh heck, I'm running out of adjectives. Pretty, pretty, pretty flowers, bushes, and miniature trees. Really pretty.

Lunch at Happy Jacks, the Aussie version of Burger King. Tasted like home, except for the 'tomato sauce', which is not ketchup.

After lunch, we drove back to the Parliament area and visited the Old Paliament House, which is now the Australian Government Museum. It was exactly as interesting as you'd think it would be.

Fantasmic drive home though splendiferous scenery, with a stop for supper at the same Coolabah Cafe where we ate yesterday on the way to Canberra.

I'm having issues with the pictures from today, but I've posted are a few (I hope). One of them is a little shack outside the old Parliament house as a protest of sorts by the Aborigines. It made me sad.

Australian Mini-Mystery

Our hotel in Canberra has the usual assortment of complimentary soaps and shampoos, along with a 'personal care package'. Here's a picture of its contents:

And here's a close-up of a mystery item. What do you suppose Australians do with that? Best answer wins a Tim-Tam.

Australia, Day Eightish or Nineish, I forget

We headed today to Australia's capital, Canberra, about three hours away. It was a cool and rainy day, but the drive through totally unpopulated Australian countryside was beautiful anyway, with lots of hills dotted with cattle and sheep. Also, it rained a lot, did I mention that?

Stopped for lunch at the Coolabah Cafe, which sounds lovelier than it is. Basically a truck stop, but with better food than in the U.S. But grosser bathrooms. Outside, it rained.

On to Canberra, where we checked into the Diplomat Hotel, then took off in search of a shopping centre and a food court. We stopped first at the new Parliament Building (in the rain), which is a really interesting, modern building built into a hillside. Having recently been in Washington D. C. and taken a tour of our Capital Building, we were astounded that we were able to drive right up to the Parliament Building, drive underneath it to park, and walk all around it. It was 6:00 in the evening, and there was NO ONE around and no sign of security except for a few cameras.

Also, it was raining.

Looking away from the new Parliament Building, you can see the old one, and beyond that, the war memorial, in a setup very reminiscent of Washington, D.C.

We left the government area (in the rain) and found the mall. HUGE mall, with three levels that cross two streets. Really bad honey chicken at a food court place; I wasn't entirely convinced that what I was eating had ever cackled. Made up for it by buying a pecan and white chocolate tart.

Left the mall (rain) and went back to the hotel for a quiet night. We'll explore Canberra tomorrow, then head back to the Porter's house in St. Clair in the evening.