SmilesColumn

SMILES AND FROWNS Maria Jiunta Heck

Let’s try this again

He’s decided he’d happily travel two hours in silence, rather than play the radio and have me jam to his songs. It makes him physically ill.

I can’t help myself. I listen and hum and squawk the wrong words and then I do the unthinkable. I car-dance.

I bob, I weave I head bop… which to him is akin to me mooning the car next to me.(Which, p.s., I haven’t attempted since college).

He no longer asks me to give his friends ride a home, either. I think I may’ve ruined a good portion of his social life based on my disjointed car-dancing.

So I promise not to get down with my bad old self any longer. I won’t shake my tail fathers, raise the roof nor get my groove on.

These kids have wrung every ounce of fun and frivolity from my life. I can still sing and dance in my head though. I curse and yell and burp in my head all the time.

It’s a gift.

Lastly…and to my oldest son…the one most significant thing I need to work on this year is my propensity to scream like I’m being bludgeoned with a baseball bat during his wrestling meets.

My husband made the rookie mistake of asking me to film his last meet. They think if I’m taping, I can’t scream. If I yell, they theorize, I would ruin the tape, making it hard to pick it apart post-mortem, as they do following every.

Single. Meet.

Well, stupid them. I can’t stop myself.

I swear to you, it would be easier to turn water into wine.

Why don’t they ask me not to breathe or crack my gum? It’s that impossible.

I defy anyone to watch their kid wrestle and not make a peep. The only people that can do it are those spectators in the audience who are sporting hearing aids.

Apparently my special edition of cheering/ bellowing has been met with a combination platter of disgust/embarrassment…and that doesn’t even include my sobbing and fist pumping.

So, to my sons: I promise to calm the hell down this year.

So…here’s to an angst-free, drama-free, more sedate 2012.

I promise to shut it down more often, simmer down more effectively and try to be seen more and heard less.

Unless Beyonce is on the radio.

Then, they can bet their whiny little asses, all bets are off.

Oh, and I’m going to spout less profanity this year, too.

HAPPY NEW YEAR! Maria Heck also resolves to continue writing her column which appears in this space in the Dispatch every other week. Aren’t we lucky?

“Penn State.”

I about burst with pride when my daughter made her college choice and said those two words. And I loved it whenever anyone asked me where she was going and I got to say “Penn State.”

Yeah, football was part of the reason I was so happy. While I could and did root for Penn State and went to some of the games without being a Penn State parent, being a parent made it better.

Made me feel connected to the school and by extension the football team. And it gave me an excuse to go to more games and stay overnight. You know, to spend time with the kid.

But football was really only part of the reason I was so proud to be a Penn State parent. I was proud because, as I learned, those two words were golden. Everywhere. Anywhere. All over the world.

But then what happened, happened. Now those two words seem tainted.

Just a month after my wife and I took Sadie to Penn State for her first semester I had a birthday and she gave me a Penn State sweatshirt We laughed and she said, I hope you know you’re going to be getting Penn State stuff for the next four years. Now I look at all that gear and ask myself, “should I even wear this?” But then I do.

I do because I’m still proud to be a Penn State parent.

And I’m proud of my daughter who will graduate with a 3.5 a semester early. I’m confident the degree will serve her well.

And I’m proud and happy about Bill O’Brien agreeing to be the head football coach and disgusted with Brandon Short and some of the other Letterman.

If you haven’t heard, former Penn State All-American linebacker Brandon Short said to ESPN and USA Today after Bill O’Brien agreed to be the Penn State head football coach that members of the Lettermen’s Club were considering asking current players to transfer and recruits to de-commit to protest the hiring. Short also said the Lettermen were considering a lawsuit baring Penn State from using their likenesses or images for marketing purposes.

“It appears as if it is Dave Joyner’s (the Penn State AD) intent to disassociate himself with everything related Penn State,” Short told ESPN.com. “Then a group of former players will now disassociate ourselves from everything related to Penn State.”

Of O’Brien he said, “He doesn’t have support of the vast majority of former Penn State players and the vast majority of the student body and the faculty won’t support him. I feel sorry for him.”

Yeah, well instead of feeling sorry for him, Short and the Lettermen ought to be feeling love for O’Brien. Instead of treating him like a pariah because he’s not part of the Penn State “family” they ought to be planning a hero’s parade for him down University Drive when he gets to town. Even if it’s true that Tom Bradley, Jay Paterno or Larry Johnson, all of whom applied, didn’t know about the alleged dirty Sandusky business, it doesn’t matter.

Joyner and Penn State did exactly the right thing for once by hiring an outsider with zero connection to the Not-So-Happy Valley. The allegations are so putrid they had to throw the baby out with the bathwater and flush it all far, far away.

I don’t know much about O’Brien except what I’ve read in the past few days, but in my view he showed guts and integrity just by agreeing to take the job.

And though they hired a guy with no head coaching experience, that doesn’t mean they weren’t thinking about the football program’s competitiveness. They hired a quarterback guy. I hear that’s kind of an important position in football, so maybe it should be important at Old State U. If O’Brien is good enough for Tom Brady, he ought to be good enough for Penn State.

Anyway, I don’t care if Penn State drops down to Division II and goes 0-10 for five years, I’ll still root for Bill O’Brien and the team.

PAGE 15

My son gave me an amazing Christmas gift this year.

I won’t embarrass him by talking about it here in detail, but it was something that required a lot of thought and he purchased it unprompted, thereby touching me profoundly.

When I teared-up and thanked him and told him what a great kid he was…he told me it would be nice if I said that more often and not dwell so much on the negative things.

Well…crap. When did that start?

I can’t give him kudos for every stinking thing he does, every day, now can I? I distribute compliments judiciously to coincide with life’s larger events…like, you know, stellar potty training, shooting a BB gun without losing an eye, cutting their own toenails…and most important…getting excellent grades.

It’s not the mandatory clear backpacks, not the earlier start time, not the three late slips and detention, (even if you’re on the honor roll…which, as a punishment for being tardy just befuddles even me, the Master Punisher)…but it’s the online progress reports that have become the bane of my children’s existence.

I love it. It’s like hacking into their Facebook account, but not quite as salacious.

With a few keystrokes I’m on the inside of all that transpires during their day, with the exception of what they’ve eaten for lunch…and I think that may be doable in the near future. (Although I’m willing to wager that the mashed potato bowl is their daily go-to feast. Ugh).

I have become one of those mothers I used to despise…I POUR over that report daily. I dissect class by class, assignment by assignment, and grade by grade.

It’s a full-time job. And when these poor kids walk in the door, after seven hours of school and another three hours of wrestling practice, they are met by a crazed mother who greets them, not with a “How as your day today honey?”...but with a “How the hell did you get an 82% on the easiest test of the stinking year?!”

Look, in my book, grades need to be the number one priority in this life.

Sure, I want them to be happy and healthy…but happy and healthy won’t get them into a top college! It won’t, will it?

Just tell me now, because I think I’m sort of blowing the whole “joyful” thing so far this year and I’ll need to re-arrange a few antics in order to board that happy train.

But, I really did think about what my son said for days…and I decided this adjustment would be my #1 New Year’s resolution for 2012. I’m going to streamline my ridiculousness and give more praise…but only if it’s deserved. No sense lulling them into that false sense of security and well-being this late in the game.

Moving on to another forced resolution: This is a small item, but not to my 14 year-old.

We are ‘still’ Penn State

SUNDAY DISPATCH, SUNDAY, JANUARY 8, 2012

MOTHER’S DAZE

by JACK SMILES jsmiles@psdispatch.com

Black as coal History Month Don’t forget to spring clean your pantry It’s not spring yet; however, some days it feels like it. To get ready for spring cleaning, remember the kitchen cabinets because they are one thing that may be overlooked.

Keep in mind that canned foods, whether in tins or glass jars, don’t keep forever so take time to check them while cleaning. Commercial canners work under tightly-controlled conditions but there are still limits to how long food quality can be preserved. Home-canned foods, processed under less carefully controlled conditions, may have even shorter storage lives.

There are several factors that limit the shelf-life of canned foods. First, cans or metal lids on glass jars can rust. When rust is deep enough, tiny holes open in the can or lid that may allow spoilage to occur. Shipping accidents that dent or crush cans also cause container problems.

Then there is can corrosion. In all foods, especially high-acid foods like canned tomatoes and fruit juices, the food continually reacts chemically with the metal container. Over several years, this can cause taste and texture changes and eventually lower the nutritional value of the food.

High temperatures over 100 degrees F. are harmful to canned foods, too. The risk of spoilage jumps sharply as storage temperatures rise. In fact, canned goods designed for use in the tropics are specially processed. Even at prolonged storage temperatures above 75 degrees F, the rate of nutrient loss in canned foods increases. Light can cause color changes and nutrient losses in foods canned in glass jars.

Never use foods from containers with these spoilage warning signs - loose or bulging lids on jars, bulging, leaking or badly dented cans, or

foods with a foul odor.

To store canned food wisely, follow these guidelines: • Store them in a cool, clean dry place. A range of 60-70 degrees is good for long shelf life.

• Check the ‘best before’ dates on cans. Tis will give you an idea of how long foods will last before they lose quality. Most products will last beyond their ‘best before’ date if they are stored properly.

• Practice FIFO (First-In-First-Out). Place recently purchased items behind the existing food items, ensuring that you are consuming food prior to expiration date/spoilage and saving you money by reducing the amount of food to discard.

Remember, when in doubt, throw it out.

Keeping food safe to eat can sometimes be a chore. As the warmer days come upon us, spring clean your kitchen as well as your windows. If you have some canned fruits and pudding that need to be used, try this recipe. We have used it for years and have found it to be a favorite!

Magical Fruit Salad 1 can (20 oz.) pineapple chunks 1 can fruit cocktail 2 bananas 1 3/4 cups nonfat or lowfat milk 1 package (3 1/2 ounce) instant pudding mix lemon or vanilla Rinse and drain the pineapple and fruit cocktail.

Add the bananas to the bowl.

Pour the milk over the fruit. While slowly stirring the fruit mixture, sprinkle in the pudding mix.

Let the mixture stand for 5 minutes and serve.

Refrigerate leftovers within 2 hours.

Mary R. Ehret, M.S., R.D., L.D.N., is with Penn State Cooperative Extension, Luzerne County, 16 Luzerne Ave., West Pittston, Pa., 18643. (570) 825-1701/602-0600. Fax (570) 825-1709. mre2@psu.edu.

YO U R O P I N I O N

Snow

White and pure, It will come that’s for sure This year snow is rare And right now the ground is bare Do we miss it?

Maybe a little bit Sometimes snow comes by way of Nor’easter Then one has to be careful not to fall on his keester.

Once in awhile we get a break in the weather So enjoy it like birds do and they flock together

If you are an afficionado of snow The resorts have enough to ski and show Our towns get a chance to save on salt And maybe Mother Nature will smile on us, it’s her fault This year the temps are warmer, too So we can turn down the thermostat, that’s cool Another month of winter to go So enjoy each day as we travel to and fro.

Ronald Voveris Yatesville

PAGE 15

Time was when the sight of a black or brown face in traffic or on a sidewalk around here would turn a few heads. That’s changing. Our population, while still vastly Caucasian, is diversifying.

Historically, though, our area has little to offer up for Black History month in February with one very notable exception – Edgar Patience. And, heck, come to think of it the whole Patience family was, and is, pretty darn interesting.

Edgar, a West Pittston native, was a significant 20th century artist, a sculptor whose medium was anthracite coal.

Edgar was one of six sons of Harry Brazier Patience. Harry’s father, Edgar’s grandfather, was Crowder Patience a North Carolina runaway slave who was freed by the Union Army’s 103rd Pennsylvania Infantry Brigade in January of 1864. He enlisted into the 103rd on the spot, saw some action and when the war ended went back to Harrisburg with the 103rd. He mustered out there in July of 1865, married a local girl named Elsie Vedan and got a job as a teamster.

On a job Crowder drove a team up to Pittston. He liked the area and settled in West Pittston, where he worked as a stableman for the Carpenter Greenhouses family and lived in a home the Carpenters provided. He and Elsie had eight children. The youngest son was Harry Brazier Patience.

Harry B. left school after eighth grade to work as a breaker boy in the Exeter Colliery. When he was 17, after injuring his arm in the breaker conveyor, Harry left the breaker and started his own business carving coal souvenirs with nothing but a penknife and a chalk-covered cloth for polishing the coal.

He made hearts, charms, crosses, bibles, letter openers, ashtrays and paperweights. He married Elsie Miller. They had six sons and they all they worked for him. The business took off and they supplied retailers all over the state with coal souvenirs eventually made on electric carving machines and polishers.

Harry died at age 48. Eventually all his sons, except Harry Lee and Charles Edgar, got out of the coal carving business. Son Kenneth worked for John Kehoe, the coal baron who founded this newspaper in 1947.

Harry L. fought in WWII and lost a couple fingers in the Anzio battle in Italy. After the war Harry L. came back to West Pittston where he and Edgar continued making souvenirs in a shop behind 34 Washington Street.

In 1948 Edgar married his second wife, Alice Patterson, ceded the souvenir business to Harry and moved to Wilkes-Barre.

Harry continued to make souvenirs in that shop behind 34 Washington into the 1960s. I know because I was there every other Saturday morning for a couple years when I was in high school.

The Patience home was on my Wilkes-Barre Record route and I went there to collect payment for the paper.

I always knocked on the front door and Harry’s daughter , or his son, Robert who was my classmate, would send me around back to the shop. Harry L. would come to the door. I’d try not to look at his mangled hand as he reached in his pocket for change to pay for the paper.

I’m not sure that I got exactly what he was doing in that shop, but I know he always paid in full on time, something I can’t say about a lot of my other customers.

Meanwhile as Harry slugged away making ashtrays, his brother opened a shop in Wilkes-Barre and tried to make it as an artist.

He succeeded wildly. Before his death in 1970, his coal sculptures would grace the collections of queens, prime ministers, presidents, industrial giants and Hollywood celebrities To learn more and see photos get the book “Anthracite Coal Art

by Charles Edgar Patience” by his daughter Juanita Patience Moss.

Search for it on amazon.com.

SUNDAY DISPATCH, SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 2012

SMILES AND FROWNS NUTRITION CORNER

For real

you know it.

I give up. Let them air my dirty laundry…but I hope to God they don’t, like, literally air my dirty laundry. You’d be horrified.

I actually, truly enjoy rotting my brain and watching reality television. I can’t even pick a favorite …

I love them all for different reasons. But, if pressed, I think “Hoarders: Buried Alive”, is at the top of my list.

My friend Denise says this show is “like Groundhog’s Day: same day, different piles of s%&t.

“She’s right, but I love the predictability! And, let’s be honest. It makes me feel better about my own crap heap. Hey, I may have a ring around my tub, but I don’t have dead cat carcasses in my refrigerator! And! I don’t have to take a shower under my garden hose because there’s a rat infestation in my shower! Cup half full!

See how good that made me feel?

Another fixation is a show called “I Used to be Fat”. No need to go into the self-explanatory details, but again … makes me feel better about the fact that during the commercial break I ate an ice cream sandwich, a bowl of salted peanuts (but I had to shell them, which counts as exercise), a bag of Cadbury eggs and a piece of melted provolone.

That was an hour ago, and I am just now deciding if it’s too soon to break out the Chips Ahoy. I say anchors away, matey.

Plus, I love anything on Bravo TV and that includes Real Housewives.

I’m riveted. My kids shriek when these ladies prance-out … they rant about the ludicrousness of it all.

Really, kids?

You think your own choice of reality TV, i.e.: Sons of Guns, Pawn Stars or Storage Wars is a level above that?

And Ultimate Fighter? That’s just a big, fat invitation for brain damage, right there.

I’ll stick to my Real Housewives. Yes, they’ve all had Titanic amounts of cosmetic surgery and they’re as dumb as a box of rocks … but they’re my dummies, every Tuesday night from 9:00-10:00.

Kenny is onto something when he sings that “reality isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. He encourages me to take a chance and live this fantasy” because apparently, “everybody needs to break free … from reality”.

Whatever. Read Mother’s Daze and you’ll feel like you’re living my reality and you’ll pray to break free by the last sentence.

But, take heart. I won’t tell you that your breath smells like hot tar or your jeans look better on Miley Freaking Cyrus.

I’m not stupid. I need you to keep tuning-in and living through my dysfunction, dog vomit and mustache every other week.

Maria Heck proves how stupid she’s not in her column which appears in this space every other week.

Mary Ehret, MS, RD, LDN Penn State Cooperative Exztension

Spring cleaning for less This week we will be welcoming Spring!

This past week’s warm sunny weather prompts us to look at our home windows in a different way.

Common and safe household ingredients such as plain soap, baking soda, and vinegar or lemon juice can be low cost ingredients for number household friendly recipes, including window cleaning solutions.

Make your own cleaning solutions to “be green” and save money too.

Effective yet safe to handle household staples include baking soda, borax, vinegar and lemon juice. Baking soda can be used to cut grease, clean oven spills, absorb odors and cleans tile, glass and enamels.

Borax makes a good all-purpose cleaner. White vinegar and lemon juice are good at removing hard-water deposits, discoloration on metal surfaces or rust stains.

But don’t use lemon juice on silver.

When making your own cleaning solutions, Penn State recommends following these steps: Read and follow all safety labels on the ingredients before mixing together.

Some products, like chlorine bleach and ammonia, produce a toxic gas when mixed. Here are some reminders before you begin.

First, mix only what you need or no more than a month’s supply.

Some products may lose their effectiveness over time. Mix solutions in a well-ventilated area. Place mixed products in new containers and label with the date made.

Always, store cleaners out of reach of children.

Other cost saving ideas which will cut down on cleaning time, improve the indoor environment and reduce the need for cleaning products include: use a damp mop on floors instead of sweeping, use a squeegee to clean shower doors after each use.

To reduce the amount of dirt tracked indoors, place a doormat at each entryway better yet, ask family members to remove their shoes when indoors.

Freshen your indoor air by boiling cinnamon, cloves or other herbs instead of spraying store-bought air fresheners.

For a list of recipes for creating green cleaners for use on toilets, floors, doors and glass go to:http://pubs.cas.psu.edu/freepubs/pdfs/ ui289.pdf or call Penn State Cooperative Extension office at 6020600 for your free copy.

So let’s welcome spring and begin cleaning those windows.

To begin, purchase a spray bottle and white vinegar to make up this solution.

Window and glass cleaners

Mix 1 part water to 1 part white vinegar in a spray bottle.

Wipe off with cleaning cloth.

(Note: if unusual streaking occurs during the first time you use this solution, it is due to the wax that some chemical glass cleaners contain. Remove wax with a little rubbing alcohol and then clean with the above solution.)

Mark the spray bottle window and glass cleaner.

Mary R. Ehret, M.S., R.D., L.D.N., is with Penn State Cooperative Extension, Luzerne County, 16 Luzerne Ave., West Pittston, Pa., 18643.

(570) 825-1701/602-0600. Fax (570) 825-1709. mre2@psu.edu.

PAGE 15

I hadn’t seen my daughter since Christmas. The minute she appeared in the doorway for Spring Break, I gave her a crushing hug and a big, old smooch.

She backed away and said: “God, Mom…your breath smells like…like… dirty diapers. What did you eat??”

Reality.

Kenny Chesney sings that it’s not all that it’s cracked-up to be.

Sigh.

Welcome to my life. If this were a reality show, I’d call it “Brutal Honesty with the Ingrates.”

Reality isn’t what it’s cracked up to be?

I’ll drink to that.

Sure, honesty should be praised, God knows, but not when it comes to me. In my little corner of the asylum, I encourage my children to sugar-coat the brutal truth … bend it like Beckham … just be nice, dammit!

Dirty diapers? That’s a little harsh.

I mean … I’d just eaten a quesadilla for God’s sake! Well worth the dog breath, I’d say.

Aside from commentating about the fragrance of my breath, Scene 1 on my reality show would dissect my children’s opinion of my wardrobe.

I realize there’s a line across which an almost 50 year-old mother should not cross. However, my son thinks I’ve come perilously close to that edge.

I can’t help it! I like skinny jeans! I tuck them into my boots and the whole ensemble is perfectly acceptable.

To me.

Last Saturday, dressing for an event, I made the fatal error of asking my 17-year-old how I look.

Mothers … don’t be stupid. Never ask a teenage boy or a middle aged man or your own mother how you look. You know they’ll tell you EXACTLY how you look and it ain’t gonna be pretty.

Or delicate.

Or even pretend-nice.

Upon inquiry, I’ve received these morsels from my son: “You look like Alice in Wonderland flinging herself down the rabbit hole.” Or, “Well … hello, Hannah Montana, I thought your show was canceled”… or …. and this is extremely random and not relevant to anything other than his enormous capacity for disrespect: “How come you and dad can grow a mustache in a week and I can’t?”

I don’t know what to say about that one … except … he’s right.

Scene II of my reality show would focus on my haphazard cleaning skills. I can lie and tell you I clean my house like it’s a paying job, but that’s an enormous non-truth. Listen, I “fluff ”, and that means I clean all the surfaces of my home so if someone drops-in unannounced, they won’t hold their nose and retch into my dirty popcorn bowl.

However, when the dog throws-up tinsel from the Christmas tree that was taken down three months ago or poops out the Easter grass from last year’s baskets, the jig is up and my children will let

Maria Jiunta Heck

NUTRITION CORNER

SUNDAY DISPATCH, SUNDAY, MARCH 18, 2012

MOTHER’S DAZE