The Banana Man

That’s what we call him because we don’t know his real name. All we know is that one day there were a whole lot of bananas perched on a picnic table at the beach.

I asked the gentleman who was sitting nearby if he knew who they belonged to and if we could have one. He said he had brought them and he had an organic farm nearby where bananas grew like weeds so he always brought them to share. He also grew cherries and peaches and loads of other yummy things, but we were fascinated by the bananas.

They looked exactly like this photo. They were the BEST bananas we had ever eaten. As we were packing up the car to go home, Banana Man (never got his name) told us to take some with us, so we thanked him and did just that.

Here at Casa de Enchanted Seashells, I have two banana plants that have never borne any fruit since they were planted, so I wish I knew what he was doing right..

I’ve been learning a lot about bananas. They’re an amazing creation by Mother Nature.

Bananas grow in a formation called a “bunch.” Each bunch contains multiple “hands,” and each hand consists of a line of bananas referred to as “fingers.”

The cluster of bananas we buy at the store is technically a “hand”. A full bunch—what grows on a single stem in banana plantations—can weigh more than a hundred pounds and contains several hands.

Most people have a total aversion to the white stringy things on a banana and meticulously pick them off, but not me, mostly because I’m too lazy to remove them.

They’re called phloem bundles, the plant’s internal plumbing system that transports nutrients (sugars, water, minerals) from the leaves to the developing fruit as it grows, acting like tiny veins. They’re completely edible, nutritious, packed with fiber, and safe to eat, often containing more complex fibers than the rest of the fruit, making them a bonus source of goodness, not to be discarded. 

Can you eat banana peels? You shouldn’t eat a raw banana peel because it’s tough, bitter, and often coated in pesticides; however, it’s actually edible and nutritious (high in fiber/potassium) if thoroughly washed, preferably organic, and cooked to be blended in smoothies, baked into breads, or used in curries.

If totally organic, try boiling banana peels to drink as a nutritious tea.

Another use for banana peels is as a fertilizer, which I’ve done. Sometimes I save a bunch of banana peels, soak them in a gallon of water for a few days, strain, and use on the plants in the veggie garden.

Is there anyone who does NOT like bananas? I don’t think so, or at least I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t. It’s one of the universal first foods for babies; mashed and smashed.

Bananas are packed with essential nutrients: potassium, vitamins B6 and C, fiber, and magnesium, providing quick energy from natural sugars, low in fat and protein.

We all know what to do with overly ripe bananas, right? Banana bread never gets old. Check out my Recipes Category for several recipe ideas that incorporate ripe bananas.

🍌

Another Day, Another Injury, Another Life Lesson NOT Learned

I’m searching for whom or what I can blame for my latest stupid injury, like maybe Mercury Retrograde or the 11/11 portal?

I surely don’t think I would set an intention for — nor manifest — bodily damage, so I guess I’ll have to accept 100% of the blame for this one, which I knew was going to happen seconds before it did.

Here’s the scenario: I was planning to step off the deck, about a foot or so, onto some pavers. The wind had blown a small rug onto the pavers but at the same time that I chose NOT to bend down and remove it, I had the thought that there was a real and distinct possibility that I couldn’t see where I planned to step down, so I REALLY should take the two seconds to remove the rug — but I did not, and there I was, once again on the ground because I had not only awkwardly trapped my foot between two pavers that were obscured by that damn rug, but, as I fell, the edge of one of them hit me HARD at the exact location of my previous split-open shin, I then fell on my wrist (one I had broken a few years ago) and sprained the other ankle as it folded under me, an ungraceful vision, most definitely NOT a pretty sight; not princess-like in any way.

Ouch.

Covered in dirt and leaves, I sat there for a while like I always do, assessing the damage and shaking my head at my own stupidity.

The scar from before looks pretty angry and a bit bloody. There’s already a bump and a lump and is blooming some ugly bruises, but no broken bones this time, at least I hope not. I can live with the sprained wrist/ankle; at this point we’re old friends.

When will I ever learn?

Somebody once said “a definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.” It’s been wrongly attributed to Einstein, but some people think it’s from Rita Mae Brown or a 1981 Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet.

Maybe insanity is not exactly my issue, but I hope one day I learn not to be so careless and impulsive about my personal safety.

Adult Regrets | Forever Young

I’m not talking about the dark night of the soul burdensome self-condemnation kind of regret, but I was randomly thinking about how sad it is that when we grow up, people stop asking us who we’re going to be for Halloween.

There was always a great deal of excitement around this conversation, “Who are you going to be for Halloween?” or “What are you going to wear?”— whether we dressed as a witch or a ghost or a princess or a superhero or a pirate. It’s a way to step outside of ourselves for a couple of hours, to escape into an innocent fantasy.

Some might claim I’ve never grown up and that’s simply not true. There’s a difference between being childISHly puerile and one-dimensional as opposed to the open-hearted ability to discover and appreciate simple, joyful, childLIKE pleasures in life. That’s a good thing, in my opinion.

For Halloween, I’m never scary. I usually dress like a princess (of course) but next week I’m going to be a ballerina. I hauled out my sewing machine and made a longish sparkly pink tutu with a tulle overlay, reminiscent of Les Sylphides.

I’ll adorn myself with pink ballerina earrings (an unexpected treasure from Goodwill), my toe shoes and a tiara, so I’m really going to be a princess ballerina.

Je ne regrette rien. No regrets. Forever young.

Who are YOU going to be for Halloween?

A Glimmer of Hope

In the midst of this dystopian hellscape in which we’re enmired, something beautiful happened in my little beachy town, a glimmer of hope that humanity is not completely dead.

A hundred or so of our neighbors showed up to celebrate the retirement of everyone’s favorite mail carrier.

When news spread throughout his neighborhood routes that our special and beloved mailman was retiring after forty-two years, a plan was formed to host a potluck in his honor at our local park.

This guy has been more than someone who simply delivers our mail; he’s become one of the family. There are few people who have an inner light that shines brightly. We all have been touched by his many kindnesses and we wanted to return the love, not that we haven’t gifted him with things over the years, but this needed to be a spectacular celebration, a send-off he’d remember.

Families from all of his routes showed up with food, decorations, and gifts. People we’ve said hi to for decades now had a name, and we shared stories about our personal experiences; especially his sweet tooth!

Since I’m known to be extra, I contacted our mayor and asked him if he could possibly create some sort of formal commendation or award to present to this exemplary human. He liked the idea which had actually never been done in the history of our city, and asked me to write a little speech for him, which I did. He took it a step further and created Mailman Steve Day and presented him with a framed award.

It was an old-fashioned community gathering, enjoying a beautiful SoCal evening AND happily for me, a little Leon Russell chat.

I yelled out to a neighbor, “Hey, Leon!” because he has long white hair and a beard, so of course I always refer to him as “Leon”, and another neighbor said, “Why do you call him Leon? That’s Jim.” and I told him it’s because he looks like Leon Russell. His response was, “How do you know about Leon Russell? Do you know Mad Dogs and Englishmen?” I showed him the playlist on my phone and told him to pick a favorite Leon Russell song and he chose two of my personal faves, “Girl From The North Country” and “Cry Me a River”.

Someone else requested “Tight Rope” and “A Song For You” and as a crowd gathered, we had a proper singalong. These guys knew every word and we all marveled at the musical genius of the one and only Master of Space and Time. #goodtimes

Best of all for me is that I’m still referred to as “Jason’s mom” even after all these years. It was so heartwarming to have several forty-year-olds (!) fondly remembering the backyard skate ramp and shared lovely memories about my original angel boy. I am so very proud to be Jason’s mom.

This happy community gathering to honor our mailman shows me that there IS hope for our country, even if it’s hanging on by a thread.

P.S. Next Saturday, October 18, is another day to protest the regime, another NO KINGS DAY, and I’ll be on the frontlines to again gather with my neighbors, this time to protect free speech and save America.

Mother’s Day: BoyMom Edition

All I ever wanted to be was a boymom and I got my wish with the original Angel Boy.

BEST BOYMOM QUOTE EVER: “If all the little boys in the world were lined up and I had to just pick only one, I’d choose you… every time.” (Barbra Streisand to Seth Rogan in the film Guilt Trip.)

This is a funny story and all you’ll ever need to know about my AB:

Since his life threatening medical issue and subsequent (emergency) major abdominal surgery for a ruptured Meckel’s Diverticulum a few years ago, he needs to be careful about his diet for the rest of his life, mainly never popcorn, but other foods can irritate the anastomosis repair, too, which he learned by trial and error.

He recovered better than expected from the surgery except for THAT little issue.

Recently, I suggested (not nagged) that he might benefit from regularly taking probiotics to normalize his intestinal flora and fauna, and I made sure he took them every day while we were together.

How do I do that? I chose the right time, like when he was involved in editing his new book or grading papers. That’s when I know he’s REALLY the absentminded professor and won’t pay any attention to me. I then hand him the probiotic capsules with a freshly made smoothie and he downs them without argument or question. However, it’s only a delayed reaction because fifteen minutes later, he’ll ask me what it was that I gave him but then it’s too late to refuse. HAHAHAHA. #momhack

I sent him a photo of the supplements he WILLINGLY swallowed so he could take them all the time and heard nothing about it or a couple weeks…until yesterday when he texted me and I admit it took me a second or two to figure out he was being his usual snarky, facetious self:

Apparently when it becomes HIS idea, it’s worth doing. Hmmm. Whatever works, right? After all these years, I finally figured out that he likes to think about things for a while before he makes a decision, so I sent him a photo of the type of magnesium and D3 gummies I take along with this text:

That’s my Angel Boy. Stubborn child, but no matter what, he’ll forever be my heart.

Nowadays I’m even luckier to be grandma of those two vibrant Angel Kids who started calling me “Gramps” for absolutely no reason at all, but it makes me chuckle.

When I asked them, “Why do you call me Gramps?”, they laughed hysterically, so I guess that’s who I am now.

There will never be a greater joy than being loved by those guys, that’s for sure. That’s what life is all about.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms and grandmas from Gramps!

FYI: Great article to explain emergency surgery for Meckel’s Diverticulum https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC2533303/

Hearts and Sons

My son is the classic dictionary definition of an absent minded professor (which he is). His beautiful brain has multiple trains of thought all speeding along at the same time, so sometimes, day-to-day mundane tasks fall by the wayside.

It was early morning and he had returned from a dawn patrol surf sesh. We were having a lively “discussion” about where to put his surfboard…”Mom, Mom, I’m going to leave it right here, don’t worry. I’m going to surf later, too.”

Whenever he says “don’t worry”, there’s an eighty to one hundred percent chance that it’s something I SHOULD worry about. I learned that after forty-three years of being his mom.

I told him I’d prefer it if he took the extra few minutes to put it away in the garage where it belongs.

This discussion took place as we’re standing in the driveway. It could have been today or a couple decades ago; some things never change!

We were at an impasse. Hands on my hips, I stubbornly stuck to my position that the surfboard needed to go back where it belongs or I would end up trying to lift up a longboard that’s twice my size. Something would break; either the board or me.

Finally, I said, “Look how much time you’re wasting. If you had simply put it up instead of trying to convince me to allow you to leave the surfboard in the way, you’d already be in the house eating your breakfast burrito!”

Well, that’s the kind of logic that works with him. He finally put his board away. Like I told him his entire life, he should take his arguing and debating skills and become a lawyer like his grandfather.

As we wrapped up a twenty minute negotiation, I looked down and found this perfectly formed heart leaf. I took a picture, picked it up, brought it in the house, and I’m looking for a suitable frame while my (annoying) child inhales his breakfast.

It’s all about love. It always has been, and always will be. That child IS my heart, whether he’s being annoying or not.

Photo Scrapbook

I spent a frustrating couple of hours attempting to install new, adhesive shelf liners in the kitchen and bathroom. If you’ve ever done the same, frustrating doesn’t even describe the feeling of trying to smoothly stick the paper without bumps, lumps, or having it fold over and stick to itself. I did a HORRIBLE job, gave up, admitted defeat, and put all the items back under the bathroom and kitchen sinks to cover up the mistakes. I hate to fail at a task, but this was a fight I couldn’t win. That’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back, that’s for sure.

After a much needed break with a mug of lovely ginger tea, I reviewed some of my favorite photos snapped in the last few days:

Another photo I sent to the original Angel Boy to make him miss SoCal surfing and come down for a visit!

While I was looking at the surf, a bunny behind bars came to visit.

I was enchanted by pretty cactus flowers all in a row.

My mulberry tree is going crazy this year. In the past, I’ve harvested and made jam and frozen quarts and quarts of them for cobblers and to sweeten smoothies, but I’m not taking on that burden this year. That leaves more for the birds and the RATS. Eww.

Strange Days | The Disappearing Object Phenomenon

I bought some things that I subsequently needed to return which my son calls my “catch and release” program because I do it a lot.

This time, I was in a rush. I picked the wrong kind of noodles and the wrong kind of applesauce, and a pineapple I discovered was rotten and gross; also a first pair of jeans for Angel Girl 2.0 that were the wrong size.

I located the receipts and put them in safe place, or so I thought.

To backtrack, I never lose things and I also save EVERY receipt because I know that I MIGHT return whatever it is. I’m thrifty like that, so what happened next is significant.

I left early to shop cos it’s getting crowded for Thanksgiving. When I got in my car, I looked for the receipts and could only find one, but I KNOW I had saved both of them together.

I searched every inch of the car-nothing. I searched my purse-nothing. I looked in the outside trash (eww) -nothing. I went back in the house and couldn’t find it anywhere. I took a few deep breaths and decided to accept the reality that for once, I had somehow lost a receipt, but I’d still try to return the items and not be upset if that wasn’t possible.

In the grand scheme of life, this wasn’t anything to worry about. Mistakes happen.

I parked my car, walked around to the passenger side to collect my shopping bags and the items to be returned. There, on the seat, right next to the sad old pineapple, I spied the receipt.

WTF? Where did it come from? I had OCD thoroughly searched every single inch of my car, even taking everything out, and never saw it, because it wasn’t there. But there it appeared, ON THE SEAT. ON THE SEAT where it had NOT been before.

I shook my head, called out a silent thank you to the universe and its witchy ways, and laughed at my good fortune.

The rest of the day has been full of sunshine and joy, but I still can’t figure it out.

Is it the disappearing object phenomenon? How did it happen? WHY did it happen? And what’s the lesson?

According to my Google research, these are the areas to explore if you have experienced the return of a lost item:

Lessons on the 3D level:
Must you always have a physical explanation for any occurrence?  Why?
Do you believe that there is only one answer for any occurrence? Who told you that?
What happens if you can’t find an explanation for this occurrence?

Lessons on the 4D level:
Can I concede that I can’t explain this occurrence just yet?
Do Others have power over me?
Do Others have powers that I don’t have? (St. Anthony, or Archangel Chamuel, for example?)
Can they see more than I can see?
Who are these Others?  Are they mirrors of me?

Lessons on the 5D level:
Is this an item you love? If not, why is it here?
How long was this item gone before you missed it? Are you rightfully managing this energy (including time)?
What is the disparity of frequency between the You that could see them and the You that couldn’t?
What is the energy of the missing item?  Sad?  Nostalgic?
Does it represent a period in your life needing release?
Does it remind you of something you need to get done?

I haven’t had to the time to explore and examine my relationship to the receipt and discover the deeper symbolism, but I highly recommend reading this entire article. It blew my mind!
https://www.areyouawakening.com/life-on-earth/when-an-item-youve-lost-suddenly-reappears/

Featured image from Pinterest

Enter The Vortex – No Help

My frustration level is OFF THE CHARTS.

Here’s what I learned today. Since Angel Girl turned four years old, I needed a new car seat. When it arrived, I didn’t have too much trouble assembling it (although it took an HOUR) but I couldn’t figure out how to properly install it next to her brother’s. I didn’t pay much attention when Dad did it.

I read the cryptic instruction booklet and it was like reading hieroglyphics. I watched several YouTube videos and they didn’t help me, either. This isn’t unusual–I’m not very mechanically inclined.

I figured that our friendly police department would surely be able to assist me, so I drove to the local station. This is where the vortex of frustration began…

Guess what? Our police do NOT help to safely install carseats, but they said OTHER grandmas have come in asking for help, too.

The police department referred me to AAA.

AAA also does NOT help to install or make sure they’re installed properly.

AAA referred me to California Highway Patrol which DOES have a program to safely install car seats but they’re booked up through January 2024. That’s no help at all. AT. ALL.

CHP said the Sheriff does it, but they most likely are booked up too. I called to make an appointment, had to leave a message, and no one returned my call.

I even called a neighboring city’s police department and they don’t install car seats either.

After that, I called Children’s Hospital which does have a car seat installation program but it charges FIFTY DOLLARS per car seat!!!

Our local fire department doesn’t assist in installation or inspection to make sure car seats are properly installed.

The final call I made was to Safe Kids Worldwide’s Child Passenger Safety, a nonprofit organization, and there is no tech in my area. Also, no one responded to my email.

I’m exhausted from running around the dead end rabbit hole with my vain attempt to ensure the safety of the Angel Kids.

I eventually tried to install it but noticed there was no anchor with this particular booster-type seat with a back, and it seemed a bit unstable, so I took an anchor strap from the old seat and tried to attach it. I’m not sure if it’s OK but at least it’s not moving around and seems more secure.

And from the manufacturer, I read comments and questions from others who wanted information about no latch/anchor:  “Thank you for your interest in the Turbo Booster 2.0 Highback Booster Seat! Unfortunately, a LATCH system is not offered for this product. We hope this helps! – The Graco Team” Well…it doesn’t really help at all, because why NOT??

Friends have said I should just leave it for Dad to do it again but I wanted to make life easier for all of them when I pick up at the airport. It’s much less stressful to jump in the car and head straight home than to have to sit at the curb and wait for him to hook it up.

This says volumes about lack of community service and safety from the entities that should absolutely care. My very final outreach was a call to the community relations department of our police department to suggest they recommence their former program of assisting/examining installation of car seats. Not surprisingly, I’ve received no return call.

Frustration level? OFF ALL THE CHARTS.

UPDATE: A neighboring city’s sheriff’s office returned my call, I made an appointment for this morning, and their in-house certified car seat tech examined both car seats and gave me a few tips to keep the kids extra secure. It took less than ten minutes–peace of mind = PRICELESS. I’m still concerned that it took so much effort to get it done. I don’t think most people are as tenacious as I am, and if they quit too soon, their children might not be secured properly in an accident.

Adult Regrets | Forever Young

I’m not talking about the dark night of the soul burdensome self-condemnation kind of regret, but I was randomly thinking about how sad it is that when we grow up, people stop asking us who we’re going to be for Halloween.

There was always a great deal of excitement around this conversation, “Who are you going to be for Halloween?” or “What are you going to wear?”— whether we dressed as a witch or a ghost or a princess or a superhero or a pirate. It’s a way to step outside of ourselves for a couple of hours, to escape into an innocent fantasy.

Some might claim I’ve never grown up and that’s simply not true. There’s a difference between being childISHly puerile and one-dimensional as opposed to the open-hearted ability to discover and appreciate simple, joyful, childLIKE pleasures in life. That’s a good thing, in my opinion.

For Halloween, I’m never scary. I usually dress like a princess (of course) but next week I’m going to be a ballerina. I hauled out my sewing machine and made a longish sparkly pink tutu with a tulle overlay, reminiscent of Les Sylphides.

I’ll adorn myself with pink ballerina earrings (an unexpected treasure from Goodwill), my toe shoes and a tiara, so I’m really going to be a princess ballerina.

Je ne regrette rien. No regrets. Forever young.

Who are YOU going to be for Halloween?