Mushroom Season

My friend Lisa e-mailed me the other day asking if I wanted to go down with her to the lake house. Way cool, I'm thinking. The weather is great, I can lay on the dock and read and tan. The boys will cook. The kids will play. What could be better? I'm in!

But she went on. John is taking her mushroom hunting in the woods that surround the lake in southern Indiana. She calls herself a Hoosier, but this will be her her first foray into the woods for fungus.

For my sister Nancy, Lisa's would have been a must-do offer. She's always loved mushroom hunting. At Easter this year, when the big kids were looking for money laden eggs at Shakamak State Park, she was scouting for 'shrooms.

If you're not from the country you may not know that Springtime in Indiana is the time the woods are alive with fungus. Morels are the holy Grail -- the biggest and best, but there are a lot of different ones -- small, medium, dark, light. All musky , velvety and kind of phallic, if truth be told. They're sneaky little buggers, though, and like to hide. So to be a good mushroom hunter, you have to have great vision, great patience and a great affinity for all God's creations.

• I can barely see with my glasses on or my contacts in.
• I have never met this thing called patience.
• And while I love many things, creepy, sleepy snakes just waking up from their winter's lethargy are not among them.

So I had to decline the invitation. I hope Lisa likes it. Plenty of people do.

I remember my dad taking us out in the woods when I was a kid -- back home you keep your mushroom hunting territory to yourself much like the Sanders family guard the special recipe and the Coca-Cola family shields the formula.

How people don't walk all over each one's area was beyond me then and is beyond me now. It was all such a secret. Yet there was limited land. I'm guessing there was a lot of criss-crossing, but like fishing, mushroom hunting is a silent game. (yet another reason I'm not good at either) so maybe the hunters never knew each other was in their territory -- unless the evidence of shorn mushrooms was found.

So Dad would pile us in the truck and then send out out in the woods. He seemed to think we had an inborn talent for it just because we were related to him. Or maybe he was just getting us out of my Mom's hair for a while.

Invariably, I'd be somewhere within his sight, stumbling along looking out desperately for snakes and stepping all over the mushrooms I never -- as in EVER -- saw.

I'd hear him say, "Cheryl. Stop right there!"

Every time I was sure he was warning me about a snake. But no. He'd say, "Can't you see it?"

"See what?" I'd shout, looking this way and that, straining to hear the slither. Sure I was in the sights of some fanged monster.

"Just stop and look around."

He'd be crouched down, one knee to the ground. He'd have already collected a dozen morels and their smaller cousins. "Look over there. It's RIGHT there," he'd say.

He would sit there in the middle of the woods and take a long look around him. He must have had some sort of mushroom radar because he'd spy them under leaves and nestled next to rotting branches. He'd point me in the general direction and just shake his head when I never came up with anything.

He never got so frustrated that he left me out there alone, and I never got into trouble for not finding them. For all I know I was just comic relief. In all my years of forced mushroom hunting, I may have found 5. Maybe. But probably because I fell down on them. Come to think of it, I don't know that I ever actually saw a snake either... But they were out there. I just know it.

The hunting is, of course, just the prelude. Once you have an acceptable "mess," you take them home, split them in two and let them bathe in a bowl of water for a while. This isn't just to marinate them. It's to help get the dirt and bugs off of them. Ick.

Then, you dredge them your own breading concoction (another real mushroomer's secret) and you fry them in a cast iron skillet. You can have them for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Sometimes you have gravy.

It's a real delicacy. Just like brain sandwiches, Rocky Mountain Oysters and frog legs.

Give me canned, sliced mushrooms. Or porta-bellas stuffed with crabmeat, spinach and yummy cheese.

Yeah, I know they come from the woods, too. And that cheese comes from milk, which spurts from the udders of cows or goats.

But I don't have to forage for the fungus I eat, and I have never yet felt a four-legged creature's udder, teat or any other nether region. Nor do I intend to.

So enjoy mushroom season and all the hand-selected, breaded and pan-fried fungus you want.

I've never yet seen the slithery tail of a viper hidden amongst the produce or dairy aisle of any grocery I've ever shopped. But they do occasionally offer morels fresh from the woods, all cleaned up and shining through sheer plastic film. So if you want to nibble and you're not inclined to find them yourself, you still can.

I can't wait for Lisa to get back. They're newlyweds still. Were I Lisa, I think I'd distract John from ever getting to the woods...

Tech Support; Alison Reed speaking

So I've fixed dinner for Alison and she's indulging her passion for mashed potatoes and gravy when the phone rings. Jeff's not yet home from work, but is going to head right out for a wine tasting with his new BFF John Vielee. I'm not feeling well, so Ali is at the counter, eating on her own while I'm on the couch looking outside and wishing I felt better.

I answer and it's a boy. For Alison. Coincidentally, it's John's nephew, Charlie Vielee.

"Hi Charlie," says Alison, still eating, puts the phone on speaker. I go back to the couch.

Turns out Charlie needs help with a spy mission on Club Penguin -- the latest craze in the world of the 4-feet-tall crowd.

"Alison, how do I get past the secret code in the GS Secret Mission?" he asked.

She goes immediately into tech support mode. All she needed was a head set and she could have been on the Geek Squad.

"Are you at the ski jump?" she asked.

"Yeah. But I can't get the secret code," he says.

"OK. Here's what you do," she says, rattling off a series of instructions. "No. Look. Wait. Let me log on."

She moves over to the laptop, logs on and walks him through the process. She must have been on the phone for 15 minutes, offering suggestions, praising him every now and then and double-checking that he'd done exactly as she ordered.

Charlie managed to get through the mission and was a pretty happy camper.

"Bye, Charlie," Alison chirped, and returned to her dinner. I wonder when she's going to start charging.

Easter Bunny and one new Angel

Happy Easter! It's off to a good, if weird start, here at Team Reed Indy. Alison got up at 6:30 this morning, eager to see if the Bunny had come. Snuggled in my warm bed, I heard a wail from the living room.

"Mommy! He didn't leave me anything," she called, her little voice breaking a bit.

"Well you know he's a tricky bunny, Al, why don't you look around a bit?" I called, thinking she could surely locate the treat basket without me.

"Or, right," she said, instantly cured and off on the hunt.

"Found it!" she called within seconds. "Wow. This is some big basket," she said.

She started squealing and I realized there was no way I was getting an extra Zs in my Easter basket. But my body refused to give up the ghost. "Why don't you bring it in here?" I called.

So we spent the next several minutes exclaiming over what the bunny had left. It wasn't long before she sped off to log-in her new Littlest Pet Shop friend, Flower the Fox. We'll go down to visit the cousins this morning, and I'm sure Flower will be going along for the trip.

I think Ali had decided to wait for Jeff to come home to try out her new Wii game -- it was her father's contribution and very well received. After her fast from candy, I thought she'd want to have her Laffy Taffy for breakfast, but she hasn't asked and I haven't offered.

It's weird to have Easter morning without Jeff here. He flew out to Maine Friday to be with Team Reed Maine. We got word Tuesday that Auntie Methyl had suffered an aneursym and has left us.

Auntie Methyl fell in love with Alison from the moment she saw her. I don't know if it was the connection of red hair or just a sweet little baby, but both she and Roger have always been very, very close Alison and of course to us. We saw them every time we visited Maine and we talked pretty often -- sometimes inspired by cards and coins Auntie and Uncle Roger would send. Sometimes just because.

Auntie introduced Alison to the world of Lynne Plourde, a wonderful children's author who lives near Methyl and Roger and who signed several of her books for Ali. If you have a little one, you need to know Lynne Plourde and her silly, invented words and crazy characters like Drew A. Blank, Maybella Jean Wishy Washy, Josephina Carolina Whatasheena the First and their teacher, Miss Shepherd.

I think Moose Of Course! was Alison's first Plourde book, and I'm fairly certain Marian was the first one to read it to her. It was an instant hit and read so many times that first visit that she'd memorized it before she needed a bath. We don't have that book here; we decided to leave it in Maine and it's one of the first things Ali grabs when we get home.

I think Methyl brought the book to Marian in a stack of others, thinking somehow that the mountain of books from Jeff, Jen and James' childhoods wasn't enough. Methyl taught kindergarten for many years and always checked on Ali's school progress and always always bought her books for Christmas and birthdays.

I didn't know Methyl very long, compared to the other Reeds, and that makes me sad. But the way she delighted in Alison amazes me even now. I love the picture of Marian and Methyl playing Chinese checkers with Ali. Every child deserves to have someone love him or her the way Marian and Methyl loved Alison. And it was returned with interest.

Ali never failed (without prompting) to put Roger and Methyl on the list of people she wanted to buy presents for at the school holiday shop. Though they are people who appreciate quality things, they were always thrilled to get the cheap little trinkets. They knew she'd picked them out special, and that dramatically increased their value.

Alison had even less time with Auntie than I did, but I'm confident that she won't lose her memory of her.

Jen and Cousin Mary have decided that Marian and Methyl are with their mother now, having tea and sour cream softies. Ali and I have taken comfort in that thought, and the knowledge that there's one more angel looking over my little red head.

Sprung too Quick

I think time shifted into warp speed last week to make up for the prior week when it essentially went dormant, crawling sloth-like to Spring Break in Indianapolis.

I'm not ready to go back to work tomorrow. Alison was hoping the forecast for snow flurries would turn into a school-closing blizzard, but Jeff's worse than both of us: the Red Sox take to the field tomorrow for a day game after a long winter off.

Ah well. We're not alone in our suffering.

Alison has just a week to go now in her sacrifice of candy for Lent. This morning, we wandered through the Fresh Market waiting for Northside News to open. Ali immediately went to the candy display and oohed and ahhed until I tugged her away after my 53rd reminder that yes, "gumballs are candy." We were over in the dried veggie section when she reminded me that she had $1 to spend and maybe she could just stock up.

"If you're really hungry for a snack, I bet we can find a banana," I said, helpfully, thinking of my FitCity friends who are hellbent on getting Hoosier kids to give up the sugar.

"I am not wasting good money on a banana!" she declared.

OK. Don't tell my FitCity friends about that...

We did not cave into the sugar buzz, and we had a great walk before a crazy spring storm struck just as we were getting to the first Easter Egg hunt of the season down at the Athenaeum YMCA.
I worked out while the hunt was on and emerged, slightly sweaty, to find Dale Ogden sharing half his Laffy Taffy with my little Catholic.

"Um, is that candy?" I said, as the pink sliver of taffy edged into her open mouth.

She looked at me. She looked at the candy. She looked at Dale.

"She gave up candy for Lent," I said.

"Uh-oh," said Dale.

It was as if a strong wind came, pushing that candy into her mouth. Her mouth closed. I almost looked around for a cigarette to give her -- the expression on her face was priceless.

I'm pretty sure she won't go to Hell for half a stick of a snack-sized piece of Laffy Taffy. I'm not Catholic. I don't really know the rules. I just know it's been a long 33 days.

We spent the rest of the day inside, watching it rain. If it weren't so cold, the rain would be great. Ali finally got her rain boots painted -- they were a Christmas present from Auntie Jen and they are mah-velous. They come plain white and you get to paint them. There are even little wash pads so you can swipe off your design and paint again. She's been wearing them ever since the dried on Friday, hoping in vain for rain and some worthwhile puddles.

Amid the fun, we have had some bad news this week. Please hold the hearts of Ginny Reed, Amer Reed Tokash (and the rest of their family) in yours this week: Amy's father, Dennis Reed passed away this morning. Those who've lost a parent know there are few words that can comfort you, but the thoughts and prayers do get through some how.

Ginny is one of those moms you read about in the Hallmark store and see on TV shows from the 50's. She's June Cleaver, Marian Cunningham with just a dash of Laura Petry. She's just wonderful and it hurts to think of her being in pain. Amer will help her through, and we'll all help Amer. So hold them all close, if you would.

Break, already, Spring!

Sunday mornings are just about my favorite time of the week. The whole day stretches out with no real chores (usually) and the walk to Matt the Newspaperman's shop awaits for whenever we get ourselves out of pajamas and into sweats.

Today it was just too dang cold to brave the elements. I felt sorry for my brave little hyacinths popping up in pink and purple clusters in the front yard, declaring an end to winter. There they were, minding their own businesses bringing warmth and color to a bleak world only to be buffeted first by a chilly wind, then freezing rain and finally snow flurries that disappeared as soon as they touched the ground. It was as if winter wasn't ready to pack up for the year.

I watched the seasons fight it out through the front window, curled up on the living room couch, nestled under a blanket with a good book and the NY Times.

I wasn't the only lazy Reed today. Jeff didn't have basketball and he and Ali were downstairs most of the day puttering at computer games, reading and watching cartoons. I think they may have gotten a little Wii action in, too.

Jeff spent most of Saturday with his fantasy baseball friends, leaving around 9 a.m., so he was missing the little redhead a little bit by the time he strolled in around 8 p.m.

She and I were snuggling on the couch by then, and it was clear she'd had enough of me. Jeff had stretched out on the floor using the bean bag as a pillow. He'd found Johnny Quest on some cartoon network and was telling her that she just had to watch it with him because it was his favorite show when he was a little boy. Like a flash, she was gone.

"Hey!" I said. "Where'd you go?"

Busy stretching out on top of her dad and making sure she could see the screen, she didn't even look at me. "Hey, this guy needs some love, too," she said. The two of them didn't move for an hour.

She later confessed that she liked Johnny Quest OK, but she'd watched a few episodes and noticed that Race Bannon often pushed the same rock down on his enemies. Seems no matter the enemy, Race was alwasy wearing the same clothes and in the same weather when he found that rock...

It's almost always fun to watch Ali with Jeff. She loves him, and just loves teaching her stuff. She's getting to be more and more like him every day. He showed her cheat codes so she can whizz around Club Penguin like a hacker. He taught her how to make his iPod work this morning. He was home with her for the first day of Spring Break, on Friday, and he taught her how to "lay a patch," when braking. Apparently she left behind quite a lot of her tires at the practice lot.

But every once in a while I see tiny, little bits of me in her. She loves to read and can get a little obsessive with her favorite authors. Right now, Dave Pilkey is ruling her world.

But Friday at dinner, she really made my heart sing. Apparently, her teacher had a pile of homework that she truly expected the kids to get through on Spring Break. I'm all about the importance of learning, but geeze. There's a reason they name it Spring Break.

I was all ready to complain about the burden when Jeff said, "No listen."

So I looked at Ali who told me that she'd used up all her free time during the school day and made a special point at After Care to plow through ever single stinkin' bit of Spring Break homework she'd been given.

"I'm free! Free I tell you!" she said. "No homework for me."

I love that girl. Nerd that I am, I would have done the same thing. We celebrated Saturday at the book store buying up a bunch of Ricky Ricotta books for Ali and the rest of the Christine Feehan Dark series for me.

So, even if spring doesn't kick winter's butt as quickly as I'd like, we have plenty to keep us occupied over the break.

Parenthood is hard

I saw something in a gossip rag the other day about how Kim Kardashian had sincerely claimed she wasn't a spoiled brat, and neither was her sister. I'm ashamed, frankly, that I know who Kim Kardashian is, and if I have to explain to you why it's nearly tragic that she can't see how spoiled she is, well you're just a better person than I am.

Suffice it to say that she and Paris Hilton are contemporaries.

I was thinking about Kim Kardashian the other day when I was talking to Karin about how our children are not always as grateful and selfless as they could be. Now all of them are far closer to saints than sinners, but I had a moment this weekend when I thought they were little ingrates. I was more annoyed than angered, but after a day of fun, they were slow to perform a simple little task for me, their happy benefactor.

So I asked myself, "Self, what's wrong with these little rats?"

Nothing was wrong with the little rats. They were having fun. Being kids. But it occurred to me that you must have to actually teach children to be grateful -- much like you have to help them to walk and read and brush their teeth. If all you do is give them stuff, they'll expect to be given stuff all the time. And who could blame them?

I was likely a little heavy handed with my debut of Gratefulness 101, but I'm going to refine my instruction. I think it's important that kids have fun and goodness knows my husband thinks I'm too quick to indulge. But I think it's just as important that they understand why you say please and thank you and why you should be grateful for life's pleasures.

I'm pretty sure I'll need an advisor myself along the way. This parenthood thing is hard, man. You've got to be on your toes all the time!

I suspect Kim Kardashian didn't take Grateful 101. And that's a shame.

In other news, Alison's friend Dominic came over for a play date last week. He's the boy who declared his love for her publicly last year at school, embarrassing the heck out of her.

While I worked in the yard, they worked the Wii. Jeff came home to find us and was horrified that I'd left them alone. "Geeze. They're 7 and 8. What could they possibly be doing? If we can't trust them now, when can we?" I asked.

Silly, silly, misguided me.

After we'd taken Dominic home, Alison and I were chatting. She got all shy, ducked her head and said she wanted to tell me something.

"What is it? You can tell me anything," I said.

"Well, Mom, Dominic told me he wanted to ask me something," she said.

"Yes?"

"He said he wanted to kiss me."

I know I screamed really loud in my head. But thankfully I kept it there.

"What did you say?" I said.

"I told him I thought it would be inappropriate touching," she said.

I nearly got down on my knees and thanked God and Christ the King. But I maintained my cool.

"Well, I think that was a good thing to say," I said. "Did you want him to kiss you?"

I held my breath. She ducked her head, then suddenly looked right at me, suddently intent on knowing the answer to one, burning question.

"Mom, is it true that when I'm 8 years old I don't have to sit in a car seat?"

"Uh. Well, maybe," I stuttered, suffering deeply from whiplash.

"Dominic says he doesn't have to so maybe I won't have to either," she said.

"Uh-huh," I said. "Maybe. Hey, I have an idea. If you wait until you're 8 to not have to use a car seat, how about you wait until, oh, maybe til you're 10 to let a boy kiss you?"

"That sounds about right," she said.

I think I lot 10 pounds in sweat. The adrenaline has yet to abate.

Parenthood is hard, man....

Once upon a time, In a galaxy far, far away

Alison and Hannah had a big day Saturday -- their first gymnastics revue.

They've been going to the local park community center to take a weekly class, mostly to determine if they like gymnastics. Alison dumped ballet after about 2 years. She'd gotten tired of it and I figure if I have to devote part of my Saturday to carting her around and watching, it should be an enjoyable event for both of us.

After having to almost literally drag her sorry butt to ballet for the last six months of it, it was a shock to have her push me out the door so we won't be late for gymnastics.

She'd lingered in ballet because she took that class with Jenna, who has been her best friend since before they'd each emerged into the world. We do miss seeing Jenna, but it was time to explore other options. (Jenna, by the way, is an incredible dancer who lights up the stage. I'm sure she misses having Ali around but there's nothing going to stop her from performing.)

Alison seems to have that same love for gymnastics. She does handstands around the house every chance she gets and she's trying hard to perfect her cartwheel. I don't know that she has competition on her mind, but she loves what she's doing now and we'll see how it goes.

Hannah likes it, too, and we've gotten into a good Saturday morning groove. When we're lucky, we hang out after and Alex gets into the mix after his basketball game. Yesterday, we did our gymnastics thing, then watched Alex's last game of his season and then Karin and I worked out a bit. It's been beautiful weather and I hope Spring has actually sprung.

We ended the night at the Ogdens at Alex's Star Wars party. He'd dreamed it up and was thrilled when we said we'd come over. He told Dale that he was so excited about the party that he didn't know if he could actually play basketball.

We had themed food and watched the movie in heaps on the floor, couches and chairs.

Other than Jeff and Alison's occasional cat-induced sneezing, it was a fabulous way to end a great day. We watched the episode where Carrie Fisher wears a bikini. Jeff and Dale could have recited the whole thing -- especially the parts where she wriggles around in that two piece...

Alison hangs around with boys all day at school and claims to love violence. When she's not upside down doing a handstand, she's trying to karate chop anyone who comes past her. But she wasn't really enthralled with Star Wars.

"It' s not really my kind of violence," she said. "My kind of violence is the kind that doesn't look real."

I guess I'm OK with that. Way more OK than when she told me she didn't have time for dinner Tuesday night because "I have a meeting with three boys, mom."

"Um, what?" I said.

Her "meeting" involved getting online at Club Penguin at 6:30 p.m. Three boys from her class were to get online, too, and they were going to be able to virtually play together -- or "meet" as Alison described it.

While the explanation mollified me a bit, I still haven't told Jeff that she's hanging out with boys -- online -- after school. I'm not sure he's ready for that....