Rational Top Ten

Can you believe it? Tomorrow is the last day of rationing! Since tomorrow will be filled with family gatherings and festivities we thought we'd highlight what we think are the top ten highlights from the rationing year (in no particular order).

Here goes!

1. Realizing, midway through the first month, that we had been allowing ourselves too many blue/green points. Like, 75% too many.

2. The recipes! Without the rationing project as an excuse there is no way we would have even dreamed of making jellied ham loaf or beef heart kabobs. The historic recipes have encompassed the good (nutburgers, victory pancakes), the bad (six layer dinner, full o'bologney, sausage loaf), and the ugly (hot cabbage slaw and...)

3. Liver. Really, even though it's an historic recipe and could be listed above it deserves a solitary mention. Nothing, nothing, we ate during the rationing year made the same impression as liver. If you've never read this post you really should.

Oh, thank goodness we didn't have to try this!

4. After a good four or five years of discussion we finally installed an attic (or whole house) fan. This was critical because of our decision to...

5. Sweat it out during the summer by not turning on the air conditioner in the house. It turned out to be one of the hottest summers in the past decade and even with the attic fan and other remedies (cool baths, oscillating fans, popsicles, etc.) we were miserable. Sticking to your sheets and running out of deodorant miserable. Eventually, we caved and turned on the air conditioner. In the end, this was probably the best decision because...

6. We learned that running the attic fan, ceiling fans and oscillating fans along with the dehumidifier used just as much energy as if we had run the air conditioner in the first place. So I guess you could say that sweating it out over a month of summer heat was a miserable but beneficial learning experience.

7. Local fruit. Man oh man, you just can't beat the fresh blackberries, apples, pears, strawberries and mulberries we munched on this summer. And we even have some extra blackberries in the freezer for the long winter months!

8. When a bottle of ketchup costs nearly half of a week's worth of rationing points, nothing says "Suck it, rationing system!" quite like making your own ketchup. Let's face it - ketchup is not a necessity, it's a luxury. Having the ability to make your own (and control the ingredients) is definitely a guilty pleasure. I don't know if we'll ever buy commercially-prepared ketchup again.

9. Having regular commentators from the all across the United States, the U.K. (especially you, Mr. Graham), Eastern Europe, Canada and visits (per traffic reports) from every continent except Antarctica made Rational Living a truly international community. Kinda seems fitting since the real-life scenarios the project was based on included an international community as well.

10. Even with all the planning required by the rationing project and the huge learning curve experienced in the first few months, no other micro-project during the rationing year was harder that the week we followed U.K. rations. The plan was actually to go two weeks on U.K. rations but the meager servings and food limitations (along with nearly constant hunger complaints from the girls) made us cave at the end of the first week. That week was actually a big turning point for the project, as it really hit home that our voluntary, meager rations (and hunger) were choices for us, whereas plenty on this earth have less than that due to circumstances beyond their control.

And, of course...reader feedback on the blog always made our day. This project wouldn't have been nearly as interesting if we didn't have the helpful and insightful comments from YOU. Thanks for sticking with us through the entire project. This blog will continue on, but we're not quite sure as to the content and form. Stay tuned.

So, are there any other scenarios that we missed that you would have included in a top ten?

--With Love, from the Rational Living family

Randomizer Breakthrough

This is what happens when you use Mr. Bowles' Marketplace Scenario Randomizer every week for nearly a year.

I used some sticky tape to fix the hole - it will have to do for the final three weeks.

The good news is that the randomizer is completely biodegradable and will be composted after the experiment.

I have to admit, though, that I think we'll miss the Wednesday night ritual of rolling the dice and pulling scenarios. We'll have to find something to fill the void.

--Rational Mama

Whew. And Cobbler

Whew.

That's about the only thing I can say about the past month.

Whew.

October always go by so quickly and this year was no exception. With Halloween on a Sunday there were virtually three full days of Halloween this year. Costume gathering, school parties, friend parties, trick-or-treating...lots to do.

Add to that house issues. Yes, our house is still on the market but the original house that started all of this is completely out of the picture now (and we're okay with that). In the end they were asking too much, especially considering the amount of elbow grease required to get everything up to par. So we've been spending time perusing the internet for possible homes, visiting open houses, debating what features we consider important in the next move and researching schools. We had actually found a property we were very interested in (3/4 of an acre, unconventional A-frame, great school) but then it was taken off the market because of all the foreclosure mess. Sigh. All this and we have to keep our own house nearly pristine in-between improvement projects just in case someone wants to see it.

And then there was last week. The girls were off of school on Monday so we had some extra bonding time and they were sweet, sweet, sweet. On Tuesday Eowyn woke up with a stomach ache and quickly began vomiting. Unfortunately, she started on an empty stomach and has a history of acid reflux. Thus, in less than four hours after she first vomited we were in the emergency room. She was very dehydrated and was showing signs of intestinal damage so she spent two days in the hospital, soaking up the I.V. fluids in between tests and lots of meds. At one point they gave her morphine which alleviated the pain enough that she could sleep, but it dropped her respiratory rate down so low that all the machine alarms were going off. A lot. Ugh. Not good times.

She came home last Thursday with several prescriptions to get her by until she can see her pediatric gastroenterologist in Kansas City this coming Monday. So far, so good...but we were all rather exhausted last weekend - both physically and mentally.

We needed something to make everything right...to sort of reset the household. So last Sunday night I made venison stew with dumplings and a pear cobbler for dessert. The stew was wonderful - stick to your ribs comfort food. The cobbler was absolutely amazing and oh-so-simple. I used a jar of cinnamon pears I preserved in September and the taste was amazing, but I'm sure you could use commercially-canned fruit and have equally impressive results.

I'm going to post the cobbler recipe I used because I know we all have those times...when life has strung us out and scraped us thin. This may not make everything better, but it will make you feel a bit more at peace.

Ingredients
1 15-16 oz can of fruit (peaches, pears, apples, blueberries or cherries would work well)
1 cup self-rising flour
1/2 cup sugar
5 TB butter, melted
1 cup milk

Directions
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. Grease the bottom and sides of an 8" x 8" baking dish.
3. Drain canned fruit and evenly distribute fruit in the bottom of the prepared dish.
4. Combine remaining ingredients and pour the mixture over the fruit.
5. Bake the cobbler for 35 to 40 minutes, or until golden brown.

The fact that the cobbler did not survive long enough for me to take a picture should serve as an adequate testimonial.

Wishing all of you healthy, happy days.

--Rational Mama

Screwed

Take a look at this excerpt from the April 18, 1943 edition of the Topeka Daily Capital:

(You can click on the chart to enlarge the image)

It's a handy dandy chart outlining exactly how much of each vegetable plant needs to be included in your Victory Garden and how many jars of produce should be preserved from the summer bounty to get a patriotic family through the next winter of rationing.

It makes me very unhappy.

The chart recommends 15 tomato plants per person, which would be 60 plants for a family our size, resulting in 120 quarts of preserves for future months. And beans? According to the chart we would need 300 feet of green beans to have enough to eat and preserve the suggested 108 quarts.

Ummm...yeah.

Even if the the summer hadn't pre-baked the tomatoes and eggplants on the vine there is no way we could even get close to these ideals. Despite having gardens in four different parts of town, we have no where near the room to accommodate this large of a plan. And I have to wonder if folks in the 1940s had similar restrictions. Is (and was) the numbers set forth in this chart a realistically obtainable goal?

Let's talk about space first. During WWII many vacant lots were turned into community gardens and businesses frequently allowed employees to garden on their grounds. We are not so lucky today. Here at Rational Living we managed to patchwork four different spaces together in our general area of town, but combined it is still no where near the space needed for 60 tomato plants, 300 feet of beans, 60 feet of lettuce/spinach, 48 feet of carrots, 60 feet of onions, 3200 feet of potatoes, and so on. It's seems like even an acre of suitable land may not be enough to plant all the recommendations in the chart, even if one is being wise and rotating early/late crops in the same space. Was that kind of space really available in during WWII rationing?

And then there's time. Who the heck is keeping up with all this gardening? The weeding, hoeing, pruning, and harvesting can become overwhelming with a modest-sized garden. What about a larger garden? While somewhere around 3/5th of the population gardened during the War, I seriously doubt that a significant portion of those Victory Gardens matched the ideals set forth in the chart above, just based on time considerations alone. And even though it makes sense to think of all those housewives spending their days out in the Victory Gardens before making a delicious SPAM loaf for their loving family's dinner, in reality a large proportion of Victory Gardeners were men. In fact, most of the propaganda surrounding Victory Gardens focuses on men as the growers, with women reduced to the role of harvesters or processors (this is deftly pointed out in Amy Bentley's Eating for Victory: Food Rationing and the Politics of Domesticity).

By the way, the Rational Living experiment mirrors this quite nicely, with TMOTH doing most of the weeding and such while I'm at work, since he is off four days a week. And then I do the canning and other processing on my days off, while he's at work. Sigh.

Anyway, what's my point in all this? My point is that it's really really easy to feel like a failure at Victory Gardening. And I imagine the same was true in the 1940s. With ridiculous charts like the one above it's easy to feel beaten even before you begin. And I'm sure there was always someone else's Victory Garden that was bigger and better than yours.

So yeah, I'm disappointed that our gardens don't match the WWII ideal. And I'll miss having all those preserves to choose from during the winter months. But I won't miss storing all those jars, and I won't regret spending time at the girls' swim meets instead of weeding.

And I won't be defeated. I'm already planning next year's garden.

--Rational Mama

On the Road (and Maybe Not Again)

Last weekend the girls and I headed down south a ways to visit family. This would be the first time we saw these particular family members since January and this trip was planned nearly two months in advance (scheduling around the new job and kids' activities gets a little tricky).

We almost didn't make it.

Not because of time conflicts or mechanical problems (knock on wood), but because we almost didn't haven enough surplus miles in our ration to make the trip.

Each week we have a ration of 193 miles allowed between the two vehicles. Any unused miles go towards our mileage surplus, up to a maximum surplus of 530 miles.

The trip down to see family would, according to online map sources, require 300 miles round-trip.

Now, for most of the rationing year we've kept the mileage surplus right around (or above) the 300 mile mark (the benefit of not having a real summer vacation, sigh). But a busy summer of swim lessons, out-of-town swim meets and plenty of errands had chipped away at that surplus - even when we were being careful about combining errands and such.

Five weeks before the trip our mileage surplus was at 256 miles - not enough to make it there and back but not so low as to make us nervous since we still had plenty of time to save up miles. The following week our surplus bumped up to 273 miles and, after another week of miserly driving we had a surplus of 357 miles three weeks prior to the scheduled jaunt. Things were looking good.

But then two very busy weeks of shopping and running errands and chasing down home repair parts took the surplus down to a total of 291 miles just one week before the trip.

I started to get anxious about the trip - would we have enough miles? I let TMOTH know of my concerns - this trip was important and it was crucial that we have enough miles. He suggested that maybe we could (theoretically) trade some coffee rations for extra miles on the (imaginary) black market. I didn't like this idea since, ultimately, I like to follow the rules.

So for the next week we did very little driving. Unless it was desperately needed, all shopping was limited to one trip to the grocery store just a few miles away. When we went out to dinner one night we chose the mediocre neighborhood option over one of our house favorites that would have consumed an extra 10 or so miles. Swimming practice was over, so that would help, too.

By the end of the week we had saved up a total of 383 surplus miles. Whew!

So off we went to visit family (and even managed to sneak in an extra few miles to drop supplies off which saved some friends their own 300 mile business trip).

And how did the surplus fare?

A week after the trip our surplus is now only 104 miles, which doesn't get us too far. But, it's still a cushion which (hopefully) we can get back up to its maximum before the holiday season rolls around.

Otherwise, we'll definitely be home for Christmas.

--Rational Mama

Michelle & Marie

I watched the movie "Julie & Julia" for the first time a few weeks ago. It's a nice little movie based on the true stories of both Julia Child (world famous chef) and Julie Powell (self-absorbed urbanite), the latter of which blogs about her triumphs and trials while making all of the recipes in Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year (synopsis provided in case you've been living in a cave for the past few years).

In the vaguest of senses, there are some parallels between the plot of that movie and with Rational Living. Yes, we are blogging about our own unique, self-imposed, life-changing food challenges. But there are things that I'm quite happy are different. I'd like to think that I'm at least a little kinder than Julie (especially to my husband) and I'm glad that rationing cookbooks don't include a chicken-liver mousse recipe that's a must.

But there is one thing Julie had that I long for (besides a book deal): she had an intimate, explorative relationship with a historical counterpart (Julia Child) during her project. Granted, it was through books, magazines and old episodes of Julia's cooking shows, but it helped Julie feel like she wasn't going through it alone, that she had a friend who knew exactly what it was like to be exasperated by a burnt beef bourguignon.

I don't have that. We don't have that.

As you know, I love to research. Love, love, love it. And I haven't been able to find the memoirs or published diaries of any home front housewife that mentions rationing beyond an obligatory paragraph. This has been quite a disappointment to me - I've done enough research before and know what it's like to make that goose-pimple connection with an individual across time and space. I've done that - made that connection - with a Civil War soldier, a frontier doctor, and a widowed boarding house operator from the early 20th century.

I wish I had that same connection with a 1940's housewife.

The closest I've come to it is with my great-grandmother, Marie. She is probably the most amazing person I've ever known. She was adventurous, silly and exuded a warmth and love I can still feel today, over six years since she passed away.

Marie was born in rural south-central Kansas in 1902 (or, nineteen-two, as she would say). She was the only girl of six surviving children.

(Marie on the left, c. 1906)

(Marie in the back middle, holding her own with all the boys, c. 1916)

She married her sweetie (the boy from the next farm over) at the age of 16, after his service in WWI was over. She had her ups and her downs. She drove motorcycles, had children, and filled in at oil-field jobs during the Depression when her husband was too sick. She lost children, made friends, volunteered at the local YMCA and so on. And it seems that she never lost her optimism, her love, nor her faith.

In 1943 Marie would have been a 41 year old housewife with multiple young mouths (and a husband) to feed at home. She was a gardener and a canner and I'm sure that was no different during the War. She continued to can produce well into her 80's; it was in her cellar that I first learned the magical allure of rows upon rows of home preserved jars, shiny and promising. When we came to visit she would let us pick out any jar we wanted (I always chose a jar of pickled okra).

Marie was was not to be surpassed as cook and I always suspected that she could whip up anything from scratch with only basic supplies and the knowledge in her head. She could probably creat a white sauce dish with her eyes closed. She could play the organ, crocheted, loved to watch women's wrestling on t.v. and had the largest collection of salt and pepper shakers I've ever seen. She always had a Kleenex tucked in her sleeve next to the dollar bill she'd tried to slip you when your parents weren't looking.

(Stylin' Marie, with her brothers, 1967)

She had the best laugh, and used it often.

Marie was love, unconditional. I consider myself very lucky to have known her for the last 29 years of her life. I wish the scanner was working properly so I could insert my favorite picture - the one of her holding a four month old Eowyn while a two and a half year old Sissy leans in next to her great-great-grandmother.

And as trying at times as this year of rationing may get (or any of life, for that matter), I can't help but think of everything she went through and the fact that she somehow managed to keep her sanity, her smile, and her faith in humanity.

And so on this day, which would have been her 108th birthday, I salute my Julia...Great-grandma Marie.

May I never forget her lessons.

--Rational Mama

Overwhelmed

You, dear readers, are the most patient blog readers ever.

I admit that the posting frequency has gone downhill in both quantity and quality over the past month. Oh, sure - there's lots of excuses (some even valid): yours truly is still adjusting to a new job and work schedule, it's too hot and our brains are melting, we've been spending lots of time shuttling girls to/from swimming practices and meets, having different gardens in different parts of the city is time-consuming, etc.

That's life, and life is busy.

But during this time when we should be weeding and canning and canning and weeding there is a sudden, unexpected, circumstance that has taken up a generous portion of our time and energy over the last few weeks.

Readers, it looks like we could be putting the Rational Living house up for sale soon.

This was by no means a action that was on our radars a month ago. We bought this house a little over seven years ago and, initially, considered staying here for the rest of our lives. It's a beautiful, 100 year old American Foursquare that managed to escape with its oak trim and staircase intact. It has a huge kitchen, cute yard and a little greenhouse on the property. It's cozy and happy.

As the girls grow certain limitations of the house become apparent; only one full bathroom (remember - we will have two teenage daughters very soon), limited gardening space, no "play/create/make a mess" space. Still, we thought that the earliest we would consider selling/moving would be in two years - after we've had time to get back on our feet following TMOTH's illness but before Sissy starts middle school.

And then a little less than a month ago we got a phone call from TMOTH's parents. A friend of the family's elderly mother just passed away. The family needs to sell the house that they've occupied since the mid-1960s, but want to make sure it goes to a nice family - and preferably one that they know. We got some details on the house: 1930s bungalow, four bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, larger backyard. And it's one one and a half blocks from TMOTH's parents (that's a good thing).

So we went and took a tour.

The house is great. There's some fixing-up involved (the last time it was cosmetically renovated was during the U.S. bicentennial), but nothing that would scare us away. It meets all of the items on our "future house" list - both the necessities (bedroom for each girl, at least two full bathrooms) as well was the wants (crafting room, family room, wood-burning fireplace). And since the family still needs to empty the house and doesn't have an interested in doing a bunch of work before selling it, they're willing to deal a bit and drag their feet for a few extra months.

But that means we have to get our house on the market and sold.

In the worst housing market since...well...I don't know when.

We met with a realtor on Friday (also a friend of the family) who was very encouraging about selling the house (and not just because it would be her commission). Of course, now we have a punch list of must-do's with a deadline.

All the while the tomatoes are turning red, the beans are setting on and the canner sits on its shelf, waiting.

Goodness, gracious.

We're a bit overwhelmed.

--Rational Mama

The Opposite of Prepared

During our year of living on World War II civilian rations certain foods and behaviors are restricted. It also means that some behaviors, such as walking to destinations and gardening are encouraged. Another example of this is in regards to emergency preparedness; during WW II the U.S. Civilian Defense Corp organized approximately 10 million civilian volunteers who were trained to fight fires, decontaminate after chemical weapon attacks, and provide first aid and other emergency services.

“Be prepared” is the time-honored motto of the Boy Scouts but, unfortunately, it’s a bit of a cliche. In today’s jaded society it’s easy to be skeptical of the need to be prepared. In the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks a public campaign promoted emergency preparedness; every family was encouraged to have enough non-perishable food and water (and duct tape and plastic sheeting) on hand to last through a multi-day emergency situation.

Did you do it?

If you’re like most Americans you purchased a few extra cans of tuna and a spare flashlight, but that was the extent of your emergency preparedness. There was a time when the Rational Living household had a two week stash of food and supplies kept in a watertight container in the basement. Around the first of the year I would rotate out supplies, restock flashlight batteries, sizes of diapers, etc. so that we were prepared for whatever misfortune came our way.

Living in Kansas, the most likely misfortune to hit us would be a winter storm or, that classic Kansas icon, a tornado. We have a weather radio and on the nights were it appeared a trip down to the basement would be necessary we lined up shoes, blankets, and such to grab if a tornado warning was issued.

That was then, this was now.


Now, our emergency supplies are sorely neglected. This became painfully obvious last week when, after hardly a tornado warning for our city in several years, the weather radio went off at 11:00pm with a sudden and unexpected tornado warning! Granted, it was raining, but we weren't even under a tornado watch.


TMOTH and I jumped up out of bed, woke up the girls and corralled all (including the pets) into the basement. There were no shoes, no blankets. There was only one flashlight with batteries; all the others were either missing batteries, had dead batteries, or were buried deep in the camping supplies. The hand-crank radio was lost somewhere in the old emergency supply box where (goodness gracious) I found some diapers.

Our girls our 7.5 yrs and 9.5 yrs old (yes, I have to put the half in there or they will disown me). The diapers served as a stark reminder that we have not been on the up-and-up when it has come to maintaining our emergency preparedness supplies.

Unfortunately, it CAN be too late to be prepared, and there's lots of reasons to be prepared that are statistically more likely than a red alert level on the Homeland Security Advisory System.

Flooding, winter storm, tornado, fire, contamination of public water supplies, pandemic, hazardous materials spill, and sudden unemployment are just a few.

So what do we need to do? Well, there’s various levels of preparedness, and different locations to consider. Ideally, we should have a grab-and-go emergency bag for situations that require short-term relocation, a stockpile of food and supplies for an emergency of longer duration (at least two weeks or so), and a seasonally-appropriate emergency kit in each automobile.

We've got a long way to go.

I've asked TMOTH to chair this particular task, so he'll get to spend the next few weeks perusing the various websites and blogs that talk about general preparedness, good things to know for when SHTF (the Sh*t Hits the Fan) happens and ponderings about TEOTWAWKI (The End of the World as We Know It). I have no doubt he will enjoy this task.

In the meantime, I'm adding a few no-battery flashlights to this week's shopping list, and am gonna make sure that the hand-crank radio is out and accessible.

Are you prepared, dear reader?

--Rational Mama

Daddy's War

Memorial Day is meant to be a time of reflection and gratitude for those who have served our country. Originally known as Decoration Day, this holiday was a time for the nation to honor those who died in military service and to all that had served in the military.

As I read the newspapers from summer 1943 I can't help but imagine how much significance Decoration Day must have had that year as so many Americans were oversees, fighting the Axis in so many places across the globe. Each page of the paper contains a war story, a photo of a local soldier, or store ads promoting Decoration Day sales (some things haven't changed).

Additionally, the papers are thick with articles and op-ed pieces regarding the ever-expanding draft. Draft registration during WWII occurred in several waves:

• October 16, 1940 - all men 21-31 years residing in the U.S. (native born, naturalized, or alien).
• July 1, 1941 - men who reached age 21 since the first registration.
• February 16, 1942 - men 20-21 and 35-44 years of age.
• April 27, 1942 - Men 45-64 years of age. Not liable for military service.
• June 30, 1942 - Men 18-20 years of age.
• December 10-31, 1942 - Men who reached the age of 18 since the previous registration.

In general, men between the ages of 18 and 35 comprised the bulk of the early draft. Specifically, men between the ages of 18 and 35 who were not fathers comprised the bulk of the early draft. As the war intensified and military presence spread between multiply theaters of war more soldiers were needed to fight the good fight.

In June 1943 there was clear pressure from some circles to begin enlisting fathers, as evidenced by the newspaper articles I've read. Fathers were still an important source of income for civilian families, and provided significant labor for a war industrial complex that couldn't find enough workers. Still, a soldier was a soldier, and some claimed that the soldiers that were fathers would fighter harder because they had so much to protect back home.

For our own quasi-1940's experience, TMOTH would have participated in the Feb 16, 1942 registration (he's currently 36, edging towards 37). His fatherly status would have protected him so far, which is why for our experiment he is at home, working in the modern equivalent of wartime industrial job.

In our 2010 reality, though, I read those letters from 1943 wives concerned about their husbands' futures, worried that their children might grow up without their fathers...and I connect with those letters in a painful and intimate way.

You see, TMOTH has been through a war. Not the "traditional" military engagement that Decoration Day was originally meant to honor. In April of 2006 TMOTH was diagnosed with stage IIIB Hodgkin's Lymphoma. While Hodgkin's Lymphoma is generally considered a "good" cancer (i.e. high cure rate), the following six months of chemo he endured were harsh by most survivors' standards. Chemo is scary. All the things you take for granted about your body - eating, sleeping, memory - are affected.

After a clean PET scan in September 2006 he was officially in initial remission. The next few months were a time of healing and welcoming back a loved who had been not quite present/not quite gone for half a year. Unfortunately, a routine PET scan in February 2007 showed that the cancer had returned.

If his previous chemo was boot camp, then this was war. Another month of even more intense chemo followed in preparation for a stem-cell transplant. Informed-consent papers were signed, acknowledging that the treatment induced mortality rate was somewhere near 25-30%. He knew, we all knew, that there was a chance that he wouldn't survive the transplant, let alone the cancer. Chemo tries to kill the cancer before it kills you; a stem cell transplant aims to kill a significant part of you (your bone marrow and your ability to produce new red and white blood cells) without causing your death as a side effect.

It is war.

But rather than global networks and intercontinental missiles this is a war on an individual (or family-sized) level. There is a strategy, an attack and counter-attack. There are whispered conversations, horrible twists of fate, random acts of grace, poisons, scar tissue, and lost time. There are extended times apart and moments when the phone rings in the middle of the night and you fear it's "the call." Periods of time spent praying that he will come back, and wondering if it will ever be the same if he does.

TMOTH survived his transplant and as of his check-up last week is still free of any detectable cancer. As important as they are, I hate check-up weeks - the waiting and imagining of the worst are miserable ways to pass the time. It brings the war back, and the fear he may have to go through it all again.

And so I sympathize with the women who wrote pleading letters to Roosevelt in 1943, begging that their husbands not be drafted into the war. I've made my own similar plea to higher powers.

This Memorial Day I quietly thanked all those who have and will continue to serve this country (along with their families), and I said a little prayer for those fighting their own, more intimate battles.

I am so grateful and proud of the soldiers of my country, and the soldier of my house.

--Rational Mama

Mother's Day at the (Plant) Farm

Since the girls were little we've had a Mother's Day tradition of heading out to Henry's Plant Farm for an afternoon of flowers, vegetables and fresh country air. This year was no exception, even if the weather was overcast and cool and the trip took some of our surplus gasoline. It's always worth it.

There's so much to do and see at Henry's. When you first arrive you will most likely be greeted by one of the free-roaming peacocks, who will eye you suspiciously and decide if your vehicle would make a good perch. Then, it's off to the trails and gardens.
Henry's has wonderful garden paths to explore. The peacock might even follow you if he thinks you're up to no good.
And don't forget to stop at the pretty rock pond filled with Koi fish.

After the trails it's time to get your wagon! Of course, wagons are good for pulling sisters AND plants.










Then you can start visiting the hoop-houses, one by one. There's a hoop-house for sun-loving annuals.



And, of course, there's a kitty in there that you must pet.











And then look at more annuals.

Don't worry, kitty is still following you.

There's a corn crib and cornstalk pony for the kids. But sometimes the corn attacks!





Which means Mommy must come to the rescue!
Then it's on to the vegetable and herb hoop house.
With such a large variety (including heirlooms) your empty wagon starts to look like this:




And there's still the shade-loving annuals to get to! You might even find something for the mister.






And once you've filled two wagons...
...you can go pet the goat and donkeys!



And if the donkey starts eating your shirt, the girls will come to your rescue.

Or not.


After you've paid (a very reasonable sum) and loaded up your purchases, don't forget to check out one more area...

The Whomping Willow and the pond beyond.
















Which leads to the obligatory stick-throwing and pestering of the geese.





But then it's finally time to go home and leave the kitty and the flowers and the donkeys and the willow and the pond behind.

But you still get to take your memories.
--Rational Mama

Eating Out and Filling Up (with Guilt)

Remember waaaay back at the beginning of the Rational Living year when all the household members predicted that the self-imposed limitations on eating out would be the hardest part? And then in February I blogged this entry:

We are all surprised at how manageable the transition to reduced restaurant visitation has been.

It was like we were some bad-ass non-eating out ninjas who could quickly and silently whip up an easy dinner in the chaos of the day. Only a half-hour to eat between getting home and piano lessons? No problem! Running errands that conflict with lunch time? Just grab some snacks to tide us over until we eat a real meal at home.

Yeah, that was so February.

In the past few weeks we've definitely been experiencing a backslide in this category. An extra dinner out. Grabbing a quick sandwich while out shopping (who can resist the $5 foot-long with that catchy song?). And I was beginning to feel guilty about this slide, because we originally planned to reduce our allotted rationing points on the weeks we went out and because I'm very quick to feel guilt (seriously, it's amazing I'm not more religious with how quickly I can feel at blame even if I'm not).

We had decided to reduce our ration points during eating-out weeks because I had read in several sources general comments about how during WWII rationing consumers had to turn over ration points for meals eaten in restaurants. This made sense, since eating in restaurants would be an easy way to supplement rationing if points weren't involved.

So I did a little more research to see just how justified my guilt was for our recent transgressions. I had a hard time finding any specific information until I found this little gem. It's an article from the May 5, 1943 Wichita Eagle entitled, "Persons Eating Regularly At Cafes, Institutions, Must Pay Ration Points." Finally! Here was a historical source that would accurately admonish our current behavior and set us on a straight and righteous path when it comes to eating out during the rationing year!

The article clearly concludes:

OPA regulations state that all persons who consume eight or more meals a week in a restaurant, hotel dining room, hospital or institution which has registered as an institutional user of processed food, meat, and fats, shall surrender their ration books to the owner or operator of such places of business, and stamps will be removed by the management for the periods which stamps are currently valid. The books in turn will be turned back to their owners at the expiration of the period which the persons are receiving meals in such institutions. [bold added]

What? What? What? Eight or more meals a week? What? Seriously? You don't have to surrender ration points unless your eating eight or more meals out a week? I don't think I've ever eaten eight times out in a one week period, in my whole life!

Oh hell. Let me tell you, dear reader, that that foot-long sandwich is gonna taste a whole lot better without the extra side of guilt.

--Rational Mama

A Bumpy Day

Yesterday had a few bumps to it, it seems.

First, we had an early morning emergency jump start of one of the vehicles. Apparently, in the hustle and bustle of checking the weekly mileage on the vehicles the night before I left the keys in the ignition and in the "accessories" position (yes, you may sent a Homer-like "D'oh!" my way). Luckily, I did this in the vehicle in the garage and NOT the one in the alley (otherwise, this could have been a much bigger bump in the day). Early morning jump starts while you're trying to get to work on time are no fun.

Second, Eowyn's been home sick for a few days with a fever and sore throat. It's no fun for anyone to have a puny little one in the house, especially one with huge brown eyes (and she knows how to use them).

Also, the oven range was repaired. Apparently the computer unit and digital oven display were shot and were replaced to the tune of $271.00. Cheaper than buying a new oven? Yes. But it still hurts. And I still blame the liver.

And speaking of hurts, I had my regular blood donation appointment (how very "Greatest Generation" of me) yesterday after work. For the first time in ages they had real trouble finding a vein and ended up poking me in both arms. Actually, "poking" isn't the most accurate term - probably "harpooning" would be more appropriate, as evidenced by the nice-sized bruises on both arms this morning. But those obligatory Nutter Butters they push on you after you donate were sure delicious.

I'm home with a recovering Eowyn today while TMOTH helps out with Sissy's class - they have an all-day field trip. I think I might have the better end of that deal, since so far Eowyn's in pretty good spirits and there is no sign of the fever yet.

Maybe we can sneak out into the backyard and soak up some of this delicious sunshine with which we've been blessed. This time of year I can often be found in the backyard, staring at the garden and scratching my head, mentally planning what will go where.

The peas should be in the ground before month's end! Better get cracking!

Hope everyone is having a nice spring day.

--Rational Mama

(Kinda) Historic Recipe: Crisp Lemon Liver

Friends, it was liver night tonight at the Rational Living homestead.

Liver was a frequent wartime meal because liver and other "organ meats" could be purchased with fewer ration points as compared to other traditional cuts of meat.

I tried to prepare as best as I could for tonight. I searched RecipeZaar.com (my favorite recipe site) for a highly-rated liver recipe. I found one that was ration-friendly and had numerous comments along the lines of "my kids never eat liver and they ate it right up!"

I went to the store, looking for nice, fresh calf liver, as described in the recipe. Apparently, however, in our town if you want fresh calf liver you have to go to the butcher's shop which would be about 11 miles round-trip. Ever sensitive to the mileage allotment (and being somewhat lazy) I settled for the generically labeled "beef liver" available in our local grocer's freezer section. In the back of my mind I thought it a bad sign that they didn't keep fresh liver on hand because, in my rationale, if liver is good enough that normal people eat it then the meat department at the local grocer should at least keep a tiny amount of fresh calf liver on hand to appease those loyal patrons.

But, no.

So I brought home a one pound package of frozen, sliced beef liver. And in it's sterile, firm packaging the staggered slices look quite benign.

TMOTH and I talked about the approaching liver night after the girls went to bed. I have no specific memory of eating liver as a kid and I know I've never eaten it past the age of, say, ten. TMOTH was raised with the occasional liver and onions dinner. Now, there are two things that, after nearly 16 years together, I know never to offer TMOTH: any form of olive and/or gratuitous amounts of onions. So, when TMOTH shared his memories of the horrible taste of liver and wrinkled his face in sincere grimaces of disgust I thought that maybe some of his disdain for liver had to do more with the onions rather than the meat itself. He assured me otherwise but promised to take one bite of the prepared liver since we have a one-bite policy in the house. And we both agreed to not tell the girls what the meat was until they, too, had had their one bite (so as to not prejudice their opinions).

When I arrived home tonight I grabbed the package of liver out of the refrigerator. No longer frozen, the package had turned into a bright red, bloody, squishy mass. Very squishy. I soon learned that thawed, sliced beef liver has the consistency of wet tissue paper and also attracts the family dog. I grimaced as I cut the liver in to slices for the recipe, but was optimistic since I couldn't detect any noticeable foul odor from the meat.

The recipe was quite simple and the liver cooked up in a flash. I was surprised that the odor wasn't too bad. I asked TMOTH (diplomatically making himself scarce) if the odor was bothering him in the adjacent room and he replied that it was pretty manageable. I started to get excited - could this be a victory meal?

After preparation, this is what the meal looked like:



I was hopeful; it had a sort of stir-fried, mini-chicken-fried-steak thing going and was drizzled with a lemony-bacon sauce. One the side? A generous pot of saffron rice and canned pears.

Sissy, ever the enthusiastic carnivore, took the first bite. She quickly spit it back out, saying it was too lemony and tasted a little strange. The piece of liver spent such a short time in her mouth I was doubtful if she really got the full flavor.

Eowyn, always a bit more reserved around meat, fondled a piece of liver in her mouth and then spit it out. Party pooper.

TMOTH was next. Like a champion he put an honest bite into his mouth and began to chew. After two chews his eyes became all squinty. After three chews his mouth was grimacing, apparently in a wrestling match with his mind. On the fourth chew the mind won and out came the (thoroughly chewed) liver.

Friends, I feel like I should tell you that chewed, cooked liver looks like cat-sick (as the author of On the Ration might say).

I was the only one left. Talk about peer pressure. I was ready to prove them all wrong. I put a good nickle-sized piece of liver in my mouth. I was pleasantly surprised by the texture; the wet tissue paper had been replaced by a tender meat, very similar to chicken fried steak. Another bite and I could taste the lemony-bacon sauce. Salty and tangy at the same time. Mmm... This wasn't bad at all. With the third bite I committed to the chewing - this piece was awesome and was going to make it all the way down unlike the other losers at the table. Four chews. Five chews. What a bunch of pansies, they couldn't keep the liver in their mouths for more than

OH MY HELL, WHAT IS THAT TASTE?

Why does it taste like burning plastic in my mouth? Did a chewing-activated enzyme just turn my piece of food into motor oil? What the hell is going on?

Friends, my piece of liver became reacquainted with my plate.

And then we all looked at each other around the table.

I think the rest of the family was a little proud of me. I think they would have been worried if I actually liked the liver. TMOTH said for the first several of my chews he thought I was really going to make it and be able to swallow that piece of liver.

Sissy sympathized with me, saying "I understand. At one point I had this thought that if I swallowed it I would chuck it right back up."

Eowyn quietly kept to her rice and pears.

Friends, I'd like to tell you that this will be the one and only "organ meat" recipe attempted during rationing year, but I'd be lying.

You see, I promised TMOTH that in exchange for his honest try at liver we could try a heart or tongue recipe in the future.

The best laid plans of mice and men...

--Rational Mama

Rational Living Cast of Characters

Happy holidays from the Rational Living household! Since rationing begins tomorrow (eeek!), we thought we would formally introduce you to the Rational Living family. Here goes!

Rational Mama - Main author of the Rational Living blog. History nut, sci-fi geek, avid vegetable gardener and foodie. Has a history of establishing (and eventually ending) challenging relationships with food (kosher, vegetarian, no dairy, local...). Serves as main researcher for the rationing project. Predicts the hardest part of the rationing year will be unsatisfied food cravings.






The Man of the House (TMOTH) - Reader, philosopher, nerd, and even-tempered goofball. An all-or-nothing kind of guy. Guest author and moral compass for Rational Living. Predicts the hardest part of the rationing year will be explaining why we've chosen this project.







Sissy - Oldest of the two Rational Living children. Book reader, piano player and all-around animal lover. Pickier of the two kids when it comes to food. Predicts the hardest part of the rationing year will be the reduced sugar intake (she has a serious sweet tooth).





Eowyn - Youngest of the two Rational Living children. Family clown, movie watcher, and lover of pets (her current wish is to have a pet hamster). Rather adventuresome with her food choices. Predicts the hardest part of the rationing year will be going out to eat only once a month.





So that's the Rational Living family. Hope you and your family are enjoying this beautiful (and blizzardy) season!

--Rational Mama