Author: Edie Olson

Painter, singer, seamstress, upholsterer, jewelry maker. I am kind, I am smart, I am important. I'm married with children and dogs. I go to church on Sundays, and a couple of other days during the week. I am a good cook, but I don't really don't like potlucks. 'I Love Lucy' will always be my favorite TV show. The car I drive is almost 50 years old. I work as a dresser for a couple of theater companies in the Bay Area. I enjoy finding the good in others and hope that as I pass through, I can leave a positive impression on those I happen to meet.

saturdays.

~ Edie Olson ~ Leave a comment

Saturday mornings when I was growing up meant house work. Mom would put on the music and like Pavlov’s dog we’d get going. But instead of salivating for a treat, we were wound up for slave labor.

“Vacuum first, then dust!”, “Dust first, then vacuum!” To this day I’m unsure of Mom’s rule as it seemed, no matter which step I took, it was wrong.

If she found a poorly cleaned dish in the cupboard, my sister and I were tasked with emptying the cupboards and rewashing EVERYTHING! I later learned this tactic was used on my two older siblings. However, in the retelling of their story, they shared a secret. They would remove all the dishes, rewash a few of them, then re-stack the rest slightly different to give the illusion all the dishes had been cleaned. Robin and I were not that clever. We’d complain about Mom, bicker at each other and clean the stupid dishes.

Mom was a drill sergeant, but that probably wasn’t a bad thing because the smell of clean; ammonia, bleach and Pine Sol, bring a smile to my face.

The “Saturday-morning clean-up music”, as I called it, is actually Jazz. I prefer the pieces with lyrics, ’cause I like to sing along. It’s my favorite music and I’m pretty sure that is because the “Drill Sergeant” introduced it to me.

The drill sergeant gene isn’t in me. So the connection to Saturday mornings and cleaning doesn’t exist in my family. I think they laughed when I tried to introduce the concept.

Saturday mornings are still filled with the music as Jazz plays through our speakers. I also listen for the sound of my neighbor’s water fountain. I hear leaves rustle through the trees and there are barking dogs as well as noise from lawn mowers in the distance.

Brian usually makes coffee, and cuts up fruit for a salad. We sit at the table, reading news from our phones. I might prepare biscuits or bacon and eggs or potatoes or something that helps empty the fridge.

The floor isn’t mopped routinely, but when it is, there’s the smell of ammonia or pine sol, that makes everything alright.

stating the obvious.

~ Edie Olson ~ 1 Comment

Don’tcha just love those people who state the obvious?!! That’s me. I’m HER!! I’m the person that gushes “Wow, your eyes are green!” or, “Ooh, you have dimples!”.

I just heard myself to the young girl with the red hair (I’m sure she already knew the color of her hair 🙄). She grinned. Her dad said, “she always gets the attention”.

I kinda don’t want to, but some may find offense so, I apologize if I cause any.

“Wow, you’re a red head!” in my mind means, I love your red hair! It’s lovely! It’s my favorite!

I love freckles. I have freckles, so I always tell people with freckles, they “have freckles”. Duh!! I do the same to beholders of dimples or those with a gap in the middle of their smile. Marks of beauty imho. Do I need to point them out, probably not?? I dunno.

Recently I was told of a young boy who once too often heard adults tell him how “pretty” his long curly eyelashes were. Thinking “pretty eyelashes” belonged on girls, he went to the bathroom and cut his off. Red lights shine brightly at the thought of a little kid with scissors so close to the eye. Fortunately, it’s a story told with humor as he grew into an adult with pretty eyelashes.

My children and husband walk a few paces ahead of (or behind) me. I figure this is to offer the pre or post apology. “Please don’t mind my mom”.

I will remark on the color or pattern of someone’s shirt, tie, dress or socks. I hear music in people’s voices. I hear authenticity in an accent. My curiosity holds no sinister veil. I simply find excitment in the individuality, or joy in the shared traits. It’s all just threads in this tapestry of life. My comments are my awkward way of saying “hello”, starting a conversation or telling someone I see them. I see their worth.

When I was fourteen, the owner of the little market where I bought my after school snack of orange soda and Almond Joy (🤢) told me, it was always nice when I entered his store because I always greeted him with a lovely smile. One time when I was in the store, he suggested I enter the “Miss Teenage America” contest. He gave me the paperwork which I filled out at home with my mom.

The talent portion of the application was the challenge. I decided I would sing and dance (even though I’d never sung or danced in front of anyone). My mom laughed at the thought and suggested I share my artwork. I filled in “sing and dance”. Turned out it wasn’t a problem as I didn’t make it far enough in the contest for it to matter.

The steps it took to participate in that contest from self evaluation to being interviewed, then celebrating the accomplishments of others were new and memorable experiences I’ve been able to take with me throughout my life.

I never forgot the kind spirit in which that man complimented me. I think things like that go a long way.

I paint dogs.

~ Edie Olson ~ 4 Comments

Well, I don’t paint the dogs, I paint pictures of dogs.

I was six or seven when I saw an advertisement for a drawing contest in the back of the TV guide. A cartoon-like sketch of a dog was the subject aspiring artists were encouraged to copy and then mail in for evaluation. The prize-perhaps it was a monetary award and/or the promise of entry into art school or maybe a lifetime supply of bubblegum! I don’t remember, but I was excited to have successfully copied the drawing. I showed my work to my ever encouraging big brother and he said, at the very least, I would receive a certificate. So, we mailed in my drawing.

I never heard from those contest people, not even to get a funky little certificate.

In the years following, whenever I came across a similar advertisement for an art contest I ignored it. Even when the cartoon-like dog was replaced by a horse, I simply turned the page …

Fortunately the contest experience didn’t squash my desire to draw. Drawing came so easily, I thought it was something everyone could do.

I went to school and became a graphic artist. I worked with printers designing custom invitations and business cards. I loved the challenge of creating illustrations that worked best in black and white and believed that the success of a logo design comes before adding color (I still do).

I had secret admiration for painters. Secret, because I didn’t understand the depth of my feelings. When I saw someone’s work or met someone who was a painter I’d think “that’s so cool”, but I never thought of it as something I could do. Graphite was my medium and I was okay with it. I didn’t recognize my own desire to paint until one summer about 15 years ago.

I was in a hotel lobby in St. Louis, Missouri reading an article about a computer graphic artist that grew to hate his career. “The computer robbed me”, he said, and I knew exactly what he meant. He chose to go back to something he once loved, painting. He changed directions, beginning a new career of hand painting signage on business fronts throughout St. Louis.

While reading that article, I was reminded of High School and my Home Economics class where I had to create a household budget based on a made up career. My career of choice was a sign painter.

I was inspired.

When I returned from that trip, I enrolled in a beginner painting class at an art school in Oakland. After a few semesters, I was encouraged by my instructor to join a small group of women who painted together on Friday mornings. I have been painting with these women, ever since.

Friday morning painters. It has been 15 years since I joined the group. A couple of the women have painted together over 25 years, some came after me, and a few (not pictured) have moved on to other adventures. Overall, it’s a solid group of talented ladies, who support, encourage and love each other.

I also paint cats, and people. Well, I don’t paint the cats …

The 59

~ Edie Olson ~ Leave a comment

We have a few rosemary bushes on the side yard, they are fragrant, overgrown and in need of attention. As I stood next to the unseemly bushes, clippers in hand, I remembered I needed to create a drink to mark my upcoming birthday – I decided to use rosemary!

Unfortunately, my need of rosemary in cooking didn’t make a visible difference in the tidying of my yard, and the creation of The Fifty-Nine became my new distraction.

Simple Syrup. 2 to 1. Two parts sugar, 1 part water. Bring it to a boil stirring constantly until the sugar dissolves, is a traditional recipe for simple syrup.

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Instead of plain water, I made a “tea” with the rosemary. After cleaning, remove the leaves from 10 or 15 stems, drop them into a pot of water to boil. Once boiled, let it steep for about 10 minutes. Using a strainer to remove the leaves, measure out a cup of this “tea”. Add one cup of white sugar and one cup of  brown sugar to the cup of Rosemary Tea to a pot over medium heat. Once the liquid boils and the sugar dissolves, you have Rosemary Simple Syrup. I also dropped in a few more fresh stems of rosemary to the pot for added flavor.

The 59.

1/2 oz. Rosemary Simple Syrup

1 1/2 oz vodka

1/2 oz. lemon-lime juice

Over ice cubes in shaker, shake well. Strain into cocktail glass. Top with 1-2 ounces of Prosecco. Garnish with lemon or lime peel and a sprig of rosemary.

Variations:  a) Substitute vodka with gin.  b) Substitute Prosecco with sparkling water.

Serve in a chilled glass or on the rocks.

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Happy Birthday!

Straight White Male.

~ Edie Olson ~ 2 Comments

PrintPRIDE week. Sitting in a coffee shop, I overheard part of a conversation from the table next to me, “When is MY day? I wanna know, when will there be a day for me, a straight white male. When will there be a day to celebrate me?!!!” Shocked, stunned and disgusted, I gathered my things and removed myself from the situation. At that particular moment, a response from me would not have been pleasant.

One Mother’s Day many years ago, as we were getting ready for church, I asked my mom, ‘’Why isn’t there a Children’s Day?” My mom answered, “Everyday is Children’s Day.” I nodded as if I understood.

Today I nod, because I do understand.

As children we assumed the world would take care of us, and for the most part, it did.  Adults looked after us, fed us, dressed us, protected us and provided a place to lay our heads. Television programs were designed for us. Family vacations were planned with our schedule and our enjoyment in mind. The world revolved around us, and everyday was “Children’s Day”.

Mother’s Day and Father’s Day are days set aside to remind us (children) that someone else (Mom, Dads and other adults) are out there working to make life comfortable, and safe for children.  They are days set aside for children to take a moment and say, Yes, you ARE an important part of my world and you help make me who I am. I honor and respect you as you have honored and respected me.

So… Dear Straight White Male, I say to you, everyday is Straight White Male Day!

Pride Week, Black History Month, Native American Month are special days set aside to acknowledge someone other than the Straight White Male, but they are days created for your benefit, for you to look closely at those who are not like you.

These special non ‘Straight White Male Days’ give you a chance to examine your privilege, your entitlement, your history, your place in this world. It’s a time for you to recognize the role diversity played in making you YOU! You can acknowledge the other people who struggled to make life work in a world that did not value their existence.

Consider the non-‘Straight White Male Days’ a time to renew your spirit and give honor and respect to those who have done the same for you throughout history.

Reflect and give thanks, we all have reason to celebrate.

Happy Pride.

 

The 57.

~ Edie Olson ~ Leave a comment

Version 2

When your birthday falls on a Saturday, what better way to celebrate than a good old fashioned house party with friends, music and a drink created just for the occasion.

 

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The 57. A Watermelon Martini:
Juice from half a lime
1 mint leaf
1/2 oz. of Monin Watermelon Syrup
Ice cubes
1-2 oz Hangar 1 Vodka
1-2 oz seltzer water
Mint leaf for garnish

Muddle the lime juice, mint leaf and watermelon syrup in the bottom of a shaker. Add ice cubes, vodka and seltzer water. Gently shake, then strain into Martini glass. Garnish with mint leaf.

Fun Times!

 

caramelized butter, cauliflower and tomato raisins.

~ Edie Olson ~ Leave a comment

brown butter.

I came across  a recipe for “brown butter” that was to be drizzled over mashed potatoes. Directions for the butter were simple; slowly heat butter in a pan, the butter will melt, then separate, creating a white “foam” on top.  The white foam will gradually fade and brown bits will appear at the bottom of the pan.

Once you see the brown bits, remove the pan from heat. The butter will have a hint of caramel to it’s scent as well as it’s taste.

This carmelized butter makes everything extra special. I use in the making of omelettes, on pancakes, veggies, pasta, meat, fish, etc. It makes me feel as though I’ve learned the secret to gourmet cooking.

 

cauliflower.

Something I started this year is substituting mashed cauliflower in place of mashed potatoes. I steam the cauliflower in chicken broth (beef broth or vegetable broth). Once tender, I mash it and add bits of sautéed garlic. For those who don’t mind the extra fat, I recommend adding a little cream. This tastes great with the caramelized butter drizzled on top.

 

tomato raisins.

A few articles ago, I wrote about slow roasting tomatoes. I’ve experimented a bit more  with the grape tomatoes by roasting them in an oven set at 200F degrees for 5 hours. The tomatoes will shrivel up looking like red raisins.

After removing them from the oven, the tomatoes can be salted, or sprinkled with parmesan cheese. They are filled with a burst tomato flavor and a the sweet tartness of sun dried tomatoes.

The batch of tomatoes shown in the photo are topped with garlic that was quickly fried in olive oil. This process, gives the garlic a chewy candy-like texture. The olive oil, flavored from the garlic, is poured over the tomatoes and refrigerated. I serve them cold or hot, tossed in pasta or in scrambled eggs or in a sandwich of tomatoes and cheddar cheese on sourdough. Yum!

 

 

Words of Wisdom from Walnut Creek.

~ Edie Olson ~ 1 Comment

rainydayThe owner of the really cool green linen jacket that hung in the lifeless cubicle, finally returned to the office. I noticed the jacket when I began working a few weeks earlier. It was simple in it’s design, however, it was the unique color that attracted my attention. I wondered why the jacket was left to collect dust all those weeks. Perhaps it was meant to be a decoy in case the “boss” walked by, giving illusion that this person was at work, but simply away from his desk?

Brian, the owner of the jacket was an engineer who had been working in Lisbon collecting data that was to be included on a map my department was creating.

While we listened to music from a portable CD player, Brian would list off the longitude and latitude points where cell sites were located. I would find the points on the big gigantic map and stick on little yellow dots to represent the cell sites. For hours that turned into days, I would place yellow dots on the big gigantic map. The map would later be photographed, reduced, and finally used in a presentation that offered cellular phone services to the country of Portugal.

Before moving to the Bay Area from Southern California, I went back to school to hone my  graphic design skills and learn the computer just so I could get a job where I stuck yellow dots on a gigantic map.

groceriesBrian worked for the international side of the company and would travel often, sometimes for weeks at a time. When he was in Rome (having his pocket picked while giving directions to Bocca della Verità), it was his birthday and his mother arranged to have a chocolate cake delivered to his hotel room. I remember thinking how nice it was to have care packages and such while on these assignments. Kinda like being away at summer camp or in the dorm at college and grandparents would write and send the occasional treat to make you feel special.

I agreed to collect Brian’s mail from his apartment and send it to him through the inter office transfer system while he was away. Along with the mail I would include a personal “greeting card” that was printed from the computer. I’d create an illustration with a simple phrase that said hello. My own little Hallmark ; I called them “Words of Wisdom from Walnut Creek”.
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I remember printing one of the illustrations. It still needed a little tweaking, so I left that first version on the desk of one of the assistants. The next morning, the assistant saw my illustration and asked if I could print another copy because she wanted to give it to a friend. No problem. From that point on, I began making multiple copies of my “Words of Wisdom” which were being pinned up in cubicles throughout the office. I printed them weekly and it became a cheery little way to wish everyone a happy day.

I never considered myself an illustrator, but creating these helped me develop a style by scanning my doodles and tracing them in Adobe Illustrator. I’d thought of starting a line of greeting cards, but… well…. uh….

I’d borrow phrases I read somewhere and create an illustration to go with it or I’d use my own wit and wisdom to come up with a something. Sometimes I’d take a quote from the Bible and the illustration would be used for the cover of our church bulletin.

On the top floor of our building, the Executive Offices, there was a rotating art gallery. It was run by a gallery owner in San Francisco that brought in works from artist sall over the world. At one point the employees were given opportunity to display their own work. I printed a couple of my “Words of Wisdom” in a large format and they were used in that exhibit.

Recently I rearranged furniture, got rid of some “junk” and moved things into what used to be my son’s room to create a nice working space for me and my many projects. In a box I found some old Zip Drives the copies of my “Words of Wisdom”. I decided to update the files and save them into a more current format. A walk down a digital memory lane.

These files are nearly 25 years old. Brian and I have been married 22 years years ago. Time flies.

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Insomnia and Butter.

~ Edie Olson ~ 1 Comment

 

Insomnia.

In the wee small hours of the morning I found myself watching a Jacques Pepin cooking show. He shared a memory of eating toast with homemade butter in his grandmother’s kitchen. Jacques’ own granddaughter, Shorey was on this particular episode helping him in the kitchen. He gave the granddaughter a small jelly jar filled halfway with cream. He put a lid on the jar and told her to shake it continuously. He then went on to show his television audience how to make butter using a food processor.

While demonstrating and giving culinary words of wisdom, he’d check on Shorey to make sure she was still shaking her jar. After about ten minutes, he asked the girl to remove the lid and show us her cream that had now become a small clump of butter sitting in a pool of buttermilk!

Butter.

I made butter! I have a food processor, but I chose the jelly jar method, and it worked. It took about the same amount of time it takes to prepare a pot of tea. I spread some of my homemade butter on a couple of pieces toast and topped it with marmalade. It was delicious! I look forward to sharing this process with my grandniece and nephew the next time they visit.

My dad used to drink buttermilk and as a little girl I’d turn up my nose watching him drink the stuff. I remembered it as tasting sour and yucky, but the by-product of this homemade butter (that I made) was slightly sweet and enjoyable. Who’d da thunk?

 

Directions:
•   Fill a small jar about half full of cream. Put a lid on it and shake continuously 10-15 minutes or until the contents separate.

•  Pour the “buttermilk” into a small glass and drink it, or use it for buttermilk pancakes.

•  Place the ball of butter on a cheese cloth, or paper towel and blot out the excess liquid.

•  Add salt if desired. Refrigerate.

 

 

Lost and Found.

~ Edie Olson ~ 5 Comments

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The Phone.

Hanging out with my sisters and our mother one Thanksgiving weekend, we walked into a casino. I threw $60 dollars at a slot machine, it caught it, and five minutes later, I was ready to go home.  My mom was seated at a machine dropping in nickels one at a time and getting a return in multiples with each push of the button. I hovered around her and grunted until she reached into her fanny pack, pulled out a twenty and said, “bring me back ten.” Okay!!! Somebody else’s money!

Two seconds later, with $400 in my hand, I found my mom again. “What time is it?” she asked. “We’ve been here 5 minutes and 2 seconds, I’m $330, dollars ahead, it’s time to go!” I reached for my phone intending to touch base with my sisters but couldn’t find it. It probably fell from my lap when I got up from that last slot machine! I retraced my steps but the phone wasn’t anywhere in sight.

The remainder of the day circled around the use of the ‘Find My iPhone‘ app. My husband joined us at the casino as the iPhone app was new to me, and it’s capabilities came across with conflicting results through tales from my sisters.

The adventure filled our hours. Like treasure hunters deciphering a map, we ended up at a convenience store near the casino where a grey bearded man dressed in a black Members Only knock-off was holding my beeping phone in his pocket. With noisy slot machines in the background, the police (who just happened to be there) and a mall cop swooped in and confiscated my property. After all was said and done, I heard one officer say, “That was cool, I’m gonna have to get that iPhone app!”

 

The Keys.

A couple of months ago, I unlocked the door, walked in the house, set the keys down, went to my easel and started painting. Less than 10 minutes later, my husband asked for the keys. “Aren’t they on the table? I just put them down.”

They vanished from sight.

I once read a book about the tiny little people that live in houses and borrow things when the big people aren’t looking. Things like keys, pencils, socks and sunglasses will mysteriously disappear. One minute they’re on the table, the next minute they’re gone.  I felt like my keys had been “borrowed” by the little people.

The next morning, I still couldn’t find the keys and things got complicated. I needed to get my daughter to school, but the locked Toyota was in the driveway directly behind the Volvo that was parked in the garage. I was frantically trying to squeeze the Volvo through the ridiculously tight space when a police car patrolling the neighborhood approached the house…. Officer Alan stopped and asked if I needed help. Much to my daughter’s disdain, she arrived to school in a police car. With a wink, he promised not to turn on the lights until he got close to the school.

Three weeks later, I noticed the water in the sink next to my easel was draining a bit slow.  I placed my hand in the garbage disposal, and found my keys.

 

The Purse.

Last Friday after my daughter and I finished shopping at the art store, I opened the rear door of the car and placed our new items inside. We got in and began our drive back to Walnut Creek for lunch.

Once inside the carpark, I realized I didn’t have the small clutch I’d been carrying. I called the art store to ask if I’d left it there. We checked inside the car several times, but we couldn’t find it. I then drove to the bank, cancelled and replaced my cards, and my daughter and I carried on with the rest of our day.

Irritated with myself as I realized I probably placed the purse on the top of my car and drove away. I also imagined I’d left it in the store where someone picked it up. There were several scenarios that could have taken place. I tried not to be upset as I knew things could have been worse. There wasn’t anything of much value in the purse. I’d replaced my bank cards. My phone and my keys were in my jacket pocket. The most annoying thing would be going to the DMV to replace my driver’s license.

My thoughts kept going to the person who picked up my purse and the disappointment I felt towards them. It happens all the time. It’s easy to walk away with something that doesn’t belong to you. Keep the twenty dollar bill. Maybe try to purchase something using the ATM card. As tempting as that might be, it’s just as easy to go up to the clerk and say, I found this in the parking lot. I know what I would do.

I remembered the man that picked up my phone a few years ago in the casino. I remembered him being near the slot machine when I went back to look for it. My sister spoke to him. Not too long after, once I figured out how to use the Find My iPhone app, the phone beeped for hours in his pocket.

I want to believe in good. I want to be good. I want to do good. Spread good. But life gets in the way. Doesn’t it?

Saturday morning, less than twenty four hours later, special delivery. My purse was returned.  There was a note inside.

Hello!

Found this on the road in Oakland today. Your lipstick was smashed by a passing car so I threw it away to avoid further mess. I hope calling American Express so they could let you know it had been found does not cause any complications. Have a nice day!

Dustin

Thank you Dustin. Your kindness brought me to tears.