Keep Your Hands Off My Food!!

No, this is not about food sharing! It is about germ sharing!

CDC (Center for Disease Control) data shows poor personal hygiene of food workers is one of the leading causes of food borne illness, with the most common being Norwalk-like viruses. One very common means of spreading these viruses is when ill food workers have direct hand contact with ready to eat foods (any food that does not go through an additional cooking process, such as baked goods,fresh fruits and vegetables, salads, and sandwiches). It is estimated that about 76 million people are sickened annually, with 325,000 hospitalized and 5,000 dying from foodborne related illnesses.

A requirement of a former job a couple years ago, was to become a certified food manager. As a supervisor to people who handled food for public consumption, as well as preparing the food on occasion, I understood the importance of clean hands, sanitized food preparation areas, no bare hand contact with prepared food, and changing gloves whenever contaminated, which generally means moving from one preparation activity to another, or touching a non-food item during the time ready-to-eat food items are being prepared. As a supervisor, I had no problem correcting or reinstructing staff when they didn't follow safe food handling practices. Some employees seemed to think they only needed to follow protocol when a food inspector was on sight. Wrong!

I never became good at objecting, in person, when I see my food mishandled in public or if it is not my direct report. I have a former co-worker that would absolutely ask that her meal be remade if she witnessed any food preparation indiscretions. For instance, people preparing sandwiches at a sub shop (this applies to any food prep operation) should not be handling ingredients in a sub, then touching handles to appliances, then ringing up the order and handling the germ infested money, then moving on to the next sandwich, without changing gloves. On several occasions, in various establishments, I've witnessed servers doing just that.

I once watched as a fast food employee layered lettuce, onions, and tomatoes on a sandwich (not mine) with her bare hands. Another time, I watched the cook/server (small restaurant) place her ungloved hands on my sandwich to cut it. I recently stopped by a highly recommended hamburger joint. The food preparation area was open to customer view, and yes, there again was the cook, handling the buns and add-ons (onions, pickles, cheese, etc.) with bare hands. Unlike my co-worker, I didn't object, but quietly ate the food. I was robbed of some of the pleasure of enjoying the burger, and while it was good and I didn't get sick, I probably won't visit the restaurant again.

Another pet peeve of mine is when I order an ice cream cone. There is a reason the little paper strip covers the bottom half of the cone. A server never need to touch the cone with their bare hand, yet I am willing to bet minimally 50% of the time, at least one of the server's fingers ends up on the exposed part of the cone. I have had that happen numerous times, but I am too much of a chicken to call them out on it! Generally, the same server that hands you that cone, has handled your money, as well as that of others, and had their fingers all over the grimy cash register. Yuk!

At another place of employment, where I was not the supervsior, I witnessed kitchen staff use bare hand contact while preparing such items as sandwiches. Sometimes I reminded, other times I reported, but it seemed to continue to happen repeatedly. It drove me nuts, and even though I didn't have to eat the food, my charges did, and it was my job to make sure they stayed healthy.

Basically, the food service rule states: Bare hand contact with RTE food is not permitted unless there is no reasonable or practical alternative. If that is the case, a written plan of action must be approved.

When eating out, I always wash my hands after I order, but before I eat. If I am in a drive though situation, I keep a bottle of Purell handy to killl germs before I eat. I am far from a cleanliness fanatic, but food borne illnesses are no joking matter.

At home, I occasionally use food service gloves, especially if prepping something for a potluck, but more often than not, settle for tongs. I tend to be a little less regimented about bare food contact under my own roof, although I do wash my hands frequently during meal prep. Of course, I am not handling dirty money and other contaminated items, either.

What kinds of improper food preparations have you witnessed? Do you speak up? If you do, do you have some pointers to help this wimp out? Mainly, I just eat out less and less.

Let The Wild Goose Chase Begin

I am off and running! It's my fingers and mind doing the running, however. Why? Let me explain.

For a number of years, I have been researching my family history. I operate in the manner of the classic person with ADHD: work a little on this, then a little on that, changing direction on a whim. Every piece of historic evidence can lead me in a new direction, and while being distracted in most tasks can be disastrous, in genealogy it usually isn't, at least for me. I almost always learn something new. My goal in my latest chase is to stay on task as much as possible, however, because I just found a puzzle piece for which I've been searching for years. This one piece has allowed me to uncover a few more pieces. If I can stay on task, I might resolve some major pieces of my maternal grandfather's family history puzzle.

It all started innocently enough. Over the last few years, when I hit dead ends in searching, I have sent correspondence to parishes where I knew my ancestors were members. I have yet to get a response from any. I've been thinking a lot recently about how I have let this particular project lapse for too long. The guilt has been harboring for a while, so I wandered online in search of contact information for some of the parishes in Wisconsin and Illinois, ready to renew my search. Well, I found a gold nugget yesterday. I came across online historic records for the diocese of Belleville, Illinois.

According to most of my previous records and family lore, my great grandfather, John, was born in Wisconsin (Oct 1857), while his younger sister, Theresia, was born in Illinois (Bellville, Nov 1859). One family story states my great grandfather was born there, as well, but I have yet to find any documentation of that, plus, I have some reliable information from a Wisconsin historian that states great grandpa's oldest sister, Maria, died in Watertown, Wisconsin in February of 1859. Since I couldn't find any census records for 1860 for this family (I have searched hundreds thousands of 1860s census pages), I could never confirm the move in 1859 from Wisconsin to Illinois, although I knew they eventually moved there, as that is where my great-great grandfather enlisted in the Civil War.

After years of dead ends, I finally found the baptism record of his younger sister yesterday, proving the move, so I am pumped. I also found names of baptismal sponsors, with another possible familial connection I didn't know existed. This clue is starting to help me make sense of why this young family, in mourning, and expecting another child, may have moved from Wisconsin and the rest of their extended family to a place where there didn't previously appear to be a family connection.

It took me numerous reviews of that baptismal record to start pulling up clues. First, the priest's handwriting is not very legible, and there are some words written in German or Latin, so I had to look at the pattern of other baptism records. I think I will eventually take this over to my 3rd cousin, Bob, who is skilled in deciphering old handwriting, to be certain of the meaning of some words. Second, the priest hyphenated the baptismal sponsor's last name, and I didn't catch that until several reviews later, so I had been chasing down the wrong path for many, many hours yesterday and into today. After hitting dead end after dead end, I once again reviewed the clues, as well as other baptisms on a couple pages. I found that my ancestor’s baptismal sponsor also had a baby a few weeks later (possibly the day after the baptism of my great-great aunt), and here is where I found the possible connection, as this entry lists the sponsor’s maiden name, which appears to be the same as my great-great grandmother’s. There may be a letter that is different (nn vs hn), but this priest does not appear to have strengths in spelling or handwriting, so I am thinking that is the same name. If this is indeed a relation, it now makes sense why the baby (my great-great aunt) was named after her baptismal sponsor, although perhaps babies were named after unrelated sponsors, as well. What I don’t know is the nature of the relationship: sister, or perhaps cousin to my great-great grandmother? I will dig more.

I have now been able to come up with the list of passengers for the ship the sponsors sailed on, which arrived almost five months after my 2nd great & 3rd great grandparents (1855). Just a little off topic, if you pull up the ship record, you will note that a number of passengers died on the journey, with most of them being infants and young children. That must have been an extremely tough burden to bear. In addition to ship records, I also came across some census records for the sponsors, and death record for one. It looks as if I have plenty of material to dig through for awhile, though I am certain I will continue to chase the elusive clues (still looking for a match in the 1860s census) for some time. I have a few more family history sites to explore for continued clues and records. If there is one thing I have learned about genealogy, the clues can be few and far in between, but if you have the itch, you just can’t quit scratching. I hope to find enough information to confirm the connections between the parents and godparents of my great-great aunt. Perhaps I’ll find enough tidbits about their lives to write another chapter in the family history.

And so the chase continues! Gosh, I hope I don’t run into a dead end again.

Never Forgotten

I arrived at work Friday, only to find that one of my little charges would be moving. His last day was upon me. There was no advance warning. I had no time to properly mourn. Yes, mourn. You see, when we have a big change in our lives, it is always a loss. I work with very young children, under age five, but mostly infants. So, they are always moving on, up to the next age level, on to a new location, away from the geographic location. Many times, I know, the likelihood is that I will never see them again in my lifetime. For me, it is a period of joy for knowing them, then a period of grief for 'losing' them.

It is a sobering truth of the work that I do and it is a reality I dread facing. These are children I have nurtured, fed, diapered, comforted, played with, nursed to health on sick days, cheered on the first milestones, loved unconditionally. It is important to build a strong connection, as it helps them to thrive. Still, I don't like to let go, but alas, they must move on. Most will grow up to be productive citizens. Some will have challenges along the way, while others will have an easier time. I may never know of either the challenges or ease they face.

This most recent child is one I will likely never see again. I cuddled him before he left, told him I would always love and miss him, wished him the best in life. The look in his eyes was as if he understood. He is only nine months old, yet it was as if he sensed the sentiment and understood. I may never know the ways I affected his life, but I always offer a piece of my heart to those I work with, so he left with his share. It seems if you take a piece of a heart, the love would shrink, but it doesn't. It appears to generate another piece, double in size, with plenty of love for the next child(ren) entering my life.

It was hard to let go, once again. I know that this little child is too young to remember me. In this type of work, you must trust that you have played an important role, but unlike a teacher of older children, whom can often see the direct results of their teaching and guiding, with the youngest children, you don't often see the direct results. The early years, however, are much like a foundation for a building, that which upon everything else is constructed. If the foundation isn't constructed with great care and intentionality, the building may crumble in later years. I know this. I trust this. I just wish I could see all the buildings once again in my life.

On Thursday, just before the departure of this latest child, I attended a conference where the following wisdom was shared:

"When we are new and when we are fresh and young,

Our hearts are very open in a way they may never be again for the rest of our lives.

So that impressions that are made on us and the good that is done for us,

The kindness and generosity by which a child lives, are never forgotten. Never forgotten.

Nothing you do for a child is ever wasted. Ever. You may never know exactly what the child saw, or how the child received it, but any gift you give a young person is permanent.

Because it is then given to others, and that is as permanent as we know."

~Garrison Keillor

Having this on my mind during those departing moments made the goodbyes a little sweeter. I know I have given as freely as I could. Have a good life, oh precious child.

Flashback Friday

I love everything and anything old: people, places, things.

I enjoy visiting with those older than myself, as they can share stories of the way life was before I was alive. The longer one lives, the more they have learned through experience, and the more we can learn from them. I also love strolling through historic towns, being swept back to a time I've never known. There is a certain romantic feeling that overcomes me, perhaps because of the respect I have for those whose daily lives were far more difficult than our own, or maybe because I long to float back to a simpler, less chaotic time, despite the hardships. Then there are the old things, items handed down that have special meaning, or antique shops filled with thousands of pieces from the past. History oozes from each nook and cranny, as people's past lives are on display, if only by imagining the tasks carried out with the various kitchen or farm implements, or wondering about the lifestyles of those who graced the fine pieces of furniture, read the rich poetry between the tattered pages of old books, or donned the exquisite or plain clothing and jewelry.

It is because of this love of all things old that I find myself immersed in searching my family's history and why I have collected a large number of old books. Today, I would like to share a photo from my family archives, accompanied by a poem from a very old book, The Little Speaker and Juvenile Reader, published 1863. The purpose of the Speaker was to give primary age students an opportunity to practice speaking out loud. Many of the selections are opportunities for several students to engage in an exchange of dialogue.

GENEROSITY

Brother.
Dear sister, only look, and see
This nice red apple I have here;
'T is large enough for you and me,
So come and help me eat it, dear!

Sister.
No, brother, no! I should be glad,
If you had more, to share with you,
But only one--'t would be too bad!
Eat it alone, dear brother, do.

Brother.
No, no! there's quite enough for two,
And it would taste so much more sweet,
If I should eat it, dear with you--
Do take a part now, I entreat!

Sister.
Well, so I will! and when I get
An apple sweet and nice like this,
I'm sure that I shall not forget
To give you, dear, a fine large piece.
(For a previous selection, look to my 6-29-09 blog, Wisdom For The Ages.)

Pictured above is my paternal grandfather, Nicholas, and his sister Ludwina. My grandfather was born December 10, 1901, while his sister arrived on January 30th, 1905. In between these two was another brother, John, who died at six weeks of age in August 1903 (I am unable to decipher the cause on the death record). Another sister, Hildegard, came along in 1913, dying from an umbilical hemorrhage at 10 days of age. In 1914, the final sister, Madeline arrived. Just months shy of Madeline's 3rd birthday, my great grandmother passed away. My great grandfather later married my great grandmother's cousin. They did not have more children.

The children look somewhat sad in this photo, perhaps because they had to sit still so long, but more likely due to the formality of the photo session and the need to sit still so as to not blur the photo during the long exposure time necessary in early photography. I do not know the exact year this was taken, but my estimate is somewhere between fall of 1908 to spring of1909 which would make the subjects around the age of four and seven. This picture also displays the fashion sense of my great grandmother--stories I have heard is that she was quite particular, wanting her children always dressed their best. Somewhere, I have a digital copy of a photo of her. I will include it in a later blog. Did you notice the bouquet of flowers each child is holding? Farside recently posted a baby photo, with the baby also holding a bouquet. My grandfather is also holding a hat--I wonder if it is his, or just a photo prop. Although I don't know the reason behind the bouquets, most photographers of young children still employ some sort of prop in their photos. I think it probably gets a child to sit still long enough to get a few quality photos.

I never got to really know my grandpa, as he passed away just after my third birthday. I see his face in my dad and my brother (my youngest brother looked very similar to my grandpa at the age shown here). From the stories I've heard, apparently they also have his personality (short tempered and critical) and his genious streak. I love to look back at these pictures and see the resemblances that have carried on through the generations.

Thanks for taking this trip back in time with me.

A Patchwork of Ramblings

When I started this blog, close to two years ago, I stated that I would be offering a patchwork of ramblings on life, family, work, politics, hobbies and more. An astute reader once pointed out that the letters of my alias can be rearranged to state: ‘A Neat Ramble.’ While it was not the origin of the name Abra La Mente, I do like it! I envision my blog as a crazy quilt of my life. There is no theme, per se. No rhyme, no reason. Topics are the fabric of my life, mismatched pieces loosely stitched together, placed on display at the quilt show extraordinaire, Area Voices. Most often you see the outside covering, the side of the quilt which is fit for display when company is coming. Occasionally, I turn back the edges of the quilt, and you get a glimpse of the underside, a little more ragged around the edges. Other times, I don’t really care what company thinks, I bare it all, and you get to see the rips and tears that comprise the well worn quilt that is my life. My ramblings are usually limited to one topic per blog, but on occasion, I will string several thoughts into a blog topic. Today will be one of those days—many random thoughts about the last couple days, loosely woven together, with links to many other great blogs and random sites.

Another Halloween has come and gone, but not without some controversy and varying perspectives on it’s meaning and purpose. I see controversy as mostly good. It means we don’t all think alike, and for that I am grateful. Where is the fun in having the same views? How boring!! I am highlighting a few AV blogs that have discussed Halloween perspectives this week. Read up and see what you think. Peace Garden Mama had two blog topics covering Halloween. I enjoyed her view, and I agree with her children’s school’s perspective. Perhaps that view should be forwarded to the Vatican, as I disagree with its most recent stance regarding Halloween. Far Side of Fifty shared the highlights of her Halloween evening, and her views fully mesh with my own. Prairie Woman shared a wonderful history of Halloween—gosh, I always learn so much from her. The (formerly) Fat Girl, shared the damaging statistics on sweets consumptions—I’ll start to back away from the candy bag, albeit very slowly!! Of course, I can’t forget Buffalo Gal’s ‘candy corn purist’ discussion, of which I have some similar views.

My hubby and I traded the hosting of trick-or-treaters for a busy afternoon and evening of varied activities, a patchwork sort of day. First, we headed up to the Stearns History Museum, hoping to take in the Keith Laumb photo exhibit. Keith is the deceased father of my brother-in-law, and a former social studies/history teacher in St. Cloud (Technical High School and Apollo High School). He was a hobby photographer, concentrating on the social fabric of not only central Minnesota, but some European pursuits as well. His work is true artistry. Usually, members visit the exhibits for free, but since the museum is currently hosting the worldwide traveling exhibit “A T-Rex Named Sue,” and there is no way to separate the exhibits, members must also pay a fee. I had already viewed Keith’s exhibit, but my hubby had not. Since we are planning to see the T-Rex exhibit with some of my nieces and nephews later, we opted not to go in yesterday. Of course that moves our planned T-Rex visit to next week, since Keith’s exhibit is ending November 8th. Instead of visiting exhibits, we went archive digging in the research room. My hubby does not have the same fascination with history as I do, so the visit was limited. We did have an interesting visit with Bob, my third cousin, a former museum employee, but now full time volunteer (and I do mean FULL TIME—as in 7 days a week). Bob is a walking encyclopedia of not only central Minnesota history, but the European roots of the area, as well as a reader of German script. I think I’ll devote a blog to him in the future—amazing man. While Bob shared that he is not interested in the dinosaur exhibit, because he is one (his words, not mine), he did share in my fascination with tidbits of local history and old photographs. If you also enjoy old photographs, you should definitely stop by AV Blogger Far Side of Fifty’s other blog, Forgotten Photos. It is quite interesting.

Next, we were off to purchase some candy corn and dry roasted peanuts for an easy treat for our parents. There was still one aisle of Halloween treats,at the big box store, which was filled with last minute shoppers, but no regular flavored candy corn, or even evidence that there had ever been any. There were many other flavors to choose from—candy apple, caramel candy, chocolate, Indian corn, etc.—but not the traditional. See the problem with this at Buffalo Gal’s page. I opted for the caramel candy flavor, and while it didn’t totally destroy the mix, it wasn’t as good as traditional. If you haven’t experienced it, a scoopful of candy corn and peanut mixture is a little bit like eating a salted nut roll. Now, the problem of tainted candy corn is one thing, but far more disturbing to me was the next aisle, which was filled with Christmas candy. While I can somewhat see the convenience of one-stop shopping, I WILL NOT buy Christmas candy on Halloween. Perhaps today? Just kidding. :-) Perhaps after Thanksgiving.

Our next stop was my husband’s parents’ home, where we checked in on the health of my father-in-law. He seems frailer each time I see him. He now has oxygen continually attached, and spends most of his time in the recliner. Unable to climb stairs, and with no bedroom on the main floor, he has a hospital bed in the living room. I was his Saturday night entertainment when I sat in the swivel rocker next to him and it flipped backward. I landed with a thud, feet straight up in the air. He was shocked. I told him he needed a little excitement in his day. I wasn’t even rocking that chair—I swear it was the resting place of a Halloween spirit and I must have really upset it, placing my arse uninvited on its throne. I was also able to pass out candy to some very cute little goblins and such, got caught up on family news, and it was all too soon time to be on our merry way.

On our drive over to my parents, we were able to enjoy the setting sun through many scenic hills and bared tree branches. The scene, mixed with the rising moon and the eerily scattered clouds, created a haunting portrait of Halloween night. It was an absolutely gorgeous sight, captured only in my mind, as I was the driver, thus unable to even attempt capturing a photo. Arriving at my parents’ home, I was greeted by a myriad of costumed characters, on a pit stop for Grandma treats, before heading out for more adventure on the town. A short visit with my mom (my dad was out bow hunting), a taste of some baked candied squash (off-the-cuff creation of my single brother and oh-so-tasty), and on it was to the next destination.

How fitting that in this blog topic about patchwork ramblings, I discuss our concert attendance at Aunt Annie’s Quilts & Silks shop. Yes, that is right. Aunt Annie’s is a quilter’s dream by day and a venue for local and sometimes national artists by night and weekends. Located in the lovely community of Avon (a hop, skip, and jump from the town of my origin), the quilt shop was a lovely backdrop for the bluesy, jazzy, Americana genres of musical variety that are found in small spaces throughout central Minnesota. A very enjoyable evening, and I was able to hear a few of my brother-in-law's newest songs, one of them a very touching tribute written to honor the life of another brother-in-law’s father. Ralph passed away this spring, but the essence of his family farmer life has been caught up in a beautiful musical piece, of which I am sure he would approve.

After a few sets at the quilt shop, we headed back to my parents’, where we were able to observe the Halloween loot of the children. Holey Moley—their pillowcases were full beyond my wildest childhood dreams, and I used to be quite the avid candy collector myself! One of their stops contributed entire packages of fun size candy bars. There were also bags of chips, juice boxes, cans of pop, etc. These were definitely not the treats of my youth! My main reason for the return trip, though, was to retrieve a dresser, a family heirloom, one which I will treasure until it is one day passed on to one of my own children, sometime in the future, when they can truly appreciate the connection to their past family history and their great-grandmother.

Arriving back home, I was well worn, much like I am now, after all this rambling, despite all the thoughts still rolling around up above. I think I will use my extra hour of this weekend to sit and pause awhile, resting these weary bones, and mending some of my fabric tears.

(Note: I first started blogging at Area Voices, thus the references to AV & such. )