Sometimes You Have to Take Extreme Measures

At some point in all of our lives, we’re going to have to deal with death, as uncomfortable as that is to think about. It’s either going to be the demise of a loved one or, eventually, of ourselves. It’s important to be as prepared as possible when you lose someone significant in your life, so, by way of stressing the importance of that, I’m going to tell you a little tale.

My late husband and I had separate cell phones. He handled his bill, and I handled mine. What I didn’t realize when he got his cell phone was that, because we bought them in complete ignorance, he put his name down as the only authorized user.

That is a huge mistake. Don’t do it, and I’ll tell you why.

 We were some of the last holdouts when it came to having cell phones. I don’t think we got them until my husband spotted our garbage man with a phone wedged between his ear and shoulder while he was lifting our cans into the truck. That’s when he apparently realized that perhaps we were the last people on the planet without cell phones.

But that’s not important.

What is important is that when he got his phone, he was listed as the only authorized user, and when he passed away, that became a problem.

He used T-Mobile. Let that be a warning to you.

When I sought to shut down his cell phone service, I took the phone and his death certificate into one of the local T-Mobile stores. They refused to cancel it. The sales clerk (and they do hire some dim ones at T-Mobile) told me that because I was not the authorized user, I couldn’t cancel the service. It had to be the authorized user.

I kept flashing the death certificate in front of his face, trying to explain the concept of end of life to this man, but he just wasn't having it.

 So, before I walked out of the store, I told him, “Look, I’m not paying any more of these bills. And because he’s dead, he’s not going to be making any more phone calls. At least, I don’t expect him to.”

 That was not the end of it, of course.

 The bills started coming.

 Each time one arrived, I wrote "DECEASED -- RETURN TO SENDER" on it and popped it back into the mail.

 I did this three times.

 The bills kept coming.

 Eventually, T-Mobile turned my dead husband over to collections.

 At this point, I had just about had it.

 So I decided I was going to write them a letter and do something very special to drive my point home.

I wrote the letter as friendly as I could manage through gritted teeth. I explained that my husband had passed away, that I had gone to the local store with his death certificate, and that I had tried to shut off the phone. For whatever reason, they wouldn’t accept it.

 So I told them that since I couldn’t seem to get through to them, they could take it up with my late husband, who was enclosed.

 What I did was this:

Before I folded the letter and put it into the envelope, I went into the fireplace with a little shovel, scooped out some of the ashes, and carefully put them into the letter.

 Then I folded it up, slid it into the envelope, sealed it, and sent it on its merry way.

 Let me just tell you something. I never heard from them again.

 I have often wondered what the person who opened that letter thought when the ashes came tumbling out onto his or her desk (or perhaps into his or her lap).

 Imagine reading a perfectly ordinary customer-service letter and suddenly discovering that you have been covered in [what you think are] cremains.

 Sometimes you have to take extreme measures.

 So save yourself the trouble. Make sure there is more than one authorized user on your cell phone account. Better yet, make sure someone you trust knows exactly how to deal with your accounts if something happens to you.

 And, based on my experience, avoid T-Mobile at all costs.

That’s the lesson for this month, folks.

This story is part of my series Life on Planet Pattie, about the foibles of life, resilience, and the occasional furniture-moving adventure.

 You might also enjoy:

A Fall Tradition Gone Slightly Awry

Perils of Pattie: Kissing the Pavement

Hilarious 80s Mom Fail: The Pepperoni That Stole the Show at Pizza Hut

The Great Potting Soil Heist (and Other Adventures in Independent Living)

Clean and Presentable, or so I thought.

A Winter-Weathered Miracle Under the Chair

My Dance with the Devil

Nothing Is Ever Simple (Featuring a Refrigerator and My — GASP! — Underwear)

Refrigerator Roulette, Round Two 

The Cotswold Christmas Bookshop Review: Pure Holiday Comfort Reading

 

I absolutely loved The Cotswold Christmas Bookshop. Once I started, I barely paused for meal breaks until I reached the end, which is generally a very good indication that a book has me firmly in its clutches. This is pure women’s fiction with a warm romance at its heart. It’s kind of story where you know exactly how it’s going to end fairly early on, but you keep reading anyway because getting there is such fun. This was my first book by this author, and I was positively thrilled to discover that she has written plenty of others for me to immediately add to my reading list. Having visited the Cotswolds myself, I could picture every cozy corner of this village, and the book left me yearning for the days when independent bookshops were the heart of a community. Finch’s, with its old shelves, loyal customers, village gossip, and Heathcliff the cat (who clearly considers the humans to be his employees), practically became a character. I did have to make one small linguistic adjustment: the British use of “mooching.” Apparently it means wandering around, rather than what it means in America, where it generally refers to someone freeloading. Once I got that straight, I was perfectly happy to mooch along with the rest of them.

 After losing her fancy London publishing job, Isla returns home for Christmas without telling anyone the real reason and gradually finds herself spending more and more time at Finch’s, the bookshop where she worked as a teenager. As she helps the owners, Jon and Miriam, she discovers how much she loves the work—talking books, remembering what people loved as children, and finding exactly the right story for someone who can’t sleep. Then there’s Guy, the handsome property consultant who arrives with ideas about the shop. Isla immediately decides she doesn’t like him, but unfortunately for her, Guy refuses to behave badly enough to make that decision easy. Watching their relationship develop, particularly the anticipation surrounding their first date and Guy’s refreshing directness, was delightful. Charlie, Isla’s first love, also reappears, because apparently one attractive man is not enough to make a woman’s Christmas complicated. Meanwhile, Isla has to choose between an impressive new position heading the romance department at a major publisher and the quieter, considerably less glamorous life she is rediscovering at the bookshop.

What I loved most, though, is Isla herself. She’s hiding her redundancy, trying to save Finch’s, juggling old feelings and new ones, and insisting that she doesn’t have any big decisions to make when, in fact, she has a rather enormous one sitting right in front of her. At its heart, this is a lovely reminder that losing the impressive version of your life doesn’t mean you’ve failed. Sometimes the life that looks smaller from the outside is the one in which you finally feel useful, happy, and completely yourself. Add Christmas, snow, twinkling lights, a charming Cotswold village, a beloved bookshop, two attractive men, and one opinionated cat, and you have pretty much everything I want in a holiday read. I knew where this story was going, and I thoroughly enjoyed every single mile of the journey.

 My Rating: ★★★★★ (5 out of 5 stars)

 You can order a copy here.

 Thanks to NetGalley, the author and publisher for providing me with an advanced digital copy in exchange for an honest review.

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Finished at Last, and Already on to the Next Stitch

If you read my earlier blog post (that you can find here), you may be wondering whether I finished that Halloween cross-stitch project I started years ago. I wasn’t entirely sure I would get it done, but I’m happy to report that I finally finished it!

 As you can see from the picture above (with a little help from ChatGPT in creating that wonderfully spooky background), not only did I finish the big moon and all the remaining stitching, but I also completed an entirely separate Halloween project. Apparently, once I got going, I couldn’t stop!

 The larger piece is When Skeletons Dance, a cross-stitch pattern designed by The Drawn Thread. It was a long time in the making, but there is something particularly satisfying about finally finishing a project that has been sitting around for far too long. And just look at it now! I think it was worth the wait.

 The smaller piece is The Raven, designed by La D Da and featuring a quote from one of my favorite literary figures, Edgar Allan Poe. I’m rather pleased with how it turned out, although I haven’t quite decided whether I want to keep it in its frame.

 Bizarrely (or not so bizarrely, depending upon your bent) I have Edgar Allan Poe bedding, along with a number of Edgar Allan Poe pillows. I’m beginning to think this little cross-stitch might look absolutely wonderful made into a pillow (as I did with this stitching project from ten years ago. Ten! Where does the time go?) for my autumnal bed.

 For now, I’m simply enjoying the satisfaction of having both projects finished. There is something lovely about finally crossing those last few stitches off the list, especially when a project has been waiting patiently for years.

 Of course, I couldn’t possibly leave my needle and thread alone for long. I’ve already started another little project, this time a small, frame-worthy Victorian saying from Modern Folk Embroidery. They have a wonderful collection of unusual and distinctive cross-stitch charts, and this particular design features one of my favorite Victorian expressions: “Got the morbs.”

Photo from Modern Folk Embroidery 

 If you’ve never encountered the expression, the morbs refers to a feeling of melancholy or low spirits, to being a little blue, a bit gloomy, or simply in one of those moods when you feel like throwing yourself down and having a good old-fashioned wallow.

 I must confess that I get the morbs from time to time, so I think this little saying deserves a place of honor somewhere in my home. After all, if one is going to feel melancholy, one might as well have a charming Victorian expression to describe it!

 Now I just need to finish the stitching, decide on a frame, and find the perfect place to display it. Stay tuned.

 Happy Halloween everybody! 

A Spooky Season of Handmade Halloween Cards

 

In case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m a postcard-sending, notecard-writing, letter-penning, holiday-card-creating sort of woman. I’ve been designing my own Christmas and Halloween cards for more than two decades. Of all the cards I create throughout the year, I think Halloween cards might be my favorites.

Naturally, I can’t simply slap a pumpkin on a card and call it Halloween. Oh, no. I like to do a little research, hunting down obscure facts, fascinating places, unusual traditions, and anything suitably spooky. If I happen to uncover something of local interest, so much the better. This year’s card features a local mausoleum, and you can read its story in the photo below. Nothing says holiday cheer quite like a mausoleum, does it?

Decorating the envelopes is almost as much fun as designing the cards themselves. I put considerable thought into those little paper packages, too, because why should the inside get all the attention? This year, I decided to coffee-dye the envelopes before decorating them with rubber stamps.

 

There was just one tiny detail I hadn’t considered: when coffee-dyeing envelopes, leave the flaps open! Otherwise, the coffee acts like a rather enthusiastic postal adhesive, sealing everything shut. I discovered this the hard way and had a devil of a time getting the envelopes open again. Fortunately, I prevailed, and the envelopes survived the ordeal. No one will be the wiser. At least, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. 

As in years past, I relied heavily on the wonderful rubber stamp creations of Tim Holtz to bring my spooky designs to life. His stamps are practically made for this sort of thing, and they fit right in with my fondness for the mysterious, the macabre, and the delightfully peculiar. I used the following sets:

 Tim Holtz - Framed Frights

 Tim Holtz - CADAVEROUS

 Tim Holtz - Mr. Bones 

 The funny thing about being so passionate about this little creative endeavor is that I’ve already planned themes for the next three years! Apparently, my Halloween card production department has no intention of slowing down. I suppose that’s what happens when you combine a love of crafting with a fondness for obscure history and all things spooky. I hope you’re enjoying the Halloween season as much as I am. May your days be filled with creativity, your nights with a little mystery, and your mailboxes with something more interesting than bills and political advertisements.

Here’s to a spooky, creative season!

I haven’t blogged about all of the Halloween cards that I’ve made over the years, but I have about these three. If you’re interested just click on the highlighted links below.

 Halloween Card 2025

Halloween Card 2024

 Halloween Card 2011

 

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Fresh Pomegranate Vinaigrette for Fall Salads

 

It has been enormously gratifying to harvest my own greens this fall. I’ve never grown lettuce in autumn before, and I have to say, they’re doing spectacularly well! I’ve grown everything from seed (I used these), and I’m harvesting greens almost daily. There’s something especially satisfying about stepping outside, gathering what I need, and bringing it straight into the kitchen.

Of course, all this abundance means I’ve been experimenting with different salads, not that I’m complaining. Nothing beats fresh, organically grown greens, and I’m thoroughly enjoying finding new ways to use them.

Today’s salad combines fresh arugula and Romaine lettuce with crumbled feta cheese, sliced almonds, thinly sliced red onion, and ruby-red pomegranate arils. It’s a lovely combination of peppery greens, creamy and salty feta, crunchy almonds, and little bursts of sweet-tart pomegranate. But the real star of the show is the pomegranate vinaigrette. 

Made with fresh pomegranate seeds, olive oil, maple syrup, lemon juice, white balsamic vinegar, and a touch of Dijon mustard, this dressing is flavorful, beautifully tangy, and just sweet enough to complement the greens. The pomegranate seeds give it a wonderful fruity character, and everything comes together in a high-speed blender in about a minute. No complicated techniques or lengthy list of ingredients required!

 And here’s something you don’t hear me say about salad dressing every day: this one has some nutritional benefits, too, thanks to the pomegranate. Pomegranates contain beneficial plant compounds, so it’s a delicious way to add a little more goodness to your salad.

Whether you’re harvesting greens from your own fall garden or picking them up at the market, this salad is a lovely way to celebrate the season. The colors are gorgeous, the textures are varied, and the vinaigrette is good enough that you may find yourself looking for other things to drizzle it over.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more lettuce to harvest! 

Pomegranate Vinaigrette 

¾ c. pomegranate seeds/arils (from Melissa’s pomegranates)

¼ c. olive oil

2 T. pure maple syrup

1 T. freshly squeezed lemon juice

1 T. white balsamic vinegar

1 t. Grey Poupon mustard

⅛ t. kosher salt

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

 Combine all ingredients in a mini high-speed blender, and pulse until smooth and the pomegranate seeds are fully incorporated.

 Taste and adjust the seasoning if needed. Drizzle over your favorite salad greens and enjoy!

 Serving suggestion: Toss fresh arugula and Romaine with crumbled feta, sliced almonds, thinly sliced red onion, and pomegranate arils. Dress just before serving to keep the greens crisp.

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Willie's Orange Bread

 

 

I have a hard time getting cleaning and organizing done. I know I’m not alone in this because I was talking to a friend the other day who had decided to organize her closet, found an old box of knitting, abandoned the closet altogether, and made herself a sweater instead. 

As I mentioned last week when I shared my Halloween stitching project, I’ve been digging around in my personal archives lately, bringing out old projects to finish and rediscovering recipes I’ve saved over the years. There is something wonderfully dangerous about opening a box of old things. You never know what you’re going to find, or what you’re going to abandon your current project to do.

  I know there is a great deal of interest these days in digitizing recipes, and I certainly understand why. But to me, there is nothing quite as charming as a handwritten recipe, particularly when that handwriting is fifty years old. Yes, fifty. Even as I write that, I’m having a moment. One of my recent discoveries was a recipe for an orange quick bread from the early 1970s. It was a morning bread that I always remembered enjoying, and there, tucked away among my personal archives, was the original recipe. My mother had received it from her friend Willie Schebelen (Willie was short for Willisdean) about five years before Willie passed away.

 The recipe itself is simple, but the memories it stirred up were anything but. The moment I took that first bite, I was transported straight back to the seventies. Suddenly I could hear the high school band playing and the cheerleaders cheering for the team. I could hear my friends splashing as they jumped into the lake, and I could almost taste the greasy goodness of burgers from the local drive-in.

Funny how food can do that. A taste, a smell, a particular texture, and suddenly you’re not standing in your kitchen anymore. You’re sixteen again, sitting somewhere you haven’t thought about in years, surrounded by people and sounds and places that you thought you’d forgotten.

I don’t suppose baking this loaf will transport you quite so dramatically. Unless, of course, you also happened to spend your formative years in the seventies eating orange bread and hanging around drive-ins. But I think you’ll enjoy it anyway. 

It’s a lovely, old-fashioned quick bread, studded with raisins and pecans and fragrant with orange. And if you happen to have a handwritten recipe tucked away in a box somewhere, perhaps this will inspire you to dig it out. Just be careful.

You might start cleaning out a closet and end up baking a loaf of bread…or making a sweater. 

Willie’s Orange Bread

 1 c. orange freshly squeezed juice

1 c. raisins

½ c. chopped pecans

1 beaten egg

2 t. vanilla

¼ t. salt

2 c. flour

1 t. baking powder

1 t. baking soda

1 c. sugar

2 T. butter

1 T. grated orange rind

 Cream the butter and sugar, then mix in the beaten egg. In a separate bowl, whisk together the dry ingredients until well combined. Stir the wet and dry mixtures together until just blended. Pour into a greased loaf pan and bake at 350°F for about 50 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean.

Enjoy every nostalgic bite.

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The John White Burger: A Taste of Famous-Barr Magic

 

When I was a little girl, one of the highlights of every month was lunch with my mother at the Jade Room Restaurant inside Famous-Barr, one of St. Louis’s grand department stores (now Macy’s). In those days, going out to dine meant dressing up—no slacks allowed. A hostess would seat us, and while we waited, elegantly dressed models would glide between the tables, showcasing the store’s newest fashions. Perfectly accessorized and lightly scented with the fragrance of the moment, they sometimes paused at our table to describe what they were wearing, its price, and available sizes. To a ten-year-old girl, it felt pure magic.

 Most often it was just Mother and me, though my dad would join us now and then. My order never changed: a simple hamburger, chocolate milk, and Jell-O.

 As the years passed, the lunches continued, even as the dress code relaxed and the menu evolved. The plain hamburger gave way to something far more decadent—the John White Burger. Named for a cook at the Clayton Famous-Barr location, this glorious sandwich featured a juicy patty topped with crispy onions and melted cheese. It eventually appeared at May Company department-store restaurants across the region and remained on the menu until White’s death, when his heirs sued over the name.

 I still crave that burger. In 2000, longtime Famous-Barr chef Eric Dahl shared the secret with Judith Evans of the Post-Dispatch: the onions. Slice them paper-thin and fry in about half an inch of hot oil or shortening until just light brown — any longer and they turn bitter. Drain well on paper towels.

 My secret? Ditch the onions and use shallots, Melissa’s shallots, to be precise. Slice them thinly on a mandoline like this one and fry the same as advised above. Assemble the burgers on toasted buns with grilled or broiled patties made from 85-percent-lean ground beef, those golden onions/shallots, and a thick rarebit sauce that clings perfectly.

 Dahl noted that the sauce contained American cheese, dry mustard, and Worcestershire. The recipe below captures that rich, nostalgic flavor beautifully. 

Rarebit Sauce for John White Burgers

 ½ lb. American cheese, cut into thin slices

¾ c. half-and-half

1 t. Worcestershire sauce

½ t. dry mustard

 Place the cheese in the top of a double boiler. Add the half-and-half, Worcestershire, and mustard. Cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the cheese melts completely.

 Yield: 4 servings

 One bite and I’m right back at that table with my mother, watching the models walk by and feeling the quiet magic of those special lunches. 

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