Madness

Well, I did it. I dipped my toe into the Black Friday pool of mayhem and madness. I had no intentions of doing so until I noticed a significant 3-digit savings on a futon I had been eyeing for our camping style basement. I still would not have succumbed to such folly if the store offering the special wasn’t just five blocks from my house and the opening time was my usual grocery shopping time of 6:00 am. Doable. I thought. What I discovered is that there are hidden rules involved with this type of commando shopping that are unbeknownst to me.

I got up at my usual time in the morning and had my usual cup of coffee. At the appointed time of 6:03, I left my house and arrived at the store.

6:04: The parking lot didn’t look too full so I felt I could leave the safety of my vehicle and enter the premises. I did so with the bravado of someone who might actually know what they are doing under these circumstances. Upon entering the store, however, it was evident that I was swimming with sharks and these sharks were swimming in packs. Staccato like code speak was being shouted out as carts whizzed by me with destinations clearly understood by the cart drivers. Eyes were glazed over from Black Friday shopping that started before the turkey was even out of the oven on Thursday. Speed walking was the norm. Carts were jostling by with driven ferocity.

6:06: I quickly ducked into the baby formula aisle when I realized I was in danger of being trampled by a cart on my tail. I found myself hyperventilating by the cans of Similac, hoping I could still make it a few more feet to the futon display. What I discovered was that the futon display had nothing to do with the speeding carts dogging me down the aisle. It was the pop stacked behind the futons that was causing all the ruckus. Apparently, pop was the hot item at this store and folks were busy stacking them on the futons as they rearranged their carts so they could stuff more of the sugar laced elixir into their carts.

6:07: I bravely stepped out of the formula aisle and made a few more steps toward the futons. Now I was surrounded by pop laden carts and wheezing shoppers trying to wield their goods to the checkout. I realized that purchasing a futon was going to involve manager intervention as it is not something that one just picks up and tucks neatly into a cart.

6:08: I abandoned the futon plan because, quite frankly, the shoppers around me were getting scary. But, I was still determined to make this a “shopping experience”, so I went for the discounted rolls of toilet paper (clearly, not as hot an item as the pop). I moved toward the checkout counters and saw that all the carts were now lined up to kingdom come, waiting to be checked out.

6:09: Put the Charmin down and head for the car.

6:10: Home again and drinking another cup of coffee or two.

While I was certainly not successful in my first attempt at Black Friday shopping, I did learn that it’s all about the timing. I went back later to check on the futon and found a much different scene. Although there were still folks wrestling cases of pop into their semi-trailers, most of them were moving on to their next port of call. I walked in and found a manager who was more than willing to give me a deal on the futon of my choice.

And I got my rolls of toilet paper.

Mission accomplished.

 

 

 

 

 

Fix-It

 

Between the two of us, my husband and I have a few skills that have helped us trot along in life. Give my husband a set of blueprints and he can build a house, a deck or just about anything made of wood. Give me a room full of twelve-year-olds and I can get them through a lesson on mitosis without loss of limb or life. We are both able to have semi-intelligent conversations about local and world events. We enjoy classic movies and an occasional musical or two. We like to read and are happy to share our opinions with anyone who asks (or doesn’t).

When it comes to all things mechanical, however, we are most assuredly the nitwit twins. My husband, of course, is a little more likely to take a crack at fixing whatever is broken. In defense of him, he is definitely more adept at hands on projects. As stated earlier, if there is wood involved, no problem. Moving metal parts are another story. I’ve watched him hover over an uncooperative engine with that “You’re not going to outsmart me” look in his eyes, only to be beaten by the sputtering and spattering of the world of combustion.

Recently, our furnace went out. Of course, it was Saturday morning when we noticed the drop in temperature. Of course, that means choosing between a very expensive service call or dressing up like Nanook of the North. Of course, we chose “fixing it” ourselves.

Over the years, we have developed a two pronged attack strategy for repairing things that are out of our league. Step one is to “Leave it set.” I knew this directive was coming my way so I went to the thermostat and turned off the furnace. By this time the house was quite frosty so I knew the loss of further heat was going to be minimal. After about a half hour, we turned the furnace back on, crossed our fingers, slurped another hot cup of coffee and waited for the magic to happen. The furnace made a groaning sound as it kicked in, but, alas, no warm air was projected from the registers.

Time for step two: Give it a good whack. I must confess that this step made me a bit nervous. Something about thumping away on an object that produces fire and heat seems risky to me. But desperate times call for desperate actions. I heard a few wallops on the furnace and lo and behold heat started flowing through the room. That’s the good news. The bad news is that as soon as the furnace reached the set room temperature, it shut off and did not start up again. So, you guessed it, we spent the weekend heating the house up to tropical proportions, letting it cool down, whacking the furnace and starting the cycle over again. It was a wear-your-layers kind of weekend.  And, yes, the furnace has been diagnosed as terminal so ka-ching, ka-ching, makes me want to keep whacking the beast.

All this makes me wonder if our fix-it strategy would work for me. I have many days when I’m quite out of sorts. So, if you see me sitting on my couch, thumping myself in the head, you’ll know I’m just striving for a re-set.

 

Inventions

I recently finished a book about the inventions of Clarence Birdseye. If you think you might have heard of his name, you are probably right. He was the man who introduced America to the possibilities of frozen foods. He was clearly a man before his time. The average American didn’t even own refrigerators, much less freezers that didn’t involve ice blocks and sawdust. He was a persevering soul with a longsuffering wife and he went to his grave still sketching inventions that he was sure would make the world a better place.

I’m not an inventor but I am grateful for the inventions that have enhanced my life. Here are a few of them:

1) Showers—When I’m forced to use a bathtub, I feel like I’m sitting in my own soup, watching my skin curdle. Not very refreshing in my estimation. I’m not sure if the shower was ever “invented” but someone had to follow up on how good it felt to stand under a waterfall as compared to sloshing around in a murky river. As my husband likes to say, “There’s nothing like a hot shower to wash the stink of the day away.”

2) Pencil sharpeners—Using a knife to whittle away at a nubbin of graphite embedded wood is one way to sharpen a pencil, but not very efficient. We now have crank sharpeners, mini-hand held sharpeners and electric sharpeners, all of which will probably be displayed in the Smithsonian Institute as relics of the pre-IPad generation. Until then, I’m happy to crank away.

3) Bunn coffeemakers—I love my Bunn. For those of us who have survived percolators, jars of instant coffee and the early models of Mr. Coffee, it is a blessing to use a coffeemaker that has your cup of java brewed before you are finished brushing your teeth. A coffee addict needs a buzz early and often.

4) Air Conditioners—This tundra girl never lets a summer day go by without thanking the Lord for the air conditioner. Having grown up in a house without such a convenience, I’m well aware of the toll that heat takes on one’s nerves and productivity. My mom was an expert in utilizing the “prairie air-conditioning system”--open all the windows in the evening and put a large box fan in the window to pull the cool air into the house. Then, promptly close all the windows in the morning to keep the sultry air of the day outside of the house. I can still see the feet of my sister and I as we stuck them into our bedroom window from our bed, trying to cool off enough to get a good night’s sleep.

5)  Curling irons—Believe it or not, folks, there was a time before curling irons were accessible to the general public. As someone with poker straight hair, I am grateful for the chance to add a little lift to my lifeless tresses. I remember a time when some women did their Saturday afternoon grocery shopping with a head covered with hair rollers.  Electric rollers and curling irons have pretty much eradicated that fashion statement. Probably a good thing.

6) Pasteurization—Thank you, Louis Pasteur, for your obsession with microbes. Pasteurization has made it possible for me not to worry about pathogens doing the backstroke in my dairy products. I’ve been up close and personal with a cow’s udder and I think it is best to leave the raw stuff to the baby cows.

I hope you are grateful, too, for all the inventions that make your life a bit more pleasant. And, thank you again, Mr. Birdseye, for making peas just as delightful in the winter as they are in their summer pods.

 

 

 

 

Splendor

 

For those of us who adore the season of fall, now is a glorious time of year. Not only do we finally get to enjoy a reprieve from the gripping jaws of heat and humidity, we are also treated to sights that can only be described as splendorous. I can’t help but be stunned by trees clothed in golden and crimson glory. As the long afternoon rays of sunshine catch the branches of dazzling leaves, one can only pause and bathe in the beauty of such created goodness.

I do not live in a state known for majestic mountains and dense forests. Our state does not have waterfalls found at breath taking heights or ocean waves lapping upon seashell studded shorelines. We do, however, have wide open spaces that offer panoramic views filled with as much as the eye can drink in. The longer I live here, the more privileged I feel to have been born and raised in the midst of such splendor. Here are a few sights that continue to amaze me.

1) The horizon—Several years ago I went to New York City and had a fabulous time experiencing the sensations of such a mega city. It didn’t take long, however, for me to feel claustrophobic and penned up like a caged rabbit. I remember thinking how sad it would be to never see a sunset or a sunrise. I can’t imagine only seeing clouds that graze the top of skyscrapers. Plains people are able to watch the passing of clouds and experience the weather that so often accompanies the different cloud formations. The horizon also provides an unshuttered view of magnificent sunrises and sunsets. The colors of such glory defy description.

2)  Storms—Those who know me well will be surprised to see this one on my list. I’m an anxiety ridden wreck when I hear the rumble of thunder or the howling of a gale force wind. Nevertheless, a prairie storm is certainly something to behold. With our landlocked wide open spaces we are subject to winds that would be classified as hurricane force in many coastal states. As our precious trees bend and sway in the path of a storm and crops flatten toward the ground, prayers are sent up for mercy from hail and the vortex of a sudden tornado. There is a helpless splendor about such furies of weather than can only be experienced on the plains.

3) Amber Waves of Grain—For some, this is just a phrase in a song. For others, it is a reality based on the sights and sounds of a fall harvest. I am awestruck by the tenacity and perseverance of farmers who defy the odds of weather, weeds and weevils so that the world can be fed. A combine gliding across rows of summer’s accumulations is a glad sight, indeed.

4) Night Sky—If you’ve never looked at the sky on a clear evening in a place unencumbered by the residual lights of city dwellings, you are missing one of life’s sweet pleasures. The velvety backdrop is awash with flickering stars, gleaming planets and streaks of galaxy denizens. Occasionally, a glittering meteor races across the sparkling canvas, rivaling the splendor of a 4^th of July display.

I certainly hope you are enjoying the fall season as much as I am. It matters not whether you are climbing the trails of mountaintops or sitting at your kitchen table with a hot cup of coffee. Splendor will always be in the eye of the beholder.

Enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

Classic

 

 

Some words just seem to have a soothing nature about them and I think the word classic is one of them. Classic is a timeless and non inflammatory way to speak of things that hearken to the past. Just try to label something as old or traditional and watch yourself spiral downward into the abyss of being put out to pasture. Classic seems a safer way to go.

Some of us remember the case of Coca Cola. After making an attempt to freshen its image with the introduction of a new and improved Coke, a backwash of outrage forced the company to turn its ship around midstream and reintroduce the old favorite. Wisely, the company did not call their product “Old Coke”; rather, they used the moniker “Coke Classic.” Once again all was well in the land of Sodaville.

Clothing also seems to rely on the adjective classic. Suits, tailored shirts, basic blue jeans and turtleneck sweaters have a timeless nature about them. Certainly, garish colors, pumpkin decals and wide lapels can catapult an outfit out of the classic status, but, for the most part, some clothing pieces will always be deemed classic and therefore, stylish. I prefer to call most of my clothing classic and not face the truth that the stuff is just plain old.

Over the past few years I have been on a quest for traditional recipes from my youth. Meatloaf is one example. After experimenting with numerous variations involving spices, meat combinations, sauces and bacon slices, I found myself longing for just plain classic meatloaf with catsup on the side. Exotic, no. Comforting, yes. Add a spoonful or two of mashed potatoes and peace reigneth at my dinner table.

Novels with the classic label are also found on many must read lists. Each year I try to read a classic novel or two just to see what all the hype is about. Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised and other times, not so much. East of Eden by John Steinbeck delighted me with its biblical analogies and lush prose. Eight hundred pages into Anna Karenina, however, and I was ready to meet the same demise as the angst ridden Anna. I gutted it out and made it to the final page and decided something was lost in the Russian to English translation. I guess I’m more of a Tom Sawyer kind of reader. I’ll leave the epic international dramas for other library patrons.

No doubt, I have entered the age zone of somewhere beyond young and middle aged. I, of course, would like to claim the title of classic, rather than just plain old. My wrinkles and arthritic shoulder are telling me otherwise. Maybe, like the classics, getting old is an acquired taste and should be celebrated in small doses. And, if it’s like meatloaf, a little catsup goes a long way.

 

 

 

 

Here is my Classic Meatloaf recipe. Great for cold fall evenings when it’s time to put on a little fat for the winter.

1 ½ pound ground beef

¾ c. old fashioned Quaker Oats
¾ c. chopped onion
½ c. catsup
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 Tbs. Worcestershire sauce
½ tsp. garlic powder
½ tsp. salt
½ tsp. pepper

Combine ingredients and put into loaf pan. Bake for 50-55 minutes at 350 degrees.

 

Call of Duty

 

 

My generation lost an icon last month. His name was Neil Armstrong and he was the first man to step foot on the moon. I vividly recall that warm day in July of 1969 when the radio reported that Mr. Armstrong had indeed reached that beautiful orb in the sky. I remember looking up at the moon that evening and trying to picture men walking about on something that seemed so far away and out of reach for mere earthlings. It was a moment I will never forget.

I am also impressed by the character of Mr. Armstrong. Despite his star-studded accomplishments, he seemed to prefer to stay under the radar if possible. He graciously interacted with his curious and adoring fans but maintained a humble demeanor. During one of his television interviews he stated, “Our lives should not be about one moment of fireworks. Rather, our lives should be based on the on-going ledger of daily living.” Another reporter wrote that despite Neil’s somewhat shy nature, he always “did his duty.”

Over the years I have been blessed to cross paths with folks who have answered the call of duty. Not the kind of duty filled with fanfare and marching off to regions unknown. Rather, the quiet, under the radar, I’m-here-to-serve kind of duty.

The council members of my childhood church come to mind.  Many of these men spent warm, sultry afternoons in classrooms, trying to teach lessons of faith and catechism to a rather tepid audience. The council members had day (and into the night) jobs. Yet, they took the time to stop what they were doing so they could honor their commitment to the youth of the church. Most of the elders had no background in teaching or pedagogical techniques. They answered the call of duty and did their best for us. I wish I had been more appreciative at the time. I am now filled with gratitude for their service.

I am also grateful for the men who stood at my uncle’s graveside this past summer. Despite it being a desperately hot and steamy day, a group of elderly veterans helped my family bury my uncle with a sense of military pride. My guess is that many of the men were suffering from aches and pains of their own. And yet, they answered the call to honor a fellow serviceman. My heart was thankful that morning for their humble commitment.

The moms and dads of the students at the school I attended as a youngster also come to mind. Our school was privately supported, which translated into countless hours of planning and working fundraisers, completing building projects, mowing lawns and on top of it all, writing out  tuition checks. Most of us didn’t have lake homes to help us create memories. What we did have were role models of folks who believed in faith based education and were willing to do whatever it took to make it happen.  

It is quite unlikely that any of us will accomplish something as great as stepping on the moon. It is very likely, however, that we will be given opportunities to serve others. May we all graciously answer our call to duty.

Houston, the Eagle has landed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kitty Cam

A recent news report shared the findings of critter cams placed around the necks of 50 domestic cats. Apparently, our little kitty friends are participating in perilous behaviors, unbeknownst to their owners. According to the report, free roaming felines participate in at least one risky behavior per week. The behaviors include eating and drinking foreign substances, crawling into small spaces, crossing busy roads and encountering other critters. Well, duh. They are cats. The shocking part of this report is that people are surprised by the results. Anyone who has owned a cat knows that cats set their own convoluted agendas and are only too happy to traipse through hill and dale when given a chance. The study also brought light to the fact that cats are predators and that the little “gifts” they bring home to their owners represent just a fourth of the carnage that they are participating in when they are prowling out and about in the neighborhood. For Pete’s sake, what do people think cats are doing with their nine lives? Licking the feet of their masters? Fat chance on that one unless your toes are bathed in eau de mousie. Cats are programmed to stalk and hunt. Take that away and you might have to check into Kitty Prozac for the remainder of their days.

Another result of the study is that cats can be unfaithful to their owners. Apparently, several of the cats studied were eating and sleeping at a variety of households. Which means that the “Have You Seen My Kitty” posters placed on light poles in hopes of locating a stray feline are really just a desperate attempt to locate a traitorous kitty who is enjoying a change from her usual Little Friskies in a blue bowl. Little kitty cat knows that she will return to a hero’s welcome when the time comes and maybe even a tuna treat or two as her joyful owner heaps love upon the prodigal Fluffy.

All this kitty cam voyeurism makes me wonder what would happen if someone secretly hooked us up with a people cam. Here are a few things that would probably be revealed in my cam footage.

1) The chocolate I eat in public is only a fourth of the chocolate I eat on my own. The location of my cache would also be disclosed. A lock and key might have to be used in the future.

2) Sometimes I park in spaces that are too small for me. My depth perception is weak and it is best if I park in a spot that is a kilometer or two away from the nearest vehicle.

3) I willingly interact with strange critters. They are called middle schoolers.

4) I indulge my need for variety in my diet by eating out occasionally. Sometimes food just tastes better when you’re out of the house.

For the most part, I think my cam footage would be a real snoozer. I also know that if I went missing, there would probably not be any “Have You Seen This Woman” posters on the light poles. I think my husband would just set out a little bowl of chocolate on the doorstep and hope for the best.