The Wave

Sporting events are know for lots of energy and activities that promote spectator involvement. One such activity came on the scene several decades ago and occasionally happens today. It is called The Wave. Spectators begin a stand-up-and-wave action that, if done correctly, creates a wave-like action with all the stadium attendees. The genesis story of this particular activity is murky but it is believed to have begun at soccer games in Mexico. The U.S. picked up on it and it became a bit of a sensation in the 80's. I do not attend enough sporting events to be an expert on the subject but I can say I have participated in a few during my lifetime. 

I currently participate in my own version of The Wave. During the exile period of the wicked C-19, I found myself occasionally waving as a form of affirmation or acknowledgement. Gratefully, the isolation is easing to a degree but I am still waving at entities that make me smile.

We live near an elementary school as well as a bus stop for middle-schoolers which means we have several buses drive by our house each school day. Every time I see a bus go by my living room window, I give the bus a big wave. I doubt any of the passengers ever see me, but I love the feeling of sending good wishes their way as they embark on another day of education and as they return home, ready for a snack and some decompression time. As a former educator, I am so grateful for the dedicated professionals who work at helping each student have a good day at school. You deserve a wave.

The library I frequent is across the street from one of our city's swimming pools. The pool was eerily quiet last summer due to you-know-what. At the beginning of this year I began waving at the empty pool each time I made a trip to the library. I long for the day when the noise of laughing and splashing return. Lifeguards are saints as they enforce safety rules, endure the glare of relentless sunshine and encourage reluctant children during swim class. Our city is opening the pools this summer and they are in need of more lifeguards. I wave as a sign of support and good wishes for a full deck of employees. They deserve a wave. 

The final wave might surprise those of you who know me. Our backyard neighbors have two Golden Labrador dogs. They are in kennels for the majority of day with occasional romps in their yard so they can do their business. I am certainly not a dog lover but their kennel enclosures make them safe canines for me. When I open or close the window in our bedroom, the dogs often lift their heads and look my way. In some weird way I felt a kinship with them during the past year as I, too, was spending lots of time within an enclosure. I started waving at them whenever they looked my way as a moment of solidarity we could share together. I am not sure the dogs deserved a wave but it made me smile, so, good enough. 

I remember lots of waving in the small town I grew up in. There were few strangers in our world and it was nice to acknowledge others in a positive way. I am going to continue my waving as it always gives me a mood boost. Find someone or something to wave at this week and enjoy the moment! 

 

Butcher Shop

During the first years of my married life, I worked in a meat department at a grocery store in our small town. It certainly was not my dream job but it definitely taught me a lot about the world of butchery. As with most grocery store meat departments, we were not responsible for the front end process of dispatching animals. Our job was to break down and package the meat sent our way from other entities. The butcher I worked for was quite the character and he never failed to dredge up a story or two for anyone available to listen, which was most often me. I could hold my own in the story department so we were never void of conversation.

My primary job responsibilities were packaging and cleaning up. The butcher broke down quarters of beef or pork and I packaged, weighed, sealed and labeled everything for the meat case. Sometimes I helped grind beef for our hamburger packages. The grinder was enormous and a miserable beast to clean. I wrestled big clunky parts of that grinder in my stainless steel sink, often counting the minutes until the last part was finished. Another task I had was packaging on liver day. A cow's liver is rather massive and it has to be sliced into smaller portions. I used a large 2-pronged fork to spear the individual pieces and place them into smaller round containers. The containers were weighed and labeled for sale. I am not a huge fan of eating liver but I did take home a container on occasion and fry up a batch of liver and onions. The price was right and my generation was always reminded by our parents, "Eat your liver. It is good for you." 

I left that job when my daughter was born. The pay was not worth hiring a babysitter and I wanted to stay home with her as long as possible. I enjoyed my time in the meat department, but I knew it was not a career for me. Circumstances made it possible for me to eventually finish my teaching degree and finally begin many years in the classroom. A career I loved. 

Circumstances intervened again and my husband and I recently found ourselves working in a meat department of sorts. Due to the craziness of the wicked C-19, my sister and her husband faced a surplus of hogs with no place to sell them when the packing plants were shut down. In an attempt to save at least a few of them for a valuable cause, family members joined in the effort to butcher, package and label the pork for personal use. To be clear, my sister and her husband did the majority of the heavy lifting. The rest of us followed orders to the best of our abilities. 

Despite my time working in a meat department, I had no experience in the actual breaking down of the meat portions. My cooking experience gave me more direction because I know what cuts and sizes I can efficiently manage. I also know how to work with knives. That being said, I was the only one who cut myself during our first round. Pro tip: duct tape works better than bandaids for sealing off a wound.

Fortunately, the pork production crisis has eased in recent months. Even so, my sister and her husband found that they wanted to continue dabbling in the process. We were invited again last week to join in another round and we didn't hesitate to accept the offer. The thought of fresh pork chops on the grill was too tempting to pass up. 

Within 24 hours we were back on the road for our return trip home with all fingers intact and no need for  duct tape. And our coolers were full of porky possibilities. Mission accomplished. 

3 Dishes

I listen to many hours of podcasts while I endure my exercise routine in the morning. I enjoy podcasts covering everything from murders in National Parks to the history of Oreo and Hydrox cookies. My favorite podcasts often deal with food related topics. The host of one food podcast often asks her guests to chose five dishes that describe their food journey in life. The responses are not particularly profound but they are always very personal. Here is my list of dishes that represent the underpinnings of my food pathway. For the sake of brevity, I chose three and it certainly was not an easy task due to my fascination with all things food. 

1) Comfort casserole--I have referred to this dish before in my blogging posts and it still remains a part of my food heritage. The ingredients are simply ground beef, carrots, potatoes and a can of tomato soup. Variations could be a few peas or corn tossed in as well. My mom often served this casserole for our Sunday meal after church. It was something she could prepare the night before and put into the oven on a timed baked setting Sunday morning. The warm and hearty meal would be ready for nine starving family members after we changed from our church clothes to our everyday clothes. Casseroles continue to be a part of my food repertoire, especially when I was teaching full time. I have not changed the ingredients of the comfort casserole other than adding a little dash of chipotle powder for a bit of smoky heat. Casseroles always equal comfort in my book.

2) Mini frozen cooked shrimp--Full disclosure that I have not purchased this product in over twenty years but I can identify it as part of my food history. In the small town where my husband and I lived when we were first married, the only grocery store in town had a limited inventory. In an attempt to put together a snack tray with something different than carrot and celery sticks I found the little bags of frozen shrimp were available and easy to add to the tray. I often got questions from the local store clerk as to how I was using the shrimp. Saltwater seafood was exotic in our little town. Now I have access to a dizzying array of choices for snack trays, especially with the popularity of charcuterie boards. I may not be using the little shrimpies any more but I still love to try new things for my snack trays. 

3) Lamb--Despite the fact that my state is listed as a robust producer of sheep, I never tasted lamb until well into adulthood. My family raised chickens, hogs and cattle so our dining table featured those meats. My first bite of lamb happened at a restaurant where a family friend was the manager and recommended the lamb on the menu. I was immediately hooked and since then lamb is a part of my meal rotation. We love marinated lamb chops on the grill, lamb burgers with tzatziki sauce and of course, slow braised lamb stew. It may not be the protein of my youth but it certainly has a place on my dinner table now. 

I am looking forward to many new foods, yet to be explored. But, I will always appreciate the culinary path taken along the way. 

Here is your homework assignment for the week: Identify three dishes that represent your food pathway. You all have an A+ in advance from me! 

The Cucumber

My husband is one of the fortunate ones to be eligible for an immunization as protection from the evil monster that lives among us. As we drove to the skin piercing site I had a mix of emotions ranging from elation to trepidation to relief to pure awe at the wonders of science. Not surprisingly, the site was buzzing with activity with lots of folks coming and going from the building. We found a parking spot and he entered the building while I waited in our vehicle. He texted me when the shot was complete and he was seated in the waiting area with a sticker to let him know when his required 15 minutes of observation was finished. 

Shortly after his text, I heard a wail of sirens and I hoped the noise would soon fade into the distance. Not to be. An ambulance roared into our parking lot and a nurse standing by the entrance was waving it down. Soon a fire and rescue vehicle came blaring in the lot with a police car following close behind. The entry ramp is now lined with people trying to maintain a social distance protocol while the ambulance personnel prepare to enter the building.

Meanwhile I am frantically texting my husband to see if he is all right. A little back story before I continue. My husband struggled a little with the authorization form. One question asked about serious reactions to food or bees. Technically he is supposed to carry an Epi-pen due to an incident with an outraged rogue wasp that flew into his pickup while he was driving home one day. The wasp took a dive for his temple and a little while later we were in acute care. He has always felt this was a one-off incident and was unwilling to say that his reaction was serious. And he didn't want to wait in the observation area at the immunization clinic for 30 minutes rather than 15 so he checked no on the bee sting question.

Of course, my mind is going wild as I see the ambulance arrive and I immediately texted him, asking if he was okay. For whatever reason, he decided to respond in a way that could be interpreted as masking a serious issue. My imagination needs little goading and we are not in the habit of texting cutesie things to each other so I am now craning my neck to see who is being carried out on the gurney. 

Just when I was ready to head toward the action, I saw my husband nonchalantly walking out of the building. He walked past all the action with nary a second glance. When I asked him what happened he calmly said some lady was passed out in the entryway. He said he just stepped around her and made his way out. He hadn't heard the sirens or seen anything out of the ordinary prior to exiting the building so my texts had fallen upon less frantic ears.

For a brief moment I felt I might need to ask the ambulance for a two-for-one special as I took some deep breaths and tried to calm myself. In true cucumber style, my husband patiently listened to my woes and then started the vehicle. Enough drama for one day. Here's hoping round two is a little less exciting. 

 

Trinity

Many cuisines have ingredients that are the backbone of their cooking. For instance, Cajun cooking leans heavily upon a "holy trinity" of bell peppers, onions and celery.  Spanish cuisine often uses sofrito, a combination of finely chopped onions, garlic, bell peppers and tomatoes. The French employ a mirepoix of diced onions, celery and carrots in many of their dishes. Middle Eastern cooking relies on spice blends such as turmeric, cumin and coriander. I am not sure if my Dutch heritage had a go-to combination of ingredients. My ancestors arrived in the upper plains over a century ago and I suspect they were more concerned about survival than finding the perfect flavor combinations for the food they put on the table. Working with what you have is probably the hallmark of the best cooks. 

Long before the farm to table movement became trendy, many home cooks were doing just that. The family farm I grew up on was providing us with milk from the family cow, no extra charge for the flavor enhancements from the cow's diet. Our chickens were giving us enough eggs for baking and cooking. My mother sold the excess eggs to the local creamery to supplement her "grocery money." Our bountiful garden pumped out enough produce for fresh eating in the summer and jars and jars of canned vegetables for the winter. I often tired of the work involved with our large garden (sorry about the whining, Mom) but I never grew weary of eating vegetables. Our cows and pigs gave us delicious meals and of course, bacon, a pig's greatest gift to mankind. 

My own cooking is far removed from my ancestors who first arrived on the stark prairie landscape. Easy access to grocery stores and on-line purveyors makes it possible to procure just about any ingredient one desires.  I recently ordered gochugaru so I can explore fermenting kimchi. This would boggle the minds of my Dutch grandparents and perhaps elicit a shaking of their heads as they muttered something about the downfall of the young 'uns.  

Despite my desire to explore different cuisines I am still a product of my past. My comfort food meals often involve a manifestation of potatoes, carrots and onions, easy ingredients to keep on hand and extremely versatile. My "holy trinity" is definitely carrots, onions and celery. Depending on the dish I am preparing, a few sweet peppers might be tossed into the mix. Standard seasonings are salt and pepper, of course, with a smidge of this and that added for flavor interest. And don't forget the mustard. Everything from whole-grain mustard to Dijon to the good old-fashioned neon yellow stuff can be found in my refrigerator. 

As I write this post, a pot of vegetable beef soup is simmering on the stove. A week of below zero temperatures provided the inspiration for a bowl of this cold weather elixir. There is nothing fancy in the soup. The beef bones are simmered with carrot, onion, celery, peppercorns, salt and a bay leaf. The broth is strained and chunks of beef are added with tomatoes, tomato sauce, thyme, oregano and more salt and pepper. And, of course, my trinity of carrots, onions and celery is needed. Barley is a final addition and voila, hearty vegetable beef soup. 

If you are looking for a super simple, but tasty trinity, might I suggest a combination of popcorn, broken potato chips and a few cheetos for a pop of color. Goodness gracious, that is an enchanting trinity.  

 

V day

Valentine's Day is a holiday that is often loathed or loved. Regardless of your point of view, this year's celebration will most likely look a bit differently due to the wretched you-know-what. One year ago, many of us were completely unaware of the chaos and ugliness that would soon enter our daily living. My husband and I were out of town enjoying a dinner theater, a place packed with people and a stage filled with singing and dancing. Just the thought of such a venue makes me shiver right now. It also fills me with sadness as we will break our decades old tradition of getting away for a few days in February. Certainly, there are worse things to feel bad about but it is a loss nonetheless. 

Truthfully, we all know deep down that showing how much we care about someone else should not be based on a day designated by the commercial powers that be. We are bombarded with images of roses, chocolates, jewelry and lovers besotted with one another. Comparing ourselves to such contrived business is foolish at best. How and when we choose to honor those who are important to us is in our control. 

Blessedly, my childhood days were free of so many of the pressures of today's world. Media was little more than a television with snowy images and a couple of channels. Magazines in our household were usually our church periodical and my dad's farm magazine. Rest assured, there wasn't a lot of Valentine's information being touted in either of those publications. The closest we got to a valentine was an occasional box of conversation hearts, taste optional. Be True.

Despite our apparent lack of Valentine observations I never doubted my parents' love for each other. I do not recall a bouquet of flowers or boxes of chocolates being shared but I always knew that they had each other's backs. Seven boisterous children and a growing farm business demanded a shared team approach. Love was often expressed in action rather than things. Occasionally Dad would surprise my mom with a gift, often appliance related. This may seem like the most unromantic gift possible but I was always in awe of how Dad knew exactly what would make Mom's life better. And nothing says love like a new 18-cubic-foot freezer. 

There is no perfect moment or ideal gift in the game of appreciation. Give yourself enough grace to do what makes sense to you. Hallmark will continue to sell cards and gifts, with or without you. Chocolate covered strawberries will be just as tasty in July as in February. Flowers are available any day of the week. 

Take a moment to appreciate those who are important to you. A pot of homemade soup can speak volumes of care for someone else. Cleaning out the basement storeroom can be just as powerful. And, of course, a new freezer is always a home run.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Battle

Shoveling snow is an art form in the upper plains. Our equipment and techniques are based on years of battling the elements. We have learned how to read the consistency of the snowfall and choose our weapon(s) and strategy accordingly. A soft fluffy snow may only need a quick shoveling with basic equipment. Wet, pre-cement snow will need heavy duty shovels and a course of action designed to save fragile back muscles. A snow plow's windrow in the driveway can mean another skirmish with the white stuff, cussing optional.  

Our neighborhood represents many of the game plans used in snow removal. Ready Randy is usually the first one out of the gate, ready to tackle the latest snow project. His garage door will slowly open and he will appear dressed for battle with his armor and weapon of choice. He is responsible for his driveway and a small section of sidewalk. He takes this task seriously and wants it done well and soon. Steady Stan is a bit more calculating. He usually waits until he is sure the last flake has descended. His large corner lot means he has quite a bit of snow to tackle. Often, that calls for a machine, the snowblower. Stan has a heavy duty blower so he is able to methodically and decisively take care of his property. 

Nancy and Ned Newlywed are still finding their way in property caretaking. The first snowfall caught them with barely a shovel, a car left in the driveway (another place to collect drifts) and recreational outerwear. Subsequent snowfalls have resulted in a couple of shovels, an unobstructed driveway and boots with tread. Serious Stu is a veteran snow mover and is ready for anything with his big gun, the riding snowblower. He is able to make quick work of his corner lot and he occasionally is gracious enough to take care of our sidewalk as well. Loosey-Goosey Larry has more of a git-er-done strategy as he is known to clear his corner lot with just a shovel and his attire is a pair of shorts, no hat and some klompy boot situation. 

My husband and I often take a divide and conquer approach. Our baby lot does not have a lot of snow coverage but we are also responsible for our neighbor's large corner lot (they compensate us adequately so no need to feel sorry for us, most days). My husband loves his snowblower and likes to wait until everything "settles down" before making a game plan. I am a little more jumpy and anxious to get the neighbor's driveway finished. I do not run the snowblower so I am only useful if the snow is a reasonable depth and it is not too moisture laden. I also do not own coveralls so if the windchill is below zero I am inept. In other words, I am a Goldilocks snow mover.  

Our latest snowfall was of the light and fluffy variety but it came with a sneak attack. I had completed the shoveling on the neighbor's driveway and sidewalks when my husband said that it looked like we might get another shot of snow. Grrr. He wisely waited and sure enough, another dump happened just as night was beginning to fall which is early this time of year. My husband owns headlamps and his snowblower is equipped with lights but I do not shovel in the dark unless it is an emergency. We decided the snow would still be there in the morning and we would join Ready Russ in another round of shoveling. 

All in a day's work.