Past Blogs

The hot item on President Bush’s European trip last week was the chicken washing issue. The European Union is in a flap about our method of washing chickens (dead ones, I presume) in chemicals. This news item instantly brought back happy memories for me.

One of my favorite jobs was being the “Children’s Programmer” for a library. I got to create or choose all the programs for the kids. Without a doubt, the best and most popular program I ever dreamed up was the chicken washing program.

At that time my friend, Donna, was the poultry Superintendent for the Wisconsin State Fair. She was on a one woman crusade to educate urban children that the fair was more than the midway and endless junk food.

One day Donna was telling me how the 4H kids get their chickens ready for the prize judging, when, presto, an idea clicked in my brain. Why not invite the 4H kids to the library to do a summer program on how they groomed their animals for the fair?

I might note that for space reasons we did all our library programs in the City Hall basement. The looks on the aldermen’s faces were priceless when the chickens began arriving at city hall with their proud owners, water buckets, shampoo and blow driers.

The 4H kids were true pros at chicken wrangling. Our kids were mightily impressed with the knowledge and poise of their country counterparts. A few of our city kids even realized that there were interesting worlds they knew nothing about. And, we got through the entire afternoon with no wayward chickens ending up in the Council Chamber… at least, none of the avian variety.

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Patience was on sale the other day at my Goodwill Store. This “patience” consisted of 4 inch tall wooden letters P.A.T.I.E.N.C.E mounted upright on a wooden board. Apparently someone had given up on patience.

I’m not surprised. The virtues in America have been shifting around. When I was a kid, patience was a virtue and greed wasn’t. Now greed is the virtue (as in “be patriotic, go shopping”) and patience is relegated to thrift stores.

I am old fashioned enough to think that patience is still worthwhile. And I’m also introspective enough to know when I have it and when I don’t.

My patience is endless for listening to my very elderly friends in nursing homes repeat the same stories scores of times. An interesting phenomenon happens when you hear a story many times… in a way it becomes yours, too.

So I can tell you about Mrs. B’s amazing barn cat who actually dipped its paw into the bowl of mushed up bread and milk and daintily ate with its paw – just like a person.

Unfortunately, my patience checks out instantly when I see a recipe with more than 8 ingredients. I do love to cook, but I’m the queen of quick in the kitchen. I am delighted, however, that other people actually have the forbearance to make the recipes in Gourmet Magazine. I promise endless praise and appreciation to anyone who invites me to dine on the results of these intricate recipes.

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Try as they might, the likes of Wal-Mart, McDonald’s and Starbucks have not succeeded in obliterating all the regional differences in the United States. Even though every town in America has its predictable landscape of chain stores, observant travelers can still find many things that don’t remind them of home.

Hot dog buns come to mind. Every Midwesterner knows that hot dog buns are split on the side. Imagine my surprise when I bought a package of hot dog buns in a New England grocery and discovered they all looked like little canoes. Time spent in the region revealed the brilliance of the top split bun. It can be stuffed with lobster salad, shrimp salad or clams and the aforementioned will not fall out onto your lap. I would love to see this regional product go national.

The South has a reputation for relishing its regionalism. They love their eccentrics, mint juleps, bourbon and regional authors.

I love the South, but do have a problem when I visit. After placing my order in a Southern restaurant, I had a waitress look at me and say, “Honey, I didn’t understand a word you just said.” Everything down South moves a bit more slowly, including the words.

Regional differences in the West are most apparent in traffic issues. Want to make yourself the instant center of attention? Just venture off the curb at any unsignaled pedestrian crossing out West. I had no idea I could bring all traffic to a screeching halt by merely putting a toe in a crosswalk. Where I’m from, this courtesy is unheard of. Just yesterday I was trying to cross a busy street without traffic lights. Scores of cars just whizzed by me. I dashed for my life when there was a break in the traffic. It’s a predator-prey type relationship here.

I, however, become the menace when I drive out West where the stoplights are on the FAR side of the intersection, not on the corner where you actually stop the car. We midwesterners might be a tad tough on pedestrians, but we don’t put stoplights where you aren’t supposed to stop.

And could someone tell me why California freeways are always referred to with the article ‘the’ as in, “You take the 8 to get to the 5”? I can unequivocally tell you that I do not live just off the 43. I do know my place.

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Fads are like a rash. First only a few spots appear, but soon they are everywhere. I confess to trying to spot these trends before they are epidemic.

Take the pillow people for example. There is a decided fad among young people to bring their bedroom pillows to the airport. These pillows may not be relegated to duffel bags. They must be conspicuously displayed such as clutched under the arm the way young children cling to their teddy bears.

I was sitting next to a pillow person on a recent long flight. The young lady placed the pillow vertically over her chest & lap and clutched her arms around it for the entire flight thus doing a great impersonation of a woman in her ninth month of pregnancy. I’m clueless as to why a bed pillow has such cachet.

I read about the absolute latest wedding fad in an unimpeachable source, an airline magazine. You’ve no doubt heard of the craze for destination weddings. But now there’s a new twist. After the lovely poolside ceremony, the bride immediately jumps into the pool. Soon the whole expensively clad wedding party is in there with her. An alternative is for the bride to do an ocean swim the next day… also in her wedding gown. America has been called a nation of teenagers, and this behavior seems to be supporting evidence.

The swimming in your wedding dress fad was probably started by the bridal industry to nip the burgeoning market in used wedding gowns.

Food and beverage fads are omnipresent, and I only need to consult my daughter for the latest trends here. She says that mojitos are really hot now.

A computer search enlightened me on the mojito’s makeup – muddled mint, limes, sugar, rum and club soda. Since I don’t own a muddler, I won’t be indulging anytime soon. However, I suspect that more than one of those water soaked brides had a few mojitos before their vows.

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The best thing about my husband’s retirement is the coffee. Although most kitchen functions still remain inscrutable mysteries to him, he has become a fantastic barista.

Before retirement, he would frequently stop on the drive home from work for a latte or espresso. His critiques would go something like – too much milk, too bitter, over-roasted beans.

My husband saw retirement as an opportunity for learning how to make the perfect cup of coffee. Being a minimalist, he only invested in a $29.99 Mr. Coffee espresso maker. “You are only getting an eagle for the extra $200.” He believes that skill and quality beans make good coffee, not big buck equipment.

After much grinding, steaming, frothing and taste testing, a perfect cup of coffee has emerged. And every morning he gets up and produces this masterpiece for me to take on my morning commute. Lucky me!

Except one morning last month, when tragedy did strike. As I was pulling out of our driveway, I saw in the rear view mirror my coffee mug sailing down the road behind me spewing coffee. You guessed it – I put the precious brew on the roof of my car as I loaded my school gear and then took off.

No coffee that morning; I couldn’t lower myself to Starbucks.

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