“It’s going to be an introspective day,” Obie Yadgar would say in his mellifluous voice.

Obie was a classical music radio announcer in Milwaukee many years ago, and we would wake up to his voice each morning. “Introspective day” was Obie’s gentle way of informing us that the weather was going to be a nightmare. Blizzards, ice storms, deluges,  tornadoes and white outs all qualified as introspective days.

Upon hearing those words, the best possible course of action would be to pull the covers over your head and hibernate for the day.

I still applaud Obie’s wisdom. Some days give no external support of radiant sunshine and clear, blue skies. Any forthcoming cheer will have to be conjured up from internal resources.

Those of us who live in the upper Midwest get more than our share of introspective days, and the season is upon us. I have always known that gray is a popular sky color where I live. Nevertheless, I was shocked when I read in the front of the Albuquerque phone book that their city has over 300 days a year with sun. Can life truly be this egregiously unfair?

It’s time to mine those interior resources. Exercising our creativity with paint, words, dance, needlework or any media of our choice is a good start. Daydreaming in front of a fireplace isn’t bad, either.

I recently came across a charming children’s book by Elisa Kleven called Sun Bread. In response to weeks of dreadful weather, a baker bakes a big, golden, smiling, sun shaped bread. That may be the ultimate spirit-lifting and stomach-warming remedy for these introspective days.

Post Script: I went out on the web to see what Obie Yadgar is doing now. He’s writing. Check out his delightful poem, To My Infant Grandson, here.

Anyone who has lived in America the last decade knows that every transaction with a large business is a scam. This fact is lamentable but true.

The creativity of these scams is stellar and endless. For the average working family, there are not enough hours in the day to be scambusters.

Being retired helps; endless time can be spent reading small print or hanging onto a phone on hold. But even this approach only yields marginal relief.

For example, my husband spent a month researching the best cell phone deal. He did get a low price and no contract, but with one caveat. The company could change the terms at any time.

But the most creative scam was just perpetuated on us. My old stove was dying, or, more accurately, burning up, and a replacement was a necessity.

Since I still work, my husband did due diligence. He read Consumers Reports for hours and then trudged from store to store. He made an educated purchase and set a delivery date. I was to see my new electric range for the first time when it was delivered.

I was home alone when the stove arrived. It was a beauty. And then the delivery guy, a nice man I believe, said sheepishly,” Do you wish to buy a cord so you can plug your stove in?”

To which I replied,”I know you were forced to do this, but isn’t it a shame that everything in America is a scam now?” He agreed.

I bought the cord. No need to send the cordless stove back only to waste another month and be victim to yet another ingenious “gotcha”.

The word “peace” is currently in season. But three more words should also be considered: positive, passive and pushover.

Over half of the Christmas cards I’ve received make mention of peace. I have not attempted to count the number of times the phrase “Peace on Earth” has jumped out of the December environment. It’s lighted up on houses, screaming from billboards and proclaimed in bold type in newspapers and magazines. For the moment, peace is in style.

Herein, I believe, is the problem. Peace is not in fashion the remaining eleven months of the year. Those of us who wish peace to be a constant presence  are regarded as sweet and ineffectual relics from the 1960’s. We are viewed as passive  pushovers who are  somewhat lacking in gray matter.

The current stylish methods of operation appear to be bullying, hate-mongering and negativity toward any effort for the common good.

I believe that peace making is not passive. A commitment to peace is a positive action. The most dynamic people I know are in the peace movement, and I consider myself lucky to know them.

Peace also involves hard work every day. It begins inside each of us and works out… our homes, neighborhoods, communities and the larger world.

As a graphic designer, I’ve illustrated scores of Christmas cards. My favorite had the message,”Peace is not a season, it is a way of life.” I would love to meet the folks who bought that card. I’m guessing many are engaged and caring individuals. And I bet very few of them sport tie dyed shirts and dangling peace medallions.

May we all find peace every month of the New Year.

A creature definitely is stirring. And that creature most certainly  is a mouse. Fortunately, said mouse is on the outside of the house.

Our kitchen table is strategically placed to give us a panoramic view of the Tooley Cafe as we dine. Birds and squirrels flit  in and out all day. Rabbits and deer are occasional crepuscular visitors while raccoons, skunks and, my favorite, opossums, are on the night shift.

So I was surprised to see a wee streak of rapid, white motion in the Cafe the other night. Were my eyes playing tricks on me, or was I seeing an extremely tiny guest?

The following night the little guest zipped up the bird feeder pole and disappeared into the shadows of the feeder tray. This time I got a glimpse of a white belly and teensy white feet. I also witnessed the creature’s lightning fast leap out of the feeder and exit via the tops of the bushes.

Consulting Mammals of Wisconsin, I paged through rodents only to discover that we have a great number of mice varieties in our state. A positive ID of our visitor is impossible; several species fit the description. But if I had to bet, my money would go on the white-footed mouse.

I’ve noticed an abundance of cutesy holiday mice ornaments and tsotchkes in the stores lately. I wonder if the people who buy them truly love mice? I consider myself the lucky one. I’ve got a real Christmas mouse right in my own backyard.

The idea behind a Christmas cookie exchange is simple. A number of women each agree to bake a gigantic batch of a favorite Christmas cookie. The group then gathers, and each baker trades a dozen cookies with everyone present. Voila! Each lady leaves with dozens of cookies of many varieties and saves hours of time in the kitchen.

Please don’t sign me up. Baking Christmas cookies is a yearly joy for me, and each of the many kinds I bake is filled with family tradition.

My beloved Christmas Cookie Cookbook came from the Wisconsin Electric Company in 1957. Three generations, my grandmother, my mother and I, all attended the free Friday cookie baking demonstrations in the Electric Company’s downtown auditorium. We all left with complimentary cookbooks which contain the best (and thoroughly tested)  cookie recipes in the world.

Each December I get out my tattered, battered book and bake our family’s favorites… California Dream Bars, Toffee Nut Squares, Chocolate Snowflakes, Mexican Wedding Cakes, Gold Cookies, Pinwheels and Gingerbreads. My son gets his own batch of Oatmeal Jam Diamonds.

I also use another ancient cookbook, The Big Chocolate Cookbook, to create Chocolate Orange Cookies, Chocolate Fig Cookies and Chocolate Coconut Squares.

The cookies I don’t bake are equally important. After my Aunt Vi died, our family retired the cookies we made exclusively for her, pastel pink and green coconut kisses. My Aunt Vi had a thing for pink food.

The Tiger’s Paw cookies have been retired as well. My son-in-law baked these extraordinarily labor-intensive cookies. All the tiger claws, slivered almonds, had to be carefully placed in each paw.

Only my mother could make rolled, white sugar cookies. They were mostly butter, and she would turn the furnace down to make the house frigid enabling her to roll the cookies paper thin before the butter melted. My father always watched the oven for her while she rolled and cut.

My mother-in-law’s specialty was anise cookies. Our daughter continues that tradition. Her first attempt at duplicating her Grandma’s recipe turned into hockey pucks, but she has mastered the recipe now.

I happily share plates and boxes of cookies with friends all during the holidays. And when I receive a gift of homemade cookies, I know there is more than cookies on that plate. I’m getting a taste of another family’s history as well.