Author Archives: Jane Bretl

on garden trowels and brandied peaches

11 Friday Sep 2009

Posted by in Foodies, seasons

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Ingenuity is a valuable trait when staying at a vacation property.  You never know what you might find, or find missing.  In this case, we found a nice BIG house perfect to accomodate our large group; but there was a marked absence of kitchen utensils in the “fully stocked” kitchen.  Well, there was a 3″ toy whisk that I think was a kitchen-themed Christmas ornament, but its usefulness was limited.

We discovered the lack of any type of spatula/flipper when the meat was heading to the grill on Friday night.  After a thorough search of all the drawers and cupboards, we discovered a nice, shiny-new set of garden tools in a kitchen drawer, and promptly re-purposed the trowel as a hamburger flipper and brat turner.  It worked.  That garden trowel got lots of use through the weekend, although we did not have to use it on the scrambled eggs because a late-comer received the call to bring a spatula, pronto.

This lack of proper useful conventional equipment did not stop a couple of us from undertaking what I might consider one of the most ambitious cooking projects I can imagine:  a first try at canning peaches.  B brought a recipe fresh ripped from a magazine (“Impossible Virgin Canning Projects Magazine”, perhaps?) with a beautiful picture of the preserved peaches, so pretty in the jar with no trace of botulism to be seen.  She brought canning jars, lids and rims. She bought a huge box of gorgeous, fresh, Michipie peaches.  Most importantly, what she brought to the kitchen was a sense of fun, and optimism, and a confidence that this could be done by two people who had never done it before — a sense that canning peaches was the most natural thing in the world to do on a beach vacation.

I love that about her.

Everyone else disappeared from the kitchen in fear in logic in haste, scattering in all directions trying to look busy.  I never would have tried this adventure on my own, but I was happy to find myself there, working side-by-side with my cousin, figuring it out as we went along.  We boiled lots of pots at once.  Pots of boiling water to sterilize jars.  Pots at a boil for a quick dip to skin the peaches.  Pots of sugary syrup that boiled over, but we kept on going.  I love to cook but am hopeless at following recipes, so I goofed a few times yet she did not make me feel inevitably responsible for the possible botulism poisoning of our whole relation.

I really like that about her too.

Here we are getting started.  (Note: the dog treats on the counter were not part of the recipe.)

peach prep

Look how happy the brave canners are!

canning IS fun!

Peaches turn the sugary syrup a beautiful color when they cook (This was right before it bubbled over — I was supposed to be watching the pot, DOOH…)

peaches pre-big-mess

Things got a little sweaty scary exciting near the end of the process…

exciting peaches!

It was declared the leftover syrup will make delicious lemonade:

pretty syrup

And, viola!, the finished product.  I  am not positive how the stray hot dog ended up in the food-styled final shot; suffice to say there were seven kids running around and at least as many kids-at-heart…

where did the hot dog come from???

Thank you to my dear cousin who, as always, opened my eyes to new adventures…

on the shores of Michipie

10 Thursday Sep 2009

Posted by in Foodies, seasons

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I have never vacationed in Michigan before, other than a wonderful wedding there nine years ago; however that fun, busy event left little time to explore the area.  Growing up in Wisconsin, a vacation in Michigan was never even considered as an option.  It was an absurd concept, like taking a road trip to Mars.  No one I knew ever crossed the Big Lake and went to Michigan for fun.  A funeral maybe, although Michigan people and the Wisconsin people I knew did not usually have familial ties.  So, nope, not even for a funeral.

What is it about neighboring states that creates this virtual wall?  Is it the sibling rivalry of states?  Each place is largely the same but depending on where you live relative to The State Line, you have your allegiances.  It is an arbitrary line on a map, but it spurs fanatical sports rivalries (Packers vs. Vikings), creates the butts of jokes (did ya hear the one about Olie and Swen in Minnesota?), road rage (well, you can just see how they learn to drive in Illinois, can’t ja?”).  It is also the rationale for why their highways are not as well maintained (even though they have tolls!) their women are not as strong, and their children are not as above average, to quote Garrison Keillor, a Minnesotan who knows a lot about such things.

So, back to the story:  off we go to Michigan for a family reunion of sorts, no expectations about the location whatsoever, just looking forward to seeing cousins and in-law cousins and the mini-cousins some of them have begot.  The drive took much longer than expected (but that is another story…), so we I was a bit frazzled by the time we arrived.  It was getting close to  dark when we pulled in to the rental house, so we did not see much scenery or even the lake.  What I did see after all the warm welcome hugs and happy exclamations was… pie.

All kinds of pie.  Pie from Bob’s Barn of Pie.  It is a good thing that I did not go to Bob’s myself, as I suspect I would not have been able to decide.  They extolled the wonders of blueberry lemon, strawberry rhubarb, and many others, but there before us was a beautiful apple pie with an artisan top crust, a triple berry pie oozing with berry goodness, and… an apple jalapeno pie.  Eyebrows shot up, mouths drooped agape — really?   Yes, indeed, She had just baked them fresh today.  She baked them all herself.  No one knew who She was (clearly not Bob) but we reverently referred to She the Pie Maker for the rest of the weekend.  She was good at her job, that much was clear.  She had a calling.

I could not help but notice that the apple jalapeno box was missing a big slice.  Turns out Bob at the Barn of Pie has a favorite flavor and it is apple jalapeno, so he helped himself to a big ol’ slice of the last pie right before they came in, but he insisted that they must try this pie because it was his favorite.  Perhaps he sensed they were from Illinois so he wanted to make a peace gesture and bring an end to this whole state rivalry thing.  A peace pipe of pie.

Either way, we were happy to have our 3/4 of an apple jalapeno crusted wonder, which everyone declared oddly delicious, with almost a chutney-like sweet/hot flavor.  Yum.  Immediately my perception of the whole state of Michigan was elevated considerably.  Any place with Bob’s Barn of Pie that She made fresh in innumerable flavors was a state that needed to be re-evaluated top to bottom.  Time to put aside my preconceived notions about MI and discover why so many of our Ohio friends go there every summer (that was always so mysterious…)

And I will hereby and forthwith call this land Michipie.

The next day brought sunny, seasonably warm weather and a trip to the beach.  The sand was white and soft, the water of Lake Michigan was clear and cold and refreshing.  It was beautiful.  There was that gas generator running loudly there on the sand with a long orange extension cord running to a boom box blaring tunes at 10:00AM, but by then I already had my rose-colored Michipie glasses on and I did not see any drawbacks to this place.  How cute!  Look at the dancing drunk people and the ones passed out on the towel!  They must be visiting from some other state (like Indiana) because people from Michipie are clearly much nicer than that.

Don’t get me wrong — Wisconsin is still my little slice of heaven and always will be.  I’ve learned though to look at my neighboring states in a new light.  Maybe we don’t have to fly to far-away states to have adventures.  Those far-away states have states all around them that make fun of them too.  Maybe, just maybe, I could be a little more open-minded.  I’m just saying.

And, in the end, it was not just the fine crusted pastries that made it the best “end-of-summer” weekend I think I have ever had.  It was the feeling of family, people who call me Janie and I don’t mind, people with whom I can grill brats with a garden trowel…

…but that is a story for another day.

finding the message

08 Tuesday Sep 2009

Posted by in Motherhood

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I am proud of our President.  At the same time, I feel befuddled, astounded and saddened by the actions of some people, hopefully a vocal minority, and their reaction to his televised speech to the nation’s schoolchildren set for today.

Read his back-to-school speech, if you want.  Decide for yourself if it is a conspiratorial left-wing socialist brainwashing invasion of vulnerable young minds, or just a speech from our democratically elected leader meant to encourage and inspire kids to do their personal best at the start of this new school year.

My kids will not hear his speech today.  Our school district is not showing it today.  That’s 18,000 kids that are sent one message before they even hear the speech, just here in my town.  That means it’s up to us as parents to help them find and hear the positive message in his speech, and the political situation surrounding it.

Some parents choose to speak up, in ways big or little.  As found on the Daily Kos, here is one Ohio mom’s permission slip for today:

“Despite the warnings of right-wing radio hosts, and fully cognizant that my daughter risks learning a lesson in civics, I, nonetheless, grant her permission to watch a televised address by the duly-elected leader of these United States, President Barack Obama, on the controversial subject of the importance of school.”

That note helps me laugh a little when what I really want to do is cry.  The whole situation is so absurd it leaves me speechless.  The negativity is so thick it is up to our ankles.  What can we do but try to put the event in context for the kids by talking to them about the importance of freedom of speech;  about listening to others’ viewpoints respectfully but making our own decisions;  about why some people are so filled with hate and bitterness that they see everything the President does through that lens.

Great, that will all be easy to explain.

Good grief.  Makes me yearn for the carefree days of explaining the birds and the bees…

search engine funnies 2.0

01 Tuesday Sep 2009

Posted by in get along like cats and dogs, something important, I'm sure

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Here it is again:  a quick round-up of search terms that curious people seeking answers to life’s nagging questions typed into their search engine of choice and ended up on my blog instead…

“Jane Killborn”    (hard-core gore thriller author Jack Kilborn‘s eccentric aunt?)

“how to get dogs and cats to get along”    (remains a mystery to all of us….)

“daily mirror cartoon jane”   (can I speak in word bubbles?  That would be fun.)

“guinea hen cooked in pig bladder”   (Cool! I actually talked about that one…)

“something important”   (isn’t that a rather vague search phrase?)

“candid tween”  (I get a lot of visitors with that one)

“find my head”  (if you lose your head, can you find it online?)

“zebra sounds”  (being a fan of blogger/author Judy Clement Wall is lucrative)

And, what remains the most popular random link that googlers follow to reach jane, candid??

“pre-wash cycle”

Yes, where upstanding citizens looking for real advice on how to operate the pre-wash cycle on their dishwasher instead find pictures of my dog licking the plates…

As a writer, one likes to think that people visit said blog on purpose — but if I get a candid tween obsessed, guinea hen cookin’ pet whisperer who lost her head because the dishwasher pre-wash was broken?  I’ll take it.  All are welcome.

support your favorite places, $1 at a time

29 Saturday Aug 2009

Posted by in Foodies, something important, I'm sure

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I first heard about the 3/50 project from my friend Judy, who is also my source for all things topical since I don’t watch the news.  I should say, my sole televised news source is Jon Stewart, so Judy is in good company.  The 3/50 Project is a grass-roots effort to save local economies, three stores at a time.  Now Judy lives on the West Coast, where things often happen a”few” years before they meander their way to Ohio…  at least that was the case with smoothies.

But shortly after Judy’s post, I was visiting my family in Wisconsin and made my annual pilgrimage to my favorite coffee shop in WI, Mud Creek Coffee.  Mud Creek opened a couple years ago, and I was delighted but dubious that the concept could make it in a small town in today’s economy.  Every time I drive up there and Mud Creek is still open, I always stop and frankly just want to throw buckets of money through the drive-through window and say “Please make it!” because it is such a cool little coffee shop and I would be sad if it was gone.

Which is exactly the idea behind 3/50.

On this last trip, my Dear Sister and I went to Mud Creek for a relaxing afternoon break and what did I find on the counter but a flyer for the 3/50 Project.  So I figure, if the concept made it there already, it is time for my town to get on board!

So, here is the premise of the 3/50 Project:

1.  Pick three independently owned (brick and mortar) local businesses you’d miss most if they were gone.

2.  Commit to spending $50 a month at these three businesses (that’s $50 total, NOT $50 each…)

3.  Help save your town’s independent stores, one person at a time.

Now don’t get me wrong — I enjoy the immediacy and ease of on-line shopping, big box store bargain-hunting (I am a Costco addict), and all the other many chains that make shopping and eating out so convenient.  I know that at this point there is no way that the majority of my family’s expenditures can be sourced through local independent vendors.  But $50 a month of money I was going to spend somewhere else anyway?  That I can do.  It’s easy and just feels right.

So, here is my list to start on September 1st:

1.  Tazza Mia Coffee (which I do think is the freshest and best tasting coffee in town.)

2.  Troy’s Cafe (a gem of a restaurant with innovative, fun, affordable food in a relaxed atmosphere.)

3.  Ace Hardware (I know Ace is a chain, but this is the [last?] little, local hardware store around here, one with every little doohickey and thingamabob for fixing things, and a cute Grandpa-guy clerk who knows where everything is on the tightly packed shelves.)

There.  I had to try hard to keep all three choices from being food-related.

So that’s my plan.  I would love to hear what three businesses you would pick, and, dear readers, if you are willing to give it a try…

When rolling down Memory Lane, watch the nametags and Tall Corn

28 Friday Aug 2009

Posted by in seasons

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OK, so the 26th high school class reunion was a wonderful experience.  That said, driving alone into my old hometown on a beautiful (albeit hot) summer evening, the waves of memories washed over me so hard I pulled the car over to catch my breath.  It was like when you walk down a beach barefoot through the waves, and on your way back you think you are almost to your towel, but then you look up and the waves have been slowly pulling you off balance and your towel is actually 1/4 mile the other direction?  Does that happen to other people or just to me?  Anyway, it was like that.  Eventually I pulled in to the gravel parking lot, already filled with cars, parking on the approximate location of 2nd base of my old softball field.  As I recall, I was the softball player that the coach would have put in right field as the most-likely-spot-I-couldn’t goof-anything-up, but I couldn’t throw that far so I was put at 2nd base and everyone just prayed.  Once again, the memories were making me just a little lightheaded.

As I crunched across the stones toward the pavilion with the steel drum band, my eyes scanned the crowd and saw… no familiar faces.  As in, which ones are the classmates and which ones are the spouses/significant others???  Add creeping feeling of social panic to whoozy walk down Memory Lane.  But — wheww! — people were wearing nametags and I had on my bifocals, so I was set.  Just need to make eye contact, quickly scan brain for any firing synapses, then glance nonchalantly at the nametag and continue conversation.  I can do this!  What’s so scary about class reunions!  No problem!

So I chatted with the first couple folks at the door to the dinner area, somewhat bewildered that people had changed so much in the last 26 years.  They were taller or shorter than I remembered… more hair… that should have been my first clue.  Men as a rule don’t grow more hair in their forties.  But I had already spotted hash brown casserole on the buffet line so I was not thinking clearly.

Then I saw faces I would know anywhere — The Muse and The Scholar, sitting at the same table, all smiles to greet me.   The Cowboy was unfortunately MIA, otherwise it would have been the Facebook Blog Post Trifecta.  After a helping of roast pig (delicious by the way and I am still disappointed that I missed seeing the whole spannferkel-esque carcass), I felt better and started to see other faces I recognized.  I settled in to many happy chats, catching up on the years and laughing and looking at photos of kids that were impossibly grown up.

It was about an hour later when I realized that something was amiss — the lightbulb went on when I was talking to Patty, who I knew for sure, and her nametag said Ron…  Hmmm, it seems people had been trading nametags and the first several people I talked to were in fact not who I thought they were.

Uh-oh.

So if you are reading this and I said something completely nonsensical when I first walked in, please forgive me and TELL ME WHOSE IDEA IT WAS TO SWITCH NAMETAGS AND TORTURE THE OUT-OF-TOWNERS?????  Especially those with minds like a steel sieve??

But then, Patty put Ron’s nametag on me and put my nametag on someone else, so I guess I became a co-conspirator.  All in good fun.  Except that to some people I may have sounded like I just had a stroke.  But within another hour after that, nearly all the faces started to look familiar again.  I knew people.  Their faces morphed back into focus and the names came back to me.  The Memory Game, high school edition.

It was the Facebook connections that convinced me to go back, and I’m glad they did.  Rather than words on a screen, these evanescent facebook friends took their physical form again, and it was so good to talk in person.  As midnight rolled near, a group of friends came over to wish me a happy birthday.  What a great surprise!  I take up valuable brain capacity with the birth-dates of childhood friends, but I thought others were more sensible.  At any rate, that was the perfect finish to the evening and I left with a big smile on my face, looking up at the church on the hill, lit against the dark night sky.

Then I navigated the country byways to my parents’ home, you know the kind, the roads lined with Tall Corn.  Now, everyone knows the dangers of Tall Corn, which camouflages Catapulting Deer that launch onto the roadway with no warning, also activating the strong magnetic pull of The Ditch.  So I drove carefully, all those old memories now safely hidden in the darkness.

reunion

14 Friday Aug 2009

Posted by in seasons

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I’m getting ready to attend my 26th high school class reunion.  Year 25 zipped right by without a party but I am not complaining.  I do hereby decree that anyone that complains about this unconventional reunion year is automatically assigned to the 30th (or 31st) reunion committee.  I’ve never done the planning for a high school reunion (only the grade school ones, but that is another story), and I can only guess it is a fair amount of work to track down all those former students.

Note to self:  thank the committee this weekend.

A 26th reunion seems like a better idea anyway.  The 25th anniversary of anything carries a silver plated set of expectations, like the memories from the event need to be nice and shiny after it is done.  26?  It is a cottony kind of year, nothing fancy.  And indeed, this one is a outdoor picnic kind of night, which sounds just right to me.

It was the location of the reunion that sealed the deal for me to make the trip back.  That and some facebook friends.  It will be held in the little unincorporated town where I grew up (estimated population 300), not the bigger town where the high school was located (pop. 2500), or the bigger town where some large events like weddings take place (pop. 50,000).  We will be at the Marytown Athletic Field, a hub of social activity throughout my youth in the 70’s, the place where I played softball for several grade school years;  the site of the annual 4th of July Picnic and the place where I spent many shy hours wanting to be outgoing and goof around more with the other kids but instead quietly sitting and watching and waiting.  Not sure yet what I was waiting for…

I have been gone a long time.  I left home for college right after my 18th birthday and never returned for a summer.  My parents moved to a lake house a couple years later, so even the too-brief trips back to visit family did not take me back. I expect that the memories will be intense, when I drive back into town and set foot back on the dusty parking lot.  It has been rebuilt into a very nice ballfield and park, which must mean it is still a hub of community fun and activity.

So, there I will be, with the scholar and the muse, the cowboy’s weekend whereabouts still unknown.  There will surely be many other characters from my past.  I meant to dig out the old yearbooks to refresh my memory on the names and faces.  Then I reminded myself that there will not be a quiz so I don’t need to study.  Nametags will suffice.  Enough time has gone by to blur the faces from what they were, and soften any craggy memories of youthful high school angst.

(I hope!)

3…2…1 and we’re live!

03 Monday Aug 2009

Posted by in Motherhood, Writing

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So, the radio interview went well.  It was exciting and a bit nerve-wracking — especially when the very kind host called me at home right before I was leaving for the studio, to tell me that she had inadvertently left all her notes at home, and since she did not have her pre-prepared questions, did I know what I wanted to talk about?  “FOR 30 MINUTES”?

LIVE?

?????

She was so apologetic, and I could tell that she always prepared well for each interview, and she was now wondering how this one would turn out.  For some reason, this put me oddly at ease immediately.  I realized I was comfortable winging it;  it was not knowing the questions she might ask that had my stomach doing flip-flops.  And, it turns out, as she started telling me some of the questions she could recall off the top of her head,  I DID NOT HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I WOULD HAVE SAID TO ANY OF THEM.  It would have been a disaster.  Well, as big a disaster as an interview can be if no one I know hears it.  Seriously, as far as I know, NO ONE I have ever met heard the actual broadcast.  I did mention that this interview was broadcast on a very small public radio station?  The one with the distinction of being the only official public radio station in the U.S. that broadcasts out of a retirement community?  Still, I had been nervous, even if it was possible some of the audience may have been people who could not get up to change the station.

The broadcast booth reminded me of the one on Frazier, except there was no Roz, rather a very encouraging grandmotherly woman instead.  And there was no psychiatrist.  But other than that, it was a lot like the show.  The room had a big control panel with lots of knobs and levers, and people wearing headphones talking into humongous microphones.  The Panel-Operator-Guy did count down “3…..2…..1 ” then point dramatically to us that we were live.  That was a heart-skipper.  Actually, in retrospect maybe it was more like WKRP in Cincinnati.  With no Les Nessman or Herb Tarlek.  Or Loni Anderson.  But otherwise it was a lot like that.

I received a copy of the show on CD in the mail the other day.  I don’t think I wanted to write about the experience until I heard it myself.  Of course, my voice doesn’t sound anything like it does in my head — it had a distinctly northern Wisconsiny nasal quality that is uncomfortably close to Palin-esque.  Like I could almost see Alaska from my old house.

But all in all,  it turned out to be a great experience.  I got to talk about about my funny motherhood story, and the experience of being published for the first time.  I talked about what a kick it is to be included in an anthology, and how it opens doors for interesting experiences, like being where I was that day.  The host could not have been more kind or encouraging.  She has authors lined up to interview each week through November, and has done this show for many years, so I was in good company.  In fact, the author on the second half of the hour-long program was a fascinating man who lost his sight in college when hit by a stray bullet, and the book he has written about the inspirational life he has led since then.  I listened to his interview on the drive home — it kind of put my little story about poo, lying, and chocolate cake into perspective.  The show was very professionally produced and conducted.  And it was just fun.  Before I did it, I kept thinking of it as my “first practice interview”, which makes a giant leap of faith that there will be more opportunities like this in the future.  Even if I never get the chance to do it again, the experience is something I will always remember.  I felt honored to be there.

new news

22 Wednesday Jul 2009

Posted by in Writing

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So, here we are, blogfriends:  I’ve been blogging for six months, and am ready to shake it up a little, go for a blog makeover,  a little redecorating and shuffling and trying something different.  Crazy talk!  I like it — this feels fresh and new to me, and maybe even easier to read and navigate for my readers.  I find all this exciting, which is a red flag to me that I may need to get out more.

Now for a writing update:  I have submitted two more essays to anthologies, and am waiting to hear if I am a finalist for either book.  My email mailbox had become merely a repository for umpteen writing newsletters (yes, I am still reading too much about writing instead of writing about writing).  Now that I am eagerly awaiting an email confirmation that I am still in the running, checking email has become much more fun again.  And I only check 10 times a day, tops.

One of the [keeping-fingers-crossed] publishers is F+W Media’s Cup of Comfort book series.  Incidentally, this website includes a wonderful blog and member forum that outlines the calls for submissions and the status of each title; it also includes very interesting posts by the editor Colleen Sell — her experiences weeding through stories, and compiling a tight collection that will appeal to their readership.  She shares many of her life experiences that shaped the writer and editor she is today.

The second possible publisher is The Ultimate Book Series from HCI Books, which was the publisher of my first published story (did I mention it was published?).  Their website also explains everything a writer needs to know about submitting to books of this genre.  The whole process is quite straight-forward and enjoyable and HCI was a joy to work with the first time around.

As a contributing author in an anthology, I reaped the benefits of their publicist, who sent out press releases in all major markets highlighting any local authors who were included in the book.  As a result of the publicist’s efforts, I will have my first radio interview tomorrow.  It is on a small, local public radio station, for a weekly feature called “Grandparenting Today”.  I will tell heart-warming (and perhaps cautionary) tales about potty-training and lying and chocolate cake.  I will try to be engaging and funny and appealing to an audience of, well, another generation; one who may or may not be interested in potty stories.  At a certain age, diapers are not funny anymore.

I am excited, nervous and seriously wondering what I will talk about for 30 minutes.  There is an old Saturday Night Live skit about a public radio interview that keeps running through my head… I do not want to be that guest.  I think they talked about radishes for 15 minutes.  Yeah… ummm… okay…..

Wish me luck.