Category Archives: seasons

summer forecasts

02 Monday Aug 2010

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“Hello friends,” says a wee voice from somewhere off the face of the earth.

~

Here I am, alive and kicking, sweating and bitching about the heat, and gratefully enjoying this summer with my boys more than any other summer season on record.  There have been notable highs, seasonable lows, with scattered life lessons and only a 20% chance of irritability on any given day.  Not bad, overall.

A Summer Recap:

June:  always my motherly month of endless possibilities and ambitious plans.  I will take the boys to many culturally enriching events.  We will eat balanced meals (three of them) each day.  What fun we will have, planning our menus and grocery shopping together, skipping down the aisles and the youngest will not crash the cart this time — oh, no, not this summer! — because we are going to have a grand time.  I will lovingly help The Little One stay fresh on his homework skills by doing worksheets each day, and I will review them and put smiley face stickers on them and he will look up at me with grateful brown eyes, content in the knowledge that his school year will have such a smooth start…

*Will someone just go ahead and cue the foreboding music already so we can end this fantasy passage???*

June is so full of hope. And, camps.  Camps keep people busy (and gone).  Gone is good.

July:  Oh, July, you prankster, by now I know all your sneaky games —  the sunshine that looks bright and sparkly until I open the door and the wave of humidity hits like a slap on the face, a punch in the stomach, and many more similes I need not mention;  the pre-vacation preparation and corresponding post-vacation fun hangover, no, you will not catch me by surprise — not this year! — We will go to the nice, cool library every week and check out books and frolic (very quietly) through the stacks and come home and read together in the nice, extremely air-conditioned house.  And then I will make the children go outside and run around.

July is so full of reality.  And mosquito bites.  And that nameless feeling that time is passing too slow, yet somehow much, much too fast, all at the same time.

So, here we are at August.  I will hazard a forecast that we will shop for that looonnnnngg list of school supplies, and early, before all the composition notebooks are sold out.  (Really, retailers, there are 18,000 kids in this school district — could you stock up on the composition notebooks?  We will need 36,000 of them.  Thanks in advance.) We will have purchased shoes that fit, prior to the night before the first day of school.  We will play another 37 games of Trouble, make more juice popsicles, camp in the living room, go out for ice cream, splash in the pool, and somewhere in between we can pull an all-nighter of math worksheets.

Summer is looking good.

almost dark

26 Tuesday Jan 2010

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Late one afternoon, two boys came bounding off the school bus, ready to head to the sledding hill.  The snow was perfect, and they wanted to take in every minute of daylight.  Contrary to the number of “snow days” we have here, there is not that much snow;  between the icy-snow, the too-wet-slushy-snow, and the quickly-disappearing-snow, sledding days are few and far between.

I have never seen these two fine young people get dressed for the outdoors so quickly and efficiently.  Usually someone can’t get a boot over his scruppled sock, or can’t do this or something-or-another, but that day it was effortless.

“Have fun!  Just be back before dark,” I called after them as they grabbed the sleds from the garage, already at a full sprint.

The Professor came back at what could arguably be the most exact definition of ‘before dark’, as if he had taken the precise time of sunset, the current moon phase and amount of cloud cover into consideration when determining his entrance.  He came through the door just as darkness appeared to fall on that white snow.

After the typical pleasantries were exchanged, I inquired “Where’s your brother?”

“He didn’t think it was dark yet.”

Now at this point, I was just curious.  When, exactly, would The Little One think it was dark?  If this wasn’t dark, what was???  This sounded like a loophole, and finding loopholes is one of his specialities.

5:45 rolled around, then 6:00, then 6:15.  From my biased view in the warm kitchen (actually cooking dinner), it still looked quite dark outside to me.  Finally at 6:20, he came bursting in the door.  “That was so FUN!  The snow was perfect!  Yada, yada, yada blahblahblah……”  I wasn’t listening.  I had morphed into Mrs. PotatoHead with my angry eyes on.  Not because it was that late, or that I was worried about his safety, because I wasn’t — it was that he had blatantly disobeyed my instructions to be home before, well, you know.

“But, Mom — it wasn’t really dark yet!”  It was his story and he was sticking to it.  Like I could not look out the window with my Mrs. PotatoHead interchangeable accessories and see night for myself.

After a discussion of consequences for his less-than-stellar choice toward darkness-perception, we settled into a fine evening.

A fate would have it, the next evening I found myself outside at 6:15.  Inside, as I bundled up in my coat and gloves, a cursory glance out the window and I knew it was dark.  “I know dark when I see dark, mumble grumble…” I muttered under my breath as I opened the garage door and stepped outside into the crisp night air.  But out there on the driveway under the clear sky?  Umm, I have to say, it wasn’t what I thought.  I saw the last pink ribbons of sunset on the western horizon.  At 6:15.

Now, I love how the Professor is so literal.  His desire to follow the rules lends me a (probably false) sense of security as we coast into these teen years.  Somehow I feel I will have less to worry about with him when he is in high school.  I like knowing what to expect from him, and he feels the same way about me.

But I also love how The Little One is so full of surprises… How to squeeze a little more fun out of the moment.  How he can fly by the seat of his pants, even down the sledding hill.  How when it is almost dark, it isn’t quite dark yet, exactly.

These two boys, the ying and yang, they both remind me every day that no matter how dark it may look at first glance, it is never quite as dark as it seems.  And even if it was, I’d be fine as long as I have them bursting through the door.

snow globe

08 Friday Jan 2010

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It is snowing.  Big, lumpy clumps of snow flakes, the kind that makes it look like the neighborhood was a giant snowglobe tipped upside down at some point last night, then set back down very gently this morning right before the alarm went off.  It is beautiful.  Sure wish I could find the connector cord to my camera so I could show you a photo.  Hmmmph.

The Little One collects snowglobes.  I find it an unlikely collection for a rough-and-tumble sort of kid.  Then again, we never know what they are going to turn into next, do we?   At any rate, he is excited about the snowglobiness of the view outside.  We stood next to each other and pretended we were inside the snowglobe, and someone up in the sky was looking in.  Kinda fun for a while.  (A little creepy after the concept sank in.)

It looks like a snow day, but it is not a snow day.  It is a two-hour-bus-delay day.  Which, considering we have had two snow days already this week?  And they have actually gone to school only two days since December 18th?  I think they should go give it a try.

oh boy, tannenbaum

28 Monday Dec 2009

Posted by in get along like cats and dogs, Photography, seasons

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O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,

Why is a cat on top of thee?

*

O Christmas tree, O Christmas Tree,

why do the ornaments go * “wheeeeee!” * ???

*

The top does sway, the star did fall,

That’s why it’s tied right to the wall…

*

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree,

A kitten treehouse you will be.

*

Happy Holidays to all!

Oct. 23rd? Now that’s scary

23 Friday Oct 2009

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

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Frequent readers (hi Dad) may recall that December 23rd is a bit of an issue for me.  It is usually the breaking point of the self-induced holiday hoopla, and consequently the single most likely day of the year for my head to fall off.  This year, I have a personal campaign of positive thoughts to make December 23rd a good day, at least a normal day, at best a calm, peaceful, centered day.

Only two months to go.  I have a team of doctors working ’round the clock on this effort, and have enlisted the help of my dog, who is also a helpful sort of gal.

First of all, she has been working on exorcising my inner grinch, which is symbolized by this stuffed grinchy toy.  In his June photo, he still had a mischievous look on his face:

devilish grinch

Kenzie has been working him over, and showing him who is boss.  This must be helpful to me in some subconscious way.  I like how he appears to be waving his little grinchy hand to say “uncle, already!”:

I'm helping!

After many months, he lost his santa hat (but, sure, not his head), and has sustained a small rip in his leg, which he claims is just a flesh wound…

I think he is a goner, and I am going to be just fine.

ouch

there are fans…

16 Friday Oct 2009

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Some people are satisfied to proclaim their college football allegiance by just putting up a collegiate flag on game day.  Others have decals on their car, or maybe a license plate cover, that proudly proclaims their alma mater.

Then there are the select few…

W is for wow!

…that mow the college logo into their lawn.

(I love that about him.)

sometimes, it takes a strong constitution

17 Thursday Sep 2009

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The Professor told me that today is Constitution Day, a day to celebrate the formation and signing of the U.S. Constitution in 1787.  I am not a history buff, but I have to believe the process to complete this document had to be contentious at the time.  So many details to resolve, so many people with strong beliefs trying to do what they believed was right.  The signing must have been the culmination of long years of arguing, proposing, fighting, compromising, thinking, discussing, more arguing — nothing that monumental is easy.

The more things change, the more things stay the same?

what's out there?

Something about the fact that my son can now remind me of important things I used to know but have now forgotten — and there are so, so many — something about that feeling made me remember this photo, and how I wondered what he was thinking about that day as he stood looking out at the world, under the flag.  There is a good chance that he was looking at a bug, and sincerely hoping it would not crawl toward his foot.  There is a minuscule chance that he was thinking about our founding fathers signing the constitution.  But when I look at that picture, I think of him looking toward the future and what it may hold, all the things he is learning and which ones he will remember.

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

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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.

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

28 Friday Aug 2009

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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.