The Spark Plug Award

He said it felt like the Oscars. He was surprised. No, he was blown away when his name was called. He had no idea he was getting an award.

Despite his shock and awe, Amigo managed to give quite a nice acceptance speech. He thanked his parents for driving him to practice. He gave credit to his high school music teacher for getting him off to a good start singing. He mentioned that he had grown up surrounded by music and he enjoyed singing barbershop style.

His award is called the Spark Plug. The Spark Plug award goes to someone whose enthusiasm and energy bring a spark to the group. Amigo brings a spark with his voice, of course (he’s good! very good!), and he brings a spark with his attitude, too. He brings his voice, his musicianship, and his sense of humor to each rehearsal and performance.

I was such a mom. I had a major lump in my throat watching my boy, my young man, getting recognized and rewarded for being who he is – outgoing, friendly, talented, fun.

Anyway, readers, after the dinner was cleared and the awards were given, there was karaoke. Karaoke, at a barbershop party? These guys love to sing! I could have listened all night. But Amigo and Chuck were ready to lug the trophy home, so I enjoyed one more song (a local restaurant owner singing Billy Joel’s “For the Longest Time”) and joined them to head home.

The Spark Plug Award has a place of honor on our fireplace mantel. It’ll stay there for a while – until next year, when Amigo gets to make a short speech and hand it off to the next harmonizer who energizes the group.

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Chicago dumps Trump

It was an ordinary Friday night, for the most part. I was visiting La Petite, and we were settling down on her couch to relax and chat and check on the rest of the family via Facebook.

It’ll be no surprise to readers that many of my relatives are rather progressive in their politics. We knew that the candidate I like to call He Who Shall Not Be Named (in lieu of giving him any more blog space) was in Chicago for a rally, and many a protest was planned. Upon further review, we found that we had a family member at a rally outside the arena where You-Know-Who was scheduled to speak. Here’s her viewpoint.

Anti Trump Rally

So proud to have been there to turn the Trump Tide. UIC students meant what they said and put feet to their thoughts. Whatever happened inside the pavilion, I don’t know, but the outside activity was 100% peaceful with appropriate Chicago police presence. This is what democracy and freedom of speech looks like. – from one who was there, 3-12-2016

The result: the speech was cancelled. You-Know-Who was advised not to appear for fear of inciting violence. He acquiesced. Meanwhile, those outside cheered at the news. Again, people, from one who was there: 100% peaceful, with appropriate Chicago police presence. Peacefully, they managed to shut the guy down.

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Shopping: It’s a learning experience.

  • Today while shopping with La Petite, I learned —
  • Lancome has a line of cosmetics with Braille labels.
  • A woman can never have too many shoes.
  • Malls are still — well, malls.
  • I’m wearing the wrong size bra (no, you don’t need any more).
  • Jeans are just as hard for La Petite to find as they are for me, several sizes larger.
  • I’m still an amazing bargain shopper. Even the cashier was impressed.
  • Peanut noodles are delicious. I wonder if I could make this dish?
  • Fortune cookies can be ridiculous. Hallelujah? Really?

I followed up a day of shopping with leftovers for supper and a marathon of Tiny House shows. It was a nice, relaxing weekend, despite losing an hour’s sleep to Daylight Saving Time.

Readers, do you enjoy retail therapy? Leave a comment.

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The Great Bunny Rescue – encore

A Facebook friend posted this warning: Live Easter bunnies are not a good idea. It reminded me of spring 2011 and the night La Petite got a phone call from a friend’s mother. The point of the call: five domestic rabbits needed help.

When La Petite’s phone rang, it was the mother of a friend. She and her youngest two children had come across five domestic bunnies that had been abandoned at a construction site near a local bike trail. They went back with lettuce and a large box, lured the furry ones, brought them home, and called The Bunny Whisperer, a.k.a. La Petite.
We knew what to do, so Chuck and I joined her. We gathered two cages from our basement with litter, hay, and pellets for each. La Petite knew where we were going, so she drove. When we pulled into the driveway, Friend’s Mom and two kids in pajamas led us into the garage where she’d set the box.
Five full grown domestic rabbits were in the box. Two were harassing the others, so Chuck picked up those two first and looked them over closely. “Yep. Boy bunnies. Let’s separate these from the others.” We put the two males in one cage and the three females in the other, and they calmed down significantly. All five started to nibble on the hay and pellets, and they even found the corner with litter and used it appropriately.
Four looked like they may have been related or from the same litter; the other was a lop-eared character who didn’t resemble any of the others. He was either a major case of recessive genes or was unrelated. Cute, though. They were all cute, even though they were incredibly dirty and smelly from their adventure and trauma.
We left them settled for the night, and La Petite made arrangements to help Friend’s Mom take all five to the Humane Society the next day. When they delivered the bunnies, La Petite reported to me that all five looked cleaner and they were eating well and (are you sitting down?) at least two of the three females were pregnant. We were further appalled.
We’ll never know why the owners dumped the bunnies. Maybe realizing the males were mature was too much to handle. Getting them neutered could have been too expensive. Maybe the owners realized that not only were the males mature, but the females were expecting. If five bunnies are too many, five plus two litters of babies would be overwhelming.
The girls, getting a little attention
I still don’t fully understand, though. La Petite and Friend’s Mom brought the rabbits to the shelter. The previous owners could have done that instead of dumping them. Pet rabbits are not equipped to survive in the wild. They don’t know what to eat, and they’ll be eaten soon because of their lack of camouflage. With their domestic coloring, they’d be hawk bait before long. The little albino in particular would be easy prey for eagle-eyed predators – and I do mean eagles.
La Petite was pleased with the people and the set-up at the shelter. Rabbits and other small animals were kept a significant distance away from dogs and cats and in a separate room. She said they looked clean and well cared for. We wished we could have done more. When cash flow is a little easier, maybe we’ll make a donation. We’re grateful to have a Humane Society in town. We’re also grateful to know people like Friend’s Mom who thought it was important to rescue these animals when they were homeless and in danger.
The Boy Bunnies

We’re grateful we’re able to make a good home for our pet rabbits: Buttercup at our home; Krumpet, Biscuit, and Sadie at La Petite’s apartment. We love them dearly.

 

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Thinking Spring in the Snow

It’s March. Correction: It’s March in Wisconsin. That can mean anything, weather -wise. So of course, what am I doing? I’m planning my garden.

I was reading about blueberries when I stumbled upon a fact that I hadn’t known: blueberries like acidic soil. Raspberries prefer a less acidic bed. Last summer we planted raspberry canes salvaged from the area behind the garage (pre-garage replacement) back into the topsoil salvaged from the same garage project. We bought a few raspberry starter plants from the Plant Station to supplement and maybe cross pollinate the originals. As long as they were on sale, we bought a few blueberry canes, too.

Oops. If my research is correct, one berry will grow well and the other won’t. I haven’t tested the soil for pH yet (duh, it’s still frozen!), and maybe I won’t. I bought myself a soil pH meter last year as a treat – gardening for geeks! Yea! – so I will probably measure at least the pH in the main raised beds. I like to rotate “crops” anyway, and this will help me place my vegetables where they’ll grow best.

But seriously, I’ve never gone to the trouble of testing my soil. I just stir in homegrown  compost, dump the rabbit’s litter boxes (now there’s a source of acidic fertilizer), and plant away. Maybe the best plan is to watch the berry canes for a year and see what really thrives.

I’ll monitor the berry situation – eventually. For now, the snow has to melt.

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And Still More Adventures in Slow Cooking

It was one of Those Days. Around 3:00, I suddenly wondered if I’d actually plugged in the crock pot that morning. I’d been tired, really dragging, and thought I’d better throw something in the crock pot because I had plenty of food in the house and no excuse to order pizza. Uh-huh, that was my rationale.

I threw a few chicken breasts, a large jalapeno pepper, and a handful of cherry tomatoes – all frozen – with a little veggie broth (it was handy). I turned the switch to low and got ready to leave for the day. The plan was chicken fajitas. Upon arriving home, I would only need to shred the cooked chicken, add taco seasoning, and cook a few veggies in the steamer. That is, I would only need to do all of that if I’d remembered to plug in the crock that morning.

Everything but the broth was frozen when it landed in the pot that morning. If I hadn’t plugged it in, I rationalized, the food would be thawed, but probably still edible. Pizza would be fine. The boys would not object, I was sure.

Well? What do you think, readers? Did I have enough wits about me to plug in the crock pot and get it going in my sleep dazed pre-coffee condition?

Yes. Yes, I’d plugged it in, probably on autopilot. We had fajitas for supper, and I made ice cream later that night. Oh, and I made a vegetable broth, too, with the carrot peelings and few other random scraps. After all was said and done, I felt motivated to spend some quality time in the kitchen.

Readers, have you had moments like this? Moments when you really questioned your own actions or lack thereof, and the result could have ended up in the hands of delivery pizza?

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Slow Cookin’ Again

That could be a country song title, I believe. “Slow cookin’, just slow cookin’ my life away.” Work with it, folks, and when you win your Grammy, make sure you tell the world that you got the idea from Daisy at Compost Happens.

But anyway, back to business. I may have set a new record last week: four days out of seven, I used a crock pot.  Monday: brunch casserole for supper. This dish of eggs, milk, herbs, and whatever strikes my fancy simmered all day on a low heat. When I got home after school, it was almost done. I cooked up maple sausages on the side, and we were ready to eat.

Tuesday: butternut squash. Or did I make that on Sunday? It was a rather large squash I’d bought at a September farm market. I skinned and chopped a little more than half of it, added a little broth and butter, and let it cook all day on low. Yum. It was a little heavy on the liquid, so I drained it through a colander before mashing it all. Delicious.

Wednesday: I had a staff meeting after school, so I knew I wouldn’t have much time to cook. Out came the big crock, and in went the chili. Amigo added noodles and stirred the mix late in the afternoon for a good Wisconsin chili mac, and it was ready when I walked in after my meeting.

Then Saturday rolled around. Chuck was out of town, so I made something Amigo and I like that Chuck can’t stand: lamb stew. I had a container in the freezer, so I dumped it into a small crock on low. Amigo and I had it with leftover rice. It was very good, I must say, and very low maintenance.

This week promises to be busy, but not quite as busy as last week was. The crocks might stay in the cupboard. Then again, maybe they won’t.

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Ah, the Trivial Life

I took pictures. Most turned out blurry. Sorry. But we had a great time, as usual, playing in the annual Midwestern Trivia Contest at my Alma Mater. Amigo has grown up around this contest. We simply call it Trivia – as if there were not others. None others equal ours, if I do say so myself.

Amigo again loaned an old, yellowed fire truck (with fresh batteries) to the Trivia Masters. This truck is one option for the Internet radio based leaders to signal that a question is closed; no more answers will be taken. Honk! Honk! Ooh-ee-ohh-ee (siren)! Ding-ding-ding-ding! Ding-ding-ding-ding! Amigo is known to Trivia participants as Fire Truck Amigo, courtesy of the truck.

We usually spend a few hours each day contributing as phone answering crew. I read the answer off the white board so Amigo knows what’s coming. He answers the phone and takes the answer, and if the team is lucky enough to be correct, the team name and number. I take dictation (since the Trivia Masters don’t read Braille) and write down the names and numbers. We have a good time interacting with the other participants – some his age, some mine, and every age in between.

Blurry or not, here he is.

Blurry or not, here he is.

In the background, right to left: My old friend and maid of honor at my wedding along with her son and girlfriend.

In the background, right to left: My old friend and maid of honor at my wedding along with her son and girlfriend.

University President stopped in to enjoy the experience.

University President stopped in to enjoy the experience.

It’s one weekend a year, and we let ourselves devote time for this mindless escapism. Until next year, Trivia buffs. We’ll be back.

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Stormy Weather

I think I’ve used that title in the past. It’s Wisconsin, folks. We get blizzards, tornadoes, ice storms, floods. We don’t see earthquakes – not very often, anyway.

Consider the current disasters. Zika virus is carried by mosquitoes, those annoying pests. According to the local newscast, no worries here! The tropical mosquitoes can’t take the cold and unpredictable weather. We get a different breed of mosquitoes here. Frankly, this Zika virus is scary. I’m no longer of child-bearing age or condition, but my friends, my coworkers, my neighbors – I don’t have to be personally at risk to care and to worry. Let’s say what I heard was correct: our northern mosquito doesn’t carry the virus. I’m going to add a word: yet. Viruses mutate. Mosquitoes probably mutate, too.

I think I’ll stock up on mosquito repellent.

Then there’s the ever present risk of a major snowstorm. This one is real. We’re used to it, we know how to plan for it, and we take pride in coping with the situation. There may be a big storm next week. A major weather event. After the latest Snow-mageddon on the east coast,  forecasters are calling this one “Our Turn.” If it’s really going to be a Major Storm, I’ll do my usual prep. Grocery store: bunny food, milk, eggs, bread. In fact, if we have bunny food, I can make or fake the rest. Well, maybe not eggs. But I have powdered milk, bread flour and yeast, and jars of homemade jam to go with anybody’s peanut butter. If I have bunny food for Buttercup, we’ll be good.

If there’s risk of a power outage, we’ll make sure that anything that needs charging has a full charge. We’ll replenish the firewood in case we need heat. I’ll visit an ATM ahead of time in case we need cash. We’re good at this Prep for Snow routine. So whatever’s coming, we’ll be ready.

We’ll be ready, that is, as long as I stock up on bunny food.

Any other disasters looming? We’re tough, we northerners. Mosquito repellent, bunny food, and we’re good. Bring it on.

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Season of Slow Cooking Continues

Last week Monday: 1 quart crock, a bargain picked up for almost nothing second hand, the crock with a lid that doesn’t match because I picked it up for almost nothing…I already said that. Anyway, Monday’s crock pot task was to thaw and heat a soup from the freezer. This worked famously. This small crock is like a Little Dipper, just twice the size. It has two settings: on or off. Plug it in, it’s on. Unplug it, the crock’s off. Bean soup just sounded like a perfect addition to a new flavor from the local meat market: bacon bratwurst.

Last week Wednesday: Eating the Opponent, Arizona! We normally do this on the weekend, but we may be traveling as the weekend arrives. I modified a recipe from Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and let the flavors simmer in the crock pot all day. My Packers didn’t win, but they really invested a phenomenal effort in a dramatic and close game.

We were out of town over the weekend, so the crocks sat unused. Heck, the whole kitchen sat unused. But now, back in the bitter cold realm we call home, the slow cooker again fills the house with its flavor-filled aromas. Oh, did that sound too contrived? Sorry. 

On our way home from Illinois, we stopped at one of our favorite specialty stores near Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. We stocked up with the best pot pies on the market and a number of soup mixes. I’m making the lentil and Italian sausage mix today. We had Italian sausage in the freezer (a frequent stock-up item from the Nearby Meat Market), and I knew I’d be home working on progress reports all day. A soup that cooks slowly is the perfect menu item.

To summarize: Today, Monday, there’s a soup in the biggest crock pot. Lentils, Italian sausage, homemade beef stock, and a tiny package of dried veggies are simmering together. By supper, I expect this will be exactly what we need.

So, readers, do you have any favorite soups for cold winter weather? I’d love to hear suggestions.

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