It seems like every year I post signs of spring and then – bam! – we get more winter. This time, my signs of spring will be one post at a time.
The barrels are back!
It’s a true sign of spring: the rain barrels are set up! Last year – well, last year was difficult. I’m glad to see one of my favorite garden tools – or should I say supplier? this is my main water source – is up and running.
Glen Grothman (Republican in Wisconsin’s State Senate) said it out loud and into a microphone. When asked how he thought a Republican could win Wisconsin in the general election when such an event hasn’t happened since 1984, he responded, “…now we have photo ID, and I think photo ID is going to make a little bit of a difference.”
Voters now need to present a photo ID at the polls every time they vote. Drivers’ licenses, passports, military IDs – easy, right?
Wrong.
Let’s take Amigo for example. He’s blind; he doesn’t drive. He has a state photo ID because he had access to the documentation he needed and he had someone to drive him to the DMV to get it. When he lost his wallet at a school reunion, he was able to replace that ID at the DMV. It was a bother, but he had a ride (me) and someone to fill out the form for him (also me).
Not everyone has the advantages that Amigo does. He also votes in his home city, so the address on his ID is current. Take college students, for example. The liberal arts university in my fair city’s downtown had long, long lines last week. Long, long lines that meant waits of more than an hour. One reason: These college students moved annually, so their campus addresses changed. Another reason: the poll workers were stymied by the college IDs, identification that didn’t have addresses or dates on them.
In general, high voter turnout often favors Democrats. When the Republicans controlling our state government introduced and passed the law requiring photo ID at the polls, we progressives complained, and loudly. We knew, just KNEW that the goal was to make voting more difficult. We could tell this law wasn’t intended to combat fraud, but intended to keep more voters away from the polls. The right wing denied it over and over and over. And then Grothman went oops. He admitted publicly that he thought Voter ID would give the GOP an advantage over the progressives and Democrats so popular in our grand old state.
What’s next? Registration tests? Gerrymandered districts? Oh, wait, that’s already happening. More important, readers: what do we do next?
Maybe it’s Trump. Maybe it’s the dystopian novels I read so often. My inner paranoid streak or doomsday prepper is begging to get out and take action.
Here’s an example. Trump claimed today that if he carries Wisconsin in the primary, he’ll go to a Packer game in the fall. Does he have any idea how hard it is to get tickets? Or how long the waiting list is for season tickets? Never mind. Don’t answer that.
Our primary election is next week Tuesday. The airwaves are full of campaign ads. The one that makes me slap my forehead and shout “Doh!” is Ted Cruz’ commercial that announces he is the only one who can beat Trump. “Do the math!” the announcer demands while showing a bar graph. Frankly, the best candidate to beat Donny Boy isn’t on the same primary ticket. Do the math? Someone forgot a variable.
I spent a bundle to restock our medicine cabinet with supplies for spring allergy season. It was costly. It would be more costly if I hadn’t stocked up and had needed a last-minute run to the store. By planning ahead, I was able to use two coupons and buy generic store brands. When all the allergic folks start breaking out in sneezes and wheezes, the shelves will be empty except for the expensive varieties.
I’ve used up the corn in the freezer. If we want corn, we’ll have to buy it from the store. We have one container of peas left, and several of beans (green and yellow). We salvaged the last two squash from the basement and noted that next year we need to cook them sooner, not later. I guess the vegetable of choice for the time being will be beans. As the summer arrives, I’ll put up more corn, an equal amount of peas, and beans? Let me think about it.
Meanwhile, I’m hearing about schools getting budgets zapped, stripped to the bone. Layoffs are rampant. My job is fairly secure, at least for the time being. I just did a promo for open enrollment a few days ago. Maybe it’ll help keep our enrollment up.
But when I go in to vote on Tuesday, I’ll have all of these issues on my mind – and more. All politics may be local, and it’s also personal. Very personal. Do I need to stock up on toilet paper? Build a chicken coop? Hide my retirement fund in a mattress?
Readers, help me silence my inner doomsday siren. Promise me you’ll do the most important prep of all: you’ll vote.
- 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.
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.
We tried to cut our subscription to weekends only. on a typical workday, I don’t read the newspaper until after school, and by then, it’s way outdated. I’ve probably run across all the major headlines on Facebook during my lunch break.
The local paper didn’t offer a weekend subscription. The closest we could get was a Friday-Saturday-Sunday. We gave in got the three day subscription.
Then the local paper changed its subscription structure again. They extended the “weekend” to include Thursdays – no extra charge. This must be for the advertisers’ benefit. Thursdays are stuffed with flyers, and I can’t think of any other reason to add Thursday to a “weekend”.
Add to this the fact that our carrier is not the most reliable. If he were on a basketball team, he’d miss all the free throws. If he played football, he’d be constantly out of bounds. The morning paper arrives, but doesn’t always make it up onto the porch. This weekend, I finally found Thursday’s paper – on Sunday. Sunday’s paper was on the sidewalk at the foot of the steps. When I walked down to get it, I saw Thursday’s issue – tucked in behind a pile of snow, backed up against the porch steps at an angle that completely hid it from view until I came down to the sidewalk. I had to balance precariously at the edge of the snow to reach it.
So here it is, Sunday. I’ve finished the Sunday paper, and now I’m going to read Thursday’s. Maybe I’ll find something new and informative. Maybe not. Maybe the comics page will be the only page that’s actually “new”.
Readers, family, friends – do you get a daily paper? Why or why not? I’m curious.
I was working on postcards at the Democrats’ office during the 2012 campaign when a woman came in from a Republican event. She was very upset – not by the opposing party, but by one of our own. A volunteer with our party had gone to the event for the opposition. Instead of simply listening and gathering information, she acted out. She spit on a Romney supporter, who then scratched her in retaliation. The woman who had been there kept repeating, “Is this what we’ve come to? Is this really what we’ve come to?” Her faith in human nature was on the downswing at that moment.
Within a day, the “spitter” was kicked off the campaign staff, and the coordinator had made it clear that this was not behavior that would be tolerated. All of us were to keep to the high road. My faith in human nature was restored.
This happened four years ago. Today’s headlines are so full of ups and downs that my confidence jumps like a jackrabbit.
Flint, Michigan sickens its population with lead in their public water system: down. State officials and high-level locals are outed as having known about the problem and both ignored it and lied about it while they themselves drank bottled water. Down, down, down.
Plumbers travel to Flint to install water filters in people’s homes – free of charge. Up.
My alderman posts an update for her constituents informing us of the process our city uses for water treatment. She gives enough detail that we can feel safe drinking the water. Up.
I find out that Good Ole’ Boy Next Door Peyton Manning not only acts in Papa John’s commercials, he supports the same far-right wing candidates with his own donations. Manning also owns a Papa John’s franchise where the pizza is overpriced and the staff is underpaid. This is a downer – a big downer. I might just have to cheer for Cam Newton and his Panthers.
A new potential pandemic virus rears its ugly head in Brazil, the host country for upcoming 2016 Summer Olympic Games. Why should this Zika virus be a downturn for my faith in human nature? This virus is passed on by mosquitoes, and current strategies include spraying many gallons of pesticides throughout the cities where the presence of the virus has been confirmed. Problem? Think DDT, people. Does anyone know the effects of these pesticides? We thought DDT was safe, too…until…just ask the neighborhood bald eagle.
Our wacky governor signs into law a bill allowing concealed carry of – switchblades. Yep, switchblades. This only a matter of days after he signed a law authorizing a new color for hunting; blaze pink. What the –?
And so it goes – good news, bad news, better news, worse news, and news that makes me think the world is spiraling down the toilet. Maybe, just maybe, I should get offline and get something else done. Maybe I’ll clean the bathroom.
Hey, Peyton. Yes, you. Mr. Manning. Archie’s son, Eli’s brother. Mr. Good-guy boy-next-door. They’re using you. You recognized that, didn’t you? Or didn’t you?
Take “Papa” John Schnatter. He got himself in hot water by badmouthing the Affordable Care Act in such a way that he ended up looking petty. He said that in order to pay for heath coverage for his employees, he’d have to raise the price of each pizza by a quarter. Twenty-five cents. $.25. Oh, pity party. He feared it would cut down his sales.
Instead, people heard about his reluctance to allow health care for his employees and – get this – customers stopped buying Papa John’s pizza! He was watching his profits go downhill, and “Papa” had to do something.
That’s when he called you, Peyton. He needed a sportsperson who had that innocent, never-do-wrong look about him. I’m sure he pays you a lot more than the projected cost of health insurance for his employees. But what the heck? He needed to upgrade his image, and fast. Peyton, he’s using you. He wants your image to rub off on him.
And that Cable vs. Direct TV commercial. How could you think it was humorous to put down the barbershop singers? Talented, cooperative, fun people like barbershop singers are awesome. Frankly, your boy-next-door image could benefit from singing barbershop. Maybe the media would forget about the steroids shipped to your wife if you let the barbershop quartet image rub off on you. Reading the Direct TV script didn’t help their marketing plan, and the negative attitude may have cost your Q score (likability measurement) instead.
Peyton, call your agent. Let him or her know that while the money might be good, you care about your image. You’re too close to retirement to mess with your image. Someday, you won’t throw passes, and the commercial income based on your reputation may be all you have.
I often feel fortunate to live in the Great Lakes basin where fresh water is plentiful and treating it for human consumption is relatively cheap. I’m more water-conscious than many, with my rain barrels and the way I reuse dishwashing water and cooking water to water my herbs and flowers. I still have moments where I’ll be running the shower to let it warm up and I think how lucky I am to live here. I could save the water in a big bucket and use it well, but I don’t have to. I’m not forced to value every drop.
When I’m hearing about droughts in California or Texas, I’m grateful to live in a climate where rain and snow are the norm. Rain fills my rain barrels in the summer while it nourishes the soil, and snow insulates the perennial plants all winter long before it melts and – you guessed it – soaks the soil and replenishes the water table.
It’s so easy to take water for granted. Turn on the tap, and it’s on. Stick a glass under the faucet; get a drink. Should be an automatic, right?
If you live in Flint, Michigan, wrong.
Flint is in the Great Lakes basin, too. Michigan, like my home state Wisconsin, is smack dab in the middle of this climate of rain and snow. And yet the good people of Flint are facing – have been facing – a water disaster of major proportions. And I think to myself, how could this happen?
To make a long story short, the city of Flint changed their municipal water source from Lake Huron to the Flint River in an effort to save money. Lacking a crucial chemical treatment, Flint River began corroding pipelines and sending iron deposits, among other minerals, into the homes and schools and businesses of Flint. Along with the discoloration and rust from iron came a silent enemy: lead. Excessive lead in a child’s bloodstream can cause brain damage and nerve damage that will last a lifetime. Flint pediatricians noticed a trend of rising lead levels in their patients. Flint residents noticed poor taste and major discoloration in their tap water. I said I’d make it short: Flint leaders and state officials brushed off concerns. Thousands of Flint residents, including children, have been exposed to toxic levels of lead.
Details are all over the web and the national news sources. At this time, the question is less “How could this happen?” and more “How could the Powers That Be ignore a crisis of this magnitude?”
I still feel fortunate to live in the Great Lakes region, where water can be plentiful and the climate keeps it so. But I have to wonder: if this happened in Flint, could it happen here?
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.