The Fairies! They’re Back!

Have you wondered what happened to the Fabled Fairies of Thanksgiving? They made an appearance several years ago, along with a Butterball turkey. Last year we went to Grandma’s for Thanksgiving. I hope the fairies travel over the river and through the woods to wherever you need them.

 Thanksgiving Dinner? No problem! I’ll call in the fairies. They’ll do everything.

The laundry fairy washes, dries, and presses the table linens, including the cloth napkins. If she’s feeling generous, the sheets and towels might get folded, too.
The turkey fairy will practice her specialty and make sure the bird is cooked and carved just in time for dinner. White meat and dark, it’ll all be moist and savory and leave just enough leftovers for sandwiches and a turkey noodle soup.
The baker fairy will take care of pies, pumpkin and otherwise. He’s an expert on flaky crust, selected spices, and the perfect portion of whipped cream. Don’t let that Simple Simon guy get in the way; the kitchen’s too small for anyone who begs to taste the wares.
The brownie — the cunning little house elf — will clean the home thoroughly, put the leaf in the big table, and get the extra chairs out of the basement.
I wouldn’t dream of neglecting the wine fairy: the sommelier so tiny she only recommends, never lifts, a bottle. Her taste is impeccable. Now if we could stop her before she over-imbibes and falls asleep on top of the piano…
Did I mention the decorator fairy? She’ll fix the fireplace mantel with something tasteful and seasonal before she makes sure the couch and rocker are properly arranged for the annual holiday gladiator contests known as NFL football.
The ambiance fairy keeps the wood fire crackling in the fireplace, the aromas wafting deliciously through the home, and the family discussions neutral and apolitical.
The kitchen fairies: really, there must be a whole crew of these talented sprites. One to do the shopping early and avoid the crowds, another to make sure the cranberries are perfect (and local, of course), and a magical maestro with the potato masher. Then we’ll need a feisty fairy, one with attitude — yes, you, Tinkerbell, you can make the coffees.

Mom, you can send the fairies over to my house now that we’re hosting the annual family Thanksgiving dinner. Let them know that I’ll have their room ready and their favorite cookies baked. If they arrive on Sunday there should be enough time to get everything done.

Wait. What do you mean…they’re…not….real?

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Signs of life – Cubicle Life

Working in our office is anything but dull. Our cubes are not, emphasize NOT, plain and ordinary cookie-cutter design workspaces. We are teachers, remember, and teachers are very talented when it comes to making something out of nothing. We can take a room with cinder block walls and make into a comfortable, welcome place to a few dozen students; we can easily make a cubicle into a home away from home.

Coat Hangs Out while I work.

Coat Hangs Out while I work. Calendar & other notes hang nearby.

My neighbor hangs her crutches alongside a file folder display.

My neighbor hangs her crutches alongside a file folder display.

My plant is oh-so-resilient.

My plant is oh-so-resilient.

Around the corner is another source of color.

Around the corner is another source of color.

Those are the state test boxes, by the way, with our fabulous colorful t-shirts. Our walls may be gray, but the office is very colorful.

So, readers, what makes your workplace or home colorful? Personal? Fun?

 

 

 

 

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The Daisy Reality Show goes Passive Productive

You read that correctly. It’s not passive aggressive, it’s not passive vs. active. It’s the Daisy Reality Show, starting the composter mom herself, recorded live at the O.K. Chorale. The show’s director has replaced her bumbling assistant with a new, highly motivated, almost hyperactive intern.

Scene: Daisy’s bedroom. Daisy sits quietly in the recliner with her laptop computer,uploading pictures and blogging.

Intern: Daisy, you’re not doing anything! This makes for dull television!

Daisy: Not doing anything? I’ll have you know I’m over achieving right now.

Director laughs and leaves the room.

Daisy: I am multi-tasking, dear intern, a concept dear to the hearts of moms and teachers everywhere. See that cord? I’m charging my laptop. I’m downloading pictures for future blog posts. I’m blogging! And at the same time, the laundry is sorted and the third load – third load, mind you – is in the washer. That’s four tasks at once. Good enough for you?

Intern: Um…but it doesn’t look like you’re doing anything! How can I show this visually? It doesn’t work!

Daisy: I admit, it’s a challenge. But it’s your challenge, not mine. All I do is act like myself. And right now, that self is multi-tasking and resting my weary body at the same time. I feel rather proud of my productivity at the moment.

Intern (stammers)Oh-oh- okay for now, Daisy. (turns to camera operator) Let’s illustrate the various tasks she’s doing right now. Laundry. Charging computer. Can you do that?

Folks, it’s the normal life for so many adults. Get the passive chores started, like the laundry and plugging in the laptop, and then while those items are in progress, work on something else. Meanwhile, I’ll blog and surf and maybe even doze off in my comfy recliner.  

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What’s A Supper Club?

The questions came up on Facebook. A couple of friends who now live in the Pacific Northwest asked me “What’s a supper club?” To answer this question, it would take longer than a Facebook post, so it’s a good thing I have a blog.

A Supper Club is a uniquely Wisconsin Wisconsin type of place. It’s a restaurant, family friendly but also with a bar. It’s more than a family restaurant, different from a steak house, and almost certainly has state-brewed beers on tap. Names are simple. The supper club around the corner has “East Side” in its name, but I don’t know of any corresponding place on the West Side. It doesn’t really matter. A supper club is a destination restaurant, not a quick stop on the way home.

Supper clubs are usually family owned, not a chain of any kind. It’s possible to walk in and be seated or even served by the owner, who is probably also the head chef. You’re likely to hear that the place has “been around forever” and parents have brought their children who then bring the grandchildren to eat there. If the original owners have sold the restaurant or passed it on through a will, it will have small changes, but still be the same place.

Customers can be dressed to the nines and headed for a show or clad in basic Wisconsin street clothes: jeans and a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt. There’s a certain feeling and atmosphere that makes just about everyone feel comfortable, no matter how they’re dressed. Reservations are okay, but not required. If there’s a large crowd, customers can have an appetizer and a refreshing beverage in the bar while waiting for a table. In fact, it’s often possible to order from the bar. The server will deliver the family to their table at the same time the food arrives.

Have I described a comfortable atmosphere? I hope so. The more woodsy the locale, the more likely you’ll see animal heads mounted on the wall or a large fish, sturgeon or musky, above the bar. Or not – the decor might be plain, but nice,with seasonal touches like a pumpkin on the windowsill.

The food will be high quality, and not daintily plated like a big city meal. Quantities are generous. The menu is likely to emphasize German cuisine or good Wisconsin comfort food. Your table will have bread before the meal, soup or salad. The bread recipe is probably whole grain and carefully guarded. It will be baked on site, not brought in from a local or (heaven forbid) frozen dough. The same will be true of the soup du jour and the house dressing. If you’re lucky, like we are, you’ll be able to buy a jar of the house dressing to take home. It’s not tomato season at my house without the East Side bacon dressing to go on my salads. And you know, readers, how long tomato season lasts at the O.K. Chorale!

Seasonal specials and Friday fish fry are a must in a Wisconsin supper club. Right now, the sign out front of the nearby supper club advertises pumpkin bread pudding. We got our dessert to go last time, and it came with instructions for heating, adding the maple syrup, and topping with whipped cream. I mentioned quantities: we waited a few hours and then split one portion of pumpkin bread pudding. Delicious.

So, my friends, that’s a supper club. I’m not sure if I did justice to the concept. You’ll really have to try one out yourselves. I’ll point you to the one near us, or others in town. Get ready to relax, don’t rush, and have a good meal and good conversation. I recommend the Scotch egg appetizer, deep fried with a Hacker-Pschorr Oktoberfest beer batter. And of course, a salad with bacon dressing.

Wisconsin bloggers and readers, please chime in. What have I forgotten? Add your supper club moments to share with my Pacific Northwest friends.

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Real Life is Stranger than Fiction

Alternate title: Frustration on the Job.

This is the transcript from an actual phone conversation Chuck had recently.

“Hello, this is K at Television Parts & Parts.  How may I help you?”

Hi this is Chuck from W-blank-blank-blank out in Green Bay, Wisconsin.  I need to place an order for a part please.

“OK, the guy you need to talk to is busy and can’t help you right now…And it’s me.  Can I forward you to my voicemail?  Please leave a message and I’ll call you back next time I’m in.”

Ummm…OK.

Click, Ring, Click, Recorded voice…

“Hello, this is K at Television Parts & Parts.  I’m not in right now, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”  Beep.

Hi this is Chuck from W— out in Green Bay, Wisconsin.  I need to place an order for a part please.

You can call me back at ###-###-####.

Later, my phone rings…

Hello, W-blank-blank-blank Engineering, this is Chuck.

“Hello, this is K at Television Parts & Parts.  How may I help you?”

Hi, thanks for calling back, I’m with W-blankety-blank-blank out in Green Bay, Wisconsin.  I need to place an order for a part please.

Truth is indeed stranger than fiction, at least in the television world. Meanwhile, back at my own workplace, I received the following email from Chuck.

Just got call from contractor.  He’s going to start 7:30 Wednesday morning.

My Wednesday is crowding up.  It’s becoming The Time Nexus; the day through which all other events must pass through.

I may need your help Tuesday evening as I deflect at least one black hole.  I’ll buy you dinner at the Restaurant at the Edge of the Universe.

Well, my friends, life changed very quickly. Chuck developed a sudden excruciating pain that turned out to be a kidney stone or two, and his coworkers ended up handling the Black Hole in the Time Nexus. We waited until he was feeling better, and then we did visit a restaurant – one near home, not at the end of the universe. After a salad with bacon dressing followed by pumpkin bread pudding, both of us felt ready to face the big bad world again.

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Tomatoes! Tomatoes! I still have tomatoes!

A few days ago, I mentioned having oodles and oodles of not noodles, but tomatoes. I even mentioned a few suggestions. Here you go, folks, the results of Daisy’s Overabundance of Ripe Tomatoes!

Lotsa Salsa!

Lotsa Salsa!

I do mean a lot, too. It took two sessions in the hot water bath canner – my big one! – to process all of it.

In the category of “It’s only weird if it doesn’t work” (Thanks, Budweiser), we have Eating the Opponent, Philadelphia: Tomato Pie!

Tomato Pie!

Tomato Pie!

Well, it didn’t work. The game against the Eagles was a disaster in many ways. I might make the tomato pie again some day, though. It was good. I served it with diced Golden Delicious apples from a farm stand near La Petite’s abode in Lake Geneva.

The calendar may say November, but we’re still eating goodies that were grown locally or nearly so, including tomatoes from my own backyard. Click your heels three times, now, and say, “There’s nothing like homegrown tomatoes. There’s nothing like…” Or something like that.

 

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Veterans’ Day

In honor of Veterans’ Day, I offer you an encore post from a different holiday – Memorial Day. Enjoy.

Every year we start Memorial Day by throwing our lawn chairs in Amigo’s bike basket and hitting the road for half a block to stake our claim on a good place to watch the parade. Seriously, it’s half a block from our home. We watch from the front yard, and when the police are putting the traffic barriers up, we head over and park ourselves in the road under our favorite shade tree. Here’s Amigo and MIL cheering on the municipal city band. Chuck? He was relaxing.

Amigo didn’t look excited to see my alma mater march past. Well, at least he applauded.
I tried to get my neighbor’s son in this shot with his baritone – instead, it looks like part of the seventy-six trombone section from Music Man.
And then we went home. Home, to help out our “real live veteran in our front yard,” as Amigo put it. FIL didn’t want to struggle all the way down the street with his walker, so he settled under our mock cherry tree and read a book. We gave him a little flag next to his lawn chair so he could be part of the festivities.
Happy Memorial Day Veterans’ Day, everyone. May your family members in the services stay safe and return to you soon.

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Writer’s Block? Not me.

I’ve just been low on time while I make sure that no child remains untested in the fair state of Wisconsin. But meanwhile, something I submitted wound its way through the review process, back to my desk, and back to the review process and eventually out of the pipeline onto my employer’s national blog.

You can read it here. 

Or you can look into the archives of Compost Happens and find the original here. 

I used to use this example to teach my face to face students in the brick and mortar schoolroom that thinking like a writer meant opening their minds and noticing the world around them. The reviewers and editors interpreted that as “Carry a notebook.” Really, readers, that’s only one small postage-stamp size corner of the picture. Thinking like a writer means that I look up, not down. I look around and imagine. I look at that pile of dirt next to the porch and think, “Rock garden.” Where others see dirt, I see soil.

And when something interesting happens, I think “Blog!” Or I should say I think Blog! if Amigo hasn’t already said, “Mom, you should blog this.” He thinks like a writer, too.

So, peoples in Interweb Land, how does your outlook provide you with entertainment and/or writing fodder? Do you carry a tiny memo book in your bag?

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Driving Amigo – and vice versa

We enjoy road trips, Amigo and I. A simple trip to La Petite’s apartment takes over two hours, and we make it a good time. Part of today’s trip was Saturday’s Public Radio line-up. We left the house to What ‘Ya Know with Michael Feldman, and we arrived in the Lake Community to the closing of Car Talk. We took a short break during Feldman’s town of the week to pick up a quick lunch, and then hit the road again.

Picking up lunch was a treat in itself. We stopped on a Strip to end all Strips and, lured by clever advertising, looked for a KFC. We wanted to try their Go Cups in the minivan. The results were favorable; both Amigo and I liked our chicken and potato wedges. It beat the heck out of the golden arches for taste and quality – and fun, too.

Let’s look back a few years. Amigo went to the DMV to get his state ID. As he tapped his white cane across the lobby, a teacher aide called out a greeting. “Hey, Amigo! What are you doing here?” My boy answered without hesitation; “I’m taking my driver’s test.”

Picture the poor teacher aide with her jaw dropping to the floor in her driver’s license picture. When you’re done laughing, come back.

Revving up the engine!

Revving up the engine!

The jalopy pictured was part of an informal gathering in a tavern parking lot. It wasn’t a strictly regulated “Don’t touch anything!” It was more of a “Come on up close and explore!” The car owners saw Amigo’s enthusiasm along with his white cane and invited him in. This one saw potential; he ushered Amigo into the driver’s seat and showed him how to start the car. Vroom!

When we plan our Route 66 journey someday, maybe he can spell me at the wheel.

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Everything old is new again

It was field trip day at the virtual school! We actually get out of our cubicles, go someplace fun, and meet some of our students and families. This was a field trip to an old homestead in Plymouth, Wisconsin, called the Wade House.

We climbed many stairs to the third floor, a large common room surrounded by small bedrooms containing only the basics: bed, chair, dresser, and a few necessaries. Necessaries? Pitcher, bowl, and chamber pot, of course. The common room sported two small stoves for heating, one on each end, and a piano for entertainment and enjoyment.

We came down one flight of stairs and once again I noticed stoves installed in several rooms, including one set up like a nursery. I thought this was a sign of wealth. After all, these stoves had to be shipped to the small town, carried up stairs, connected to a chimney, and then fueled by coal or wood. The  tour guide said no, the stoves were actually quite typical of the time. The Wade family was middle class, maybe upper middle class.

I’m still skeptical. This requires more research.

I came in armed with information from my family tree. A Hattie Wade, born in Kansas City in 1844, married into my family. Her husband was my mother’s great grandfather. Got it? Good. Tour guides, again, did not know of any Hattie, and assured me that in while the family of 10 children had arrived in this part of Wisconsin in 1850, most of their relatives were still out East in Pennsylvania.

I took their information at face value, but didn’t take it as fact. At least one of the Wade daughters was Ellen, a name that turns up in several generations of my line. This piece also needs more research.

As we left the kitchen, with its indoor well and large cast iron stove, I spotted herbs drying. At that moment, I felt right at home.

So readers, can you identify the herbs?

So readers, can you identify the herbs?

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