silver fox

I'm kind of careful around here when writing about my family, I want to protect their privacy.  That said, yesterday was Mr. D's birthday and he didn't want to make much of it, but today I'm going to make a bit of a fuss here on the ol' blog (because it's my space here and I can write what I want).  Since he's an adult, we'll stick with a good even number to celebrate some of his attributes:

1.  Mr. D's a natural athlete, but he's also a really good coach (and this doesn't always go together, trust me).  His players adore him.  Turns out he's quite good at breaking down information for them and he's really passionate about both his team's success, but also individual players.  If the steady stream of young men visiting during holiday break is any indication (and I believe it is), Mr. D has impacted his players' lives related to their personal and baseball success.  He spends a lot of time on coaching, digging into the details, learning new drills, asking other coaches for advice and scrutinizing his players and program.

2.  Honest.  Even sometimes when I don't want him to be, but there you have it.  The upshot of a guy who won't cheat on you is that he'll also tell you when he thinks an outfit looks ugly (FYI, that black dress from the Gap is cute on me)  or your cooking blows (okay, just because I don't deep fry everything in Bisquick and slather it with melted Velveeta doesn't mean it won't taste good).  He's not being mean, he's just that direct.  No head games.  You always know exactly where you stand with Mr. D.

3.  Strong.  He carries the full financial burden of our family.  Many people depend on him for their jobs.  He'll lift boxes into your house if you're moving, he'll listen to your personal problems behind the closed door of his office, he'll boost your kid into the air to get the giggles out of them. 

4.  Funny.  Okay, I'm really the funnier person here, but Mr. D has an excellent sense of humor and makes me laugh almost every day.

5.  Reasonable.  True story:  we're on opposite sides of the political spectrum, but we can discuss this without too much drama most of the time, and actually find a LOT of common ground.  Mr. D can see both sides of an issue, understand the finer points of the big picture and asks really good questions.  Break open a Sunday paper and brew some coffee and we can sit for an hour dissecting the world's problems and even get around to solving them.  (But honey, I'm still not casting a vote for Mitt on Tuesday.)

6.  Understanding.  Best example of this would be last night when I drove into the garage door.  He didn't ask for details.  He just nodded his head when I said, "I don't want to talk about it.  Don't worry.  I'll fix it."  And that was that.  A lot of men hound the crap out of their wives, but Mr. D leaves me alone and I really appreciate that about him.

7.  Generous.  His hands are always open, all you have to do is ask.  He takes care of so many people in spontaneous ways.  What he pours out to others--in time, money, references, advice and other resources is pretty amazing.

8.  Speaking of spontaneous, Mr. D is very comfortable flying by the seat of his pants.  I'm a planner and organizer, so sometimes this quality makes me nuts.  Like the mess he leaves on his side of the room.  Or the last-minute changes to what I've put on the calendar.  But you know what?  Often the best fun comes when you just go with the flow and stay open to the unexpected. 

9.  Mr. D's got a BIG personality.  Consequently, he's a salesman and he's exceptional at his work.  He's that guy who fills a room with his presence.  He's loud, he's grinning, he's boisterous, he's calling everyone out and engaging everyone around him.  Old ladies are charmed by him.  Little kids love him.  Men buy him drinks and tell stories about him.  Dogs wag their tails and come running when they hear his voice.  Strangers give him free swag everywhere he goes.  I know I'm making him sound like "The Most Interesting Man in the World," but if you met him, you'd agree. 

10.  Big-hearted.  He's a lover, not a fighter.  He wants others to be happy and he wants the best for people.  He's forgiving and caring and kind.  He really loves his family and we really love him.

Happy Birthday, Mr. D. 

Read More

as seen on TV and attempted at home

We have a new firepit area in the Back Forty.  Behold the ginormous pile of brush we're about to light up:

Impressive, no?  If you enlarge the photo you can admire the stacks of wood behind the brush pile.  TB worked his butt off this August clearing this area and digging that pit.

Mr. D's a fan of "reality TV."  Not Survivor or Real Housewives or  Idol.  He watches Duck Dynasty, Axe Men and Storage Wars.  Riveting stuff.  Anyway, he took copious notes of Axe Men for a few seasons and has a wealth of knowledge about logging.

When this giant dead tree called to him, Mr. D employed that knowledge.  Just like the guys on TV, he felled it.  It took days. 

The tree is no less impressive horizontal than it was when vertical.

His chainsaw and his back both got a good workout.  Plus there was manly sweating and swearing.

It must have been a mighty thing to see that tree begin to lean, tip and then crash.  Mr. D said he felt the ground vibrate when it landed.  I wonder what a tree that big would weigh. 

Stay tuned to see if Mr. D attempts ice road trucking or crab fishing anytime soon...

I, on the other hand, will stick to copying DIY home improvement jobs and recipes I see my amazing neighbor make on TV.  (Yeah, my neighbor lady is BACK on TV making more food!  She's a cooking rock star!)

Read More

of gangsters and chickens

I have to confess, if I wasn't already 4 seasons deep (and deeply committed) to Sons of Anarchy, and if last night's season premiere were the very first episode I ever saw, I'd never watch the show again.  Good gravy the body count was high.  At least 3 times I gasped and covered my mouth with my hands.  If I were Jax Teller, I'd be skipping town, losing the leather, changing my name to Dwight Vanderloop and selling appliances somewhere nondescript and quiet.  (Kids!  Don't become gangsters!  Nothing good comes of it!)  I'm still processing all the violence and wondering where this season will bring us. 

Also?  It's jarring to see Katey Sagal as Gemma at night and then catch her as Peg Bundy a few hours later while flipping through the channels to find a weather report.  Speaking of weather, how weird is it that the mold count is through the roof when it's been so dry?

I tossed and turned, sleepless last night from my mind getting boggled.  Did anyone else see the gorgeous crescent moon?  And the buzz of crickets--I shall miss the sounds of summertime.  Barefoot with windows wide open--best kind of season I know.

In other news, Mr. T ran in his 2nd cross country meet and beat his last time while running a greater distance.  According to my on-the-spot reporter (and sports analyst) Mr. D, he dug in deep during the final stretch and beat out a couple other runners.   To all you moms out there worried that your kid won't find their groove, I'm here to tell you that middle school is a great time for some to bloom.

Mr. B has informed me that he'd love nothing better than a chicken for his birthday next month.  He'd like to be a farmer's son, and would feed her seeds and gather her eggs every day.  He plans to use old fencing in our garage to build a coop to keep Jax (the dog, not the motorcycle gangster) away from her, and when the chicken dies, we'll have it for supper.  Mr. D explained to him that this would require a rooster as well. 

Mr. B:  Why?  All I want is one chicken.
Mr. D:  But you can't have eggs with only one chicken.  That's not how it works.  You need a rooster too.
Mr. B:  I don't understand.
Mr.  D:  You need a male and a female to make the eggs.
Mr. B (stunned by this revelation of sexual reproductive systems, and, probably, where eggs come from):  You mean chickens are like humans?    That really stinks.

Spill it, reader.  Did you watch SOA last night?  Were you as stunned and disturbed as me, or am I getting old and prudish?

Read More

amazing segue from Baltimore to Omaha

My days in Baltimore were spent among Ivy League people, the type who discuss the intricacies of Middle Eastern politics and America's foreign policy with good humor and intelligence.  The sort who spend more time reading more books and articles than watching reality television.  It was a real shot in the arm for me because most people where I live don't know Assad from Gilani.  I think I could easily become a city girl, in the right kind of city--I dig the old architecture, the history, the rich culture and funky neighborhood restaurants.

One of the things my writer pals are big into is research.  Lauren is extensively researching Romanian history and the one of America's earliest psychiatrists, a man who revolutionized treatment of the mentally ill.  Mariana has read up on Wilfred Owen, the great WWI poet.  Nina is submerged in the Boxer Rebellion.  And M.K. meticulously examines English life and criminal behavior.

M.K.'s attention to detail is part of what makes The Green Remains a pleasure to read.  (The title and cover are green!  But that's not the only reason why I loved this book.)  From the foliage in bloom outside Clarendon Hall to the police procedure that follows the discovery of a body (washed up on the shore of Lake Windermere), The Green Remains rings true.  No fine point misses M.K.'s eye, and if it somehow does, her fine crew of editors (including yours truly) picks it up.





(Need another review convincing you to read this book?  Click here!)

I'm a fan of a great murder mystery, but it's even better if while reading I feel like I'm on tour in a fresh location.  The Green Remains is just like a vacation to England's Lake District.  For any Anglophile, this is a must-read.

I'm giving away an autographed copy to one lucky name drawn out of my comment box.  This contest is open all week--all you have to do is leave a comment, each comment through the weekend is a chance to win.

And speaking of winners, Mr. D was in Omaha while I went to Baltimore.  I marinated in the company of writer types while he soaked up all the glory of the College World Series.  He came home all revved up about new strategies and drills and baseballbaseballbaseball.  Mr. D loves reliving his college baseball days and this is his new favorite, incidentally starring an Ivy League baseball team:



Spill it, reader. What green thing makes you happy?

Read More

my choice

The other day a woman mentioned to me in passing that it was her anniversary. "Congratulations!" I replied. "How many years?" "Twenty," she answered. "Well, that's something," I told her, "it's a heck of a lot easier to get married than it is to stay married. Good for you!"

A week later I ran into her again and she asked me how things were going. "Fine. You?"
"Well," she began hesitantly, "the other day you said something and I feel funny bringing it up. You said something about marriage being hard. Are things going okay?"

I laughed. "Things are great. I was only observing the hard truth about being married. Sticking it out takes a lot of effort. Way more effort than planning a big party and choosing a dress. When you stay married, it's work. Mr. D and I have had our share of rough patches. Too many people bail when it gets difficult. I think the folks who make marriages work for decades should get some sort of award."

You see, reader, it's a gross misconception that we fall in love. We choose to love, and while some people are easier to love than others, love's an active kind of behavior. True love has little to do with candlelight dinners or hot air balloon rides. Those early feelings of mad attraction fade, how can they last forever? It would be exhausting. As we become intimate with someone, we see more of them--eventually the unattractive bits peek out--they have gas, they use antacids, they wake up with foul breath, they get angry and say cruel things. Sometimes the unattractive bits provide fair warning, and it's legit to jump ship. But most of the time, us old married couples hunker down and weather storms together, passing the Tums across the bed in the middle of the night, kindly reminding our mate to "don't say that word."

Mr. D's on his last day of vacation--poor man is golfing in Arizona with some buddies. I've had time to be alone here without him, commandeer the TV remote, tend to the children as I see fit. I've also had time to appreciate him. We've reached an easy patch in life, but we still find opportunities to compromise. It's easy to be honest with someone who's been around as long as Mr. D--I can say little to shock him. I know he's not packing his bags and leaving me over something petty. There's great comfort in the little things, you don't get those habits gluing you together when you're in brand new relationships. When you've been sharing space with someone for so long, you get that different kind of intimacy, a really relaxed kind, where you know how they'll sit on the couch (always reclined with their feet up), how you're done impressing each other, how that person becomes your sanctuary. Mr. D doesn't send me flowers or play me love songs, but I know he'll make coffee on Saturday morning and bring me a cup.

It's kind of incredible that we can still sit and talk over coffee a few mornings a week and not run out of things to say. We don't share opinions on all things, but that makes things interesting. He really listens to my perspective and values my opinion. He thinks I'm smarter than the average bear (and trust me, if you want to appeal to my vanity, that's how to do it). He makes the coffee really strong (the way I like it) and waters his cup down so he can drink it. He cannot bear raw egg yolks, but if he's making scrambled eggs for the gang on a Sunday morning, he'll make a couple eggs over-easy for me. Mr. D appreciates my sense of humor, my need to keep moving, my ridiculous organization and my affection for Jane Austen.

I am thankful to be in a relationship where we both have plenty of space and security. I do karate and write, he does baseball and sells. We can go days with barely any conversation because we're headed in different directions, but we can spend a whole week together in the OBX and still talk to each other on the drive home. I love that when I say, "Hey! You're taking me for granted!" Mr. D will step up. Mr. D provides exceptionally well for our family. He backs me up with parenting stuff, and he knows I've got his back in turn. I can ask him anything and he won't make fun of my questions, he'll explain things again and again (like investments and those goofy end-zone rules in football). He gets my insecurities, forgives my incessant knuckle-cracking, endures my ranting over political issues.

We push each other, but we also pull each other along. We ebb and flow. I don't wake up every morning in love, but I wake up and see what there is to love with Mr. D.

We're not a mushy couple--there won't be cards exchanged or a late Valentine's dinner. Heck, I won't even see him until tomorrow. In spite of these things, Mr. D, I love you. I choose you. On this day and all the other days of the year.

Read More

riddle me this

Monday night Mr. B and I rolled in from karate class. Mr. D was at a (very long and politically charged athletic association) meeting, Mr. G and Mr. T were home hanging out. When we pulled into the garage and exited the Momvan, we were assaulted by the most terrible odor imaginable. It took me a while to figure it out, but eventually I determined it was burning rubber. This led me to pop the hood on the Momvan and check all of the tires. You see, I was convinced the Momvan was about the spontaneously combust. It was definitely something burning. And this is just the sort of thing that would happen right after we decided to replace Mr. D's car with a salvaged hybrid. Right?

But the Momvan checked out. I went inside and kept getting hits of the odor. Basement? Everything was fine. I checked the tree, all the electrical outlets. We seemed safe from a house fire. I went back outside and kept getting the scent. I checked the electric Christmas lights and extension cords. There seemed no rhyme or reason for the cause or source, but I definitely smelled that burning blacktoppy-tar-rubber-plastic smell.

Mr. D came home an hour later and smelled it, too. We examined garage door openers, his car (about to get traded in the next morning), I even walked up the driveway to ascertain whether the stench was blowing in from somewhere else. I tore apart the laundry room adjacent to the garage--checked the dryer vent, the wiring, even pulled the dryer out from the wall and ended up vacuuming up a half pound of lint and dust bunnies. I confess I went to bed that night certain we'd be woken up by the screech of smoke detectors. I knew I'd missed something smoking, burning, combusting. What was that horrible smell? Where was it coming from?

Sure enough, the next morning we could still smell it. Strongest in the garage. Mr. D warily drove to his office and returned, checking his car once again and coming into the house exclaiming, "Smell my hand! I can even smell it on my hand!"

Reader, at this point I was certain the Apocalypse was upon us. My overactive imagination deducted that all plastics made in oh, say 1995, was melting and turning toxic right before us, creating a swamp of deadly chemicals that we'd inhale and die from--or cause electrical fires and we'd be caught up in the resulting inferno. Silly, but the smell was coming from all kinds of odd spots--Mr. D's phone, the laundry room, the garage, the Momvan, Mr. D's hand.

Tuesday, about 10:00 Mr. D calls me from work. "Jax got sprayed by a skunk!"

I gasped, "How do you know?" and run to the window to look outside at the dog who is sitting in his little house.

"I was thinking about it and you know every where we smelled that smell? Jax was right there. In fact, I even told him to move his head when I looked under my car, and that's when it smelled the strongest. I petted him--that's why my hand smelled. It all adds up, my dear Watson."

I walk outside and sniff. Now the top notes of burning blacktoppy-tar-rubber-plastic smell had worn off and sure enough, there was that sour, musky, raw skunk spray aroma. Jax trots up to me and I take another breath. Yep. Who knew? I guess the first blast of skunk smells nothing like the lingering odor we're all more familiar with.

So. We have a smelly dog, below freezing temperatures, a new car in which we will not put the dog, a house in which we will not bring the dog and a Momvan which I refuse to contaminate with skunk smell. We can't bathe him outside, it's too cold. We won't bring him inside, it's too cold to ventilate properly. Everyone's avoiding Jax like the Black Plague and I read on the internet that skunk smell lasts up to 6 weeks.

SIX WEEKS!

After reading the suggested remedies (none included, "let the dumb dog suffer and the smell will naturally fade and all will return to normal without any dire consequence"--and trust me, I searched hard for that advice) I finally suggested to Mr. D that he borrow a work truck with a metal cab (less likely to absorb the odor) to transport the mutt to a dog groomer's.

In other news, Mr. G woke up the other morning and went outside in 23 degree weather to take his morning constitutional off the edge of the front porch in bare feet. WHY? you may well ask.

I went into the boys' bathroom of preference to figure it out. He won't go upstairs because that bathroom is disgusting, even right after I clean it he won't use it--and it's his fault because he won't aim. Downstairs someone hadn't flushed properly (you have to hold the handle down for a couple seconds) and a pile of brown poo lay marinating in the bottom of the toilet. Of course it's easier to step outside and pee in bare feet while freezing to death than to just flush the toilet. Right???

Straight from stinky dog to funky bathroom. Which explains why I'm dressed like this lately:

Read More

another big holiday

I've given my staff the day off in honor of Mr. D's birthday. Kind of a bummer that it's a week day, but we'll have a proper birthday supper with CAKE! this weekend. He did open his presents this morning and felt sufficiently honored with new neckties, a few new dress shirts and a couple DVDs. I don't discuss Mr. D much in this space, but since it is his special day, I'll share a few of my favorite things about him:

1. His dancing. If you've seen him dance, you know he is enthusiastic, inventive, energetic and entertaining as hell. Most men his age would throw their back out doing the moves he does, but Mr. D's a natural athlete and can really shake down the house.
2. His coaching. He's the assistant coach because he likes being "the fun one" and not "the hard ass." His players LOVE him. The parents respect and adore him. The thing is, Mr. D gives really good advice, he's got a keen eye and can pick apart motion and teach a person how to do (or not to do) something better. It's pretty phenomenal to watch him enjoy something he's passionate about and quite skilled at.
3. His loyalty. While he does lay on the false flattery a little thick at times, Mr. D is one of the most fundamentally loyal people I know. If he's in your camp, you can count on him 100%. He'll level with you, too, which is a tough thing most people aren't willing to do.
4. His sense of humor. (True story: I could never live this long with someone who couldn't make me laugh almost every day.)
5. His energy. Occasionally you'll find someone appalled by how Mr. D can dominate a room, but the man is the life of any party and can really get a crowd going. He expects a lot of people, but he gives a lot. This makes him good at his job and in social situations.
6. His generosity. It truly inspires me.
7. Our conversations--we really can talk about almost everything under the sun. A couple times a week he'll come back from work in the morning and we'll enjoy coffee and a chit-chat. Even though we disagree on some of the big issues (politics, faith), there's enough intelligence and creativity between us to enjoy the similarities and differences.
8. His fearlessness. He was the one person in his family to fly farthest from the coop. He'll try anything once (with a few culinary exceptions). When his buddies were settling down and marrying their high school sweethearts, Mr. D left the safety of a small Iowa town for Chicago, with nothing but his car and what he could fit inside of it to Make His Way in the Windy City. His considerable success is the result of the personal and professional risks he is willing to take. He doesn't really fear much and when he considers the possibility of failure, he shrugs and figures it's nothing he can't overcome.

Happy Birthday, Big Daddy. Here's to YOU, since you're kind of a big deal to me.

Read More

the secret ingredient

If you haven't visited The Treat Girl's blog, you must--she gives the best recipes with tips and hints for making them turn out perfect. Today her post reminded me of my most hard-won recipes. You see, my mother-in-law is Mr. D's favorite cook in the whole wide world. He loves her lasagna, potato salad, egg bake and loose meat (yes, they're from Iowa) sandwiches. There's no competing with his adoration, I had to learn how to play the game.

Happily, there's no direct competition between my MIL and I, she lives in Iowa, we're in Wisconsin, we see each other a few times a year, but if she lived closer, she and Mr. D would be like Marie and Raymond Barone--he's her favorite and she dotes on him. Distance keeps us fond of each other, I enjoy her company and appreciate that she lives too far away to meddle in our lives. We have a unique relationship as she lives within 5 minutes of 2 of her other kids and 40 minutes from the other--we're a vacation, a treat compared to the family she sees every week of her life.

For years Mr. D would eat his mom's cooking and say to me, "You need to learn how to make this!" And I'd ask for the recipe and she'd "forget" to give it. I don't particularly enjoy cooking, so I didn't push the issue, figuring I could mold Mr. D's taste buds to appreciate my efforts with what I liked to make.

In turn, I shared my recipes liberally with my MIL, and I know she enjoys making them and passing them along, but she simply refused to share her standards with me. Mr. D and I first thought she was being selfish, wanting to be the Only One making his favorite foods. He'd ask me if I got the recipe from her, I'd tell him no, she wouldn't share because we got busy or interrupted, he'd get on the phone and demand the recipe and she'd promise to send it along or provide an excuse. "I don't have it written down" she'd say. Or, "I just put in a pinch of this and some of that" as though potato salad were a magical spell. Once she came to visit and made potato salad for us while I stood by watching in the kitchen. She didn't use any measuring tools so I couldn't get a decent read on how much of anything she added.

We concluded her refusal to pass along recipes was subliminal so no one else could make them.

I said as much to her once, suggesting "it would be such a shame for our sons not to enjoy their Grandma's famous cooking in years to come. If you'd teach me, we could keep your legacy alive long after you're gone. We need to write these recipes down!" Still, it took years for her to hand over any semblance of a hint of how to make her lasagna or potato salad.

But she did. She handed over (begrudgingly, though she'd never admit it) her recipe for lasagna. I made it--following her instructions to the letter, even though I suspected 4 tablespoons of salt seemed excessive. We ate it and swallowed quarts of water for days afterward. I noted on the recipe "HALF the salt" and made it again. Still too salty. I scratched out my note and wrote "1 TBS SALT" and it came out just right. Did she give me the wrong recipe on purpose? I don't think so, but it still seemed suspicious. Though she does like her food salty... she's the only person I know who salts pizza before eating it...

Two years later we managed to pry her potato salad recipe out of her clenched fingertips. I made it at home again following the recipe to the letter and guess what? TOO DRY. I wrote in the margin, "DOUBLE the dressing" and tried to make it again. You can imagine it turned out just right after modifications.

Now we know we can eventually get Mr. D's old family favorites out of my MIL's Super Secret Files with persistence and persuasion. We'll get a version sabotaged so that she still remains the Only One who can make Mr. D happy--to her mind, that is. It's no surprise to make her recipe only to fail--I know I have to look for the trap and finesse my way around it--and write down what I fixed so that someday MY daughters-in-law can get the right recipe from my clenched fingertips. And I'll tell them about my MIL and how proud she was of making these things to please her son--and I'll laugh as I tell them how we extracted the recipes from her with finesse that could rival CIA interrogators.

Spill it, reader. Does your family have secret recipes? Or do you share fair and square?

Read More

r.i.p. corner tavern

I've always been partial to the local joints--they have all the character and quirkiness the franchises like Applebee's and Bennigan's and O'Charley's strive for with their carefully orchestrated imitation "authenticity." The real good places have cheap tap beer, regular customers who are full of stories and irritating tendencies to talk too much and greasy menus that haven't been updated for decades (except to scratch out old prices with a ballpoint pen). The classic dives have their names on the backs of Little League t-shirts, dusty bottles of Johnny Walker (because the locals don't drink the expensive booze) and Johnny Cash on the jukebox.

In Mr. D's hometown there stands a really old building that housed the Corner Tavern. New Year's Eve was the Corner's last night in business, so we dropped in to say goodbye.

The first time I met Mr. D's family was in the front booth--we had beer and chicken and potato wedges. The broasted chicken was nothing short of amazing. That alone would've kept the Corner in business except the new management sold the trademark recipe to the competition down the street. No kidding!

behind the bar--pictures from times past

Actually, as I recall, it was Lent and everyone in Mr. D's family ate fish. I was the only person ordering chicken (and the only non-Catholic), and only realized my faux pas after the food arrived at our booth.

more than one person in our party remembered sleeping in these booths as children, oblivious to the noise and smoke while their parents visited and had drinks

We spent several nights in this tiny bar. The smoke-filled air would choke you to death until a couple years ago when the Iowa state legislature banned smoking in public places.

I've been in other old bars with the same set-up--a tiny bathroom, doorways so low that you have to duck your head, a single sink out in the main bar, just outside the bathroom door.

You probably don't know one of my (many) dirty little secrets: I'm a crackerjack craps player. My luck is just incredible. Back in my wilder days I had a really crazy winning streak playing craps on the pool table in the Corner's back room. Sure, it would've been easier to just take everybody's money straight out of their pockets, but half the fun is playing the game, right?

so many cool old signs

Another time one of my brothers-in-law took me down to the Corner for a beer--I believe it was on Thanksgiving. We sat right here and had 50-cent tappers. It's true, people really do bond over a few beers and we had a good time. Another brother-in-law recalls it differently, however. He told me New Year's Eve that he remembers me coming back to the Thanksgiving party a couple sheets to the wind.


It's a shame to see a wee little town bar close it's doors. It's full of a lot of memories, grease and building code violations (as you can see here by the Men's Room door--in the kitchen, next to boxes of food!). Inside that building are some darn cool beer signs, photos of old baseball teams and gorgeous cabinets from when craftsmen made things from scratch with care and love.


Maybe someone will buy the Corner Tavern and do something cool with the building. Hopefully Mike and Frank and an architectural salvage crew come through if someone decides to raze it. I wasn't even a modest part of the Corner's history, but I'm glad I got to have one last glass of beer and toast it's memory.

this picture shows how small the bar is--I'm standing nearly at the back wall to take this picture!

Read More

back in the olden days when Mr. D and I were DINKS

we lived in a neighborhood FULL of kids. We were legendary on our street because most of those kids attended the local parochial school. For those of you not "in the know," parochial schools are notorious for fundraisers. The PS Mr. T currently attends sends home at least one "fundraising opportunity" every week. Anyway, Mr. D and I cannot refuse a kid peddling frozen cookie dough, pizzas, gift wrap, fruit, Girl Scout Cookies or magazine subscriptions. We bought it all and we bought it with vigor. Consequently, the neighborhood kids figured out how to maximize the profits at 621 Taylor Street.

They'd hit me up when I'd get home from my teaching job around 4:00. "Sure, Angie. We'll take five pizzas." I'd leave the house around suppertime for my evening gig as choreographer of the high school musical and Mr. D would roll in the driveway at 6:00. The neighbor kids would ambush him. "Sure, Angie. Put us down for six pizzas." Delivery day would come and one of us would stand at our front door cutting a check for TWO separate orders. Smart kids. Suffice it to say, our freezer was never empty the entire time we lived in that town.

Even now we don't deny the kid standing on our front porch trying to raise buck for band or football or Scouts. And if they're selling something we don't want to buy, we're usually soft-hearted enough to cut a check directly to their organization.

As for our own children, they don't participate in any fundraising. At the PS, we paid the "fundraising buy-out fee," entitling us to a guilt-free year without hitting up our friends and family to buy anything. Since I'm President of the Happyland Elementary PTA, I've insured that almost all of our organization's fundraising is event or service based. We have only one "sale" fundraiser each year and I usually don't take part in it. My sons never bother anyone to buy anything on behalf of Happyland Elementary. The park & rec teams they play on are paid for through membership fees and a very lucrative concession stand. Mr. T is the only "fundraiser" in our family since he's part of Boy Scouts.

This year he wanted to sell popcorn for Scouts and I was okay with that only because he's really really really into Scouting. The organization gets 70% of the profit and Boy Scout popcorn has a reputation of being a good product that people appreciate buying. He did all the sales himself at his dad's office because his dad's office allows kids to do that kind of thing. And Mr. D has a reputation of being very generous to other people's kids fundraising efforts, so it seemed like fair game. Mr. T sold a ton of popcorn, making enough money to purchase a badly needed tent for his troop. He did such an outstanding job pitching his product and his cause that we even got emails from Mr. D's colleagues complementing his sales skills. But Mr. T did it himself. The only thing I did was drop him off and pick him up since he's too young to drive. He organized the orders, kept track of the money and wrote thank you notes to attach to the product when he delivers it next month.

And Mr. T only sold at his dad's office. We didn't bother our neighbors because they've got their own family members (children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews) to buy things from. We won't call on family because they're all out of state and/or on fixed incomes.

This said, I'm all for event-based fundraisers. In fact, a few years ago I suggested to Mr. D that his baseball team hold a clinic for little league players instead of selling those discount cards and they actually did--and made a tidy profit. I'm all for bake sales, lemonade stands (a particular weakness--I've been known to circle back around a block to get a Dixie cup of lukewarm Kool Aid from some enterprising kid), rummage sales and carnivals. The idea of giving a little to get something back best fits my philosophy on these matters.

And for the record, my favorite fundraising product of all time? Girl Scout Cookies.

Spill it, reader. What do kids sell that you cannot refuse to buy?

Read More

Mr. D does hate to make a spectacle of himself

Poor Mr. D--like most men of a certain ... ahem...age, he's wearing the full body armour of denial. But when the man asks me to read the numbers off a credit card to him--well, it's time for some reading glasses. He'd come home from work with a head ache, resist reading for pleasure, hold bills and menus and newspapers closer and further from his face to achieve some semblance of focus--all for the want of eyeglasses. Even after trying on reading glasses at Flanagan's Wine Review one night (several strengths and styles helpfully provided on each table), he had to confess he needed reading glasses, but refused to get them. "That's like admitting I'm old," he argued.

When I got an offer from GlassesUSA to review free prescription glasses, I shot an email back, "I don't wear glasses because I am young and practically perfect in every way. But my husband could use a pair of reading glasses...any chance I could get a pair and review them on his behalf?" To my surprise, both Hillary from Glasses USA and Mr. D agreed to that arrangement. I pass on dozens of offers to review products, but for the sake of my husband and the future of his ability to function in literate society, I chose to review these eyeglasses.

Ordering the glasses online was easy--they offer a full range eyeglass frames--metal, plastic, and titanium in every imaginable style. I liked how the GlassesUSA set up their web site, too. You can shop by price range, gender, lens type or material. Navigation around the site is simple and the price for almost every pair I looked at was under $50. My sole complaint is that they don't show the frames on models, the eyeglasses are shown alone so it's tough to imagine what they might look like on differently shaped faces and heads, but that's a risk you take with shopping for anything online--from blue jeans to earrings.



After much deliberation, I finally selected Politico Gunmetal. Four days later they arrived in our mailbox packaged in a sturdy case with a polishing cloth. Mr. D was delighted. He's pleased to see clearly now and has spent hours reading and working on Sudoku puzzles with his new glasses. They're very comfortable, lightweight and well-made. He has never worn glasses before and wears these for hours on end without complaint or notice. His head is pretty big and the frames are wonderfully flexible--he was surprised at that since every pair of sunglasses he's ever worn have been tight on his head. Mr. D's new glasses from Glasses USA fit well and they're attractive on him. (Yes, it's true, Green Girl will make passes on men who wear glasses--just ask Mr. D!)

Finally, I'm happy to endorse Glasses USA because they produce quality eyeglasses in New Jersey, and I prefer to buy products made in the USA when I can. The company recycles returned eyeglasses by donating all of their returned eyeglasses to various organizations around the US who fit prescriptions to people all over the world who can't afford vision care.

If you or your spouse, child, or friend need eyeglasses of any kind, check out Glasses USA. They've generously agreed to offer my readers 10% off their final order. Use the coupon code "refer" when you're checking out on their site--the coupon code never expires. I'm not getting any more from Glasses USA other than the free pair of reading glasses for Mr. D and the bliss that comes from gloating because I'm right and got him to finally cave and wear reading glasses, but should I ever need to buy another pair, I'm heading to their web site. I told you reading glasses would make life better, Mr. D. You should always listen to my wisdom.

Spill it, reader, do you use eyeglasses? Contacts? Have you had corrective surgery so they're not necessary any longer?

Read More

double-yuck

Yesterday I ran downstairs to check on how the astroturf is drying out since the Great Sewer Pump Debacle of '09. A soaked floor greeted me--and a steady stream of liquid pouring out of a cracked pipe connector leading from our new sewer lift pump. I said bad words. I called the plumber. He came immediately and fixed it.

Before I go again to the basement to deal with sewer water, I simply must put on my Ranty-Pants and share:

Things I think are yucky:

Sewer water
Wet socks
Licorice
Howard Stern
Grits
Marigolds
My complexion when I wear orange or even the slightly wrong shade of red
Light beer
"chicken" nuggets (yeah, I'm talking to you, too, soy substitutes!)

and

Tinsel. Actually, tinsel isn't so much yucky as it is tacky. And Mr. D loves it. He sweetly asked a week ago if, now that the boys are older and not inclined to put Christmas ornaments in their mouths, can we have tinsel, please? I caved like a California mudslide. He asks for so little. I've used the "child safety" excuse for over a decade to avoid tinsel on my tree. Sure, honey, this once we can do it for the sake of your nostalgia.

I bought him a box of tinsel and he added it to our tree last night. Then he mentioned that we really needed 3 boxes to make it look right. Which is why I think tinsel is tacky--it COVERS all the decorating on your tree--especially the way he and his kin are prone to using it. Gobbing it on in huge clumps that hide everything beneath and behind--I mean, what's the point?

But I love him. Tacky tinsel and all.

Spill it, reader. What's on your Yuck List?

Read More

new traditions

For years the tradition every November at the Green Girl Estate is that Mr. D heads north for opening weekend of deer hunting and Green Girl enjoys quality time with Team Testoserone while he's away. Then Governor Doyl had to sign a bill permitting 10-year-olds to hunt with the supervision of an adult. Which means years of tradition will change this fall at the Green Girl Estate because there is no way, except over Green Girl's rotting corpse, that she'll allow Mr. T up north for hunting. Her reasons have nothing to do with hunting, and she'll leave it at that.

And this year, Mr. T wants to hunt. Mr. D is excited to escort Mr. T into the world of camo, blaze orange, deer stands, tracking, rut, shells, guns, ammo and a whole bunch of other stuff that Green Girl knows but cares little about. Mr. D keeps his guns and ammo locked up, he's a responsible gun owner and unlike many of his hunting friends, does NOT carry an NRA membership card because he feels concealed handguns and assault rifles have no place in civilized society. (Green Girl married a moderate conservative, so their pillow talk stays on an even keel.) He's teaching all three boys the Old School respect that he learned as a boy--respect for Nature, Life, Guns and The Hunt. He'll require Hunter Safety courses before any of his sons head into the woods solo. Green Girl and Mr. D agree on all of these points.

Mr. D loves to shoot birds. Deer, notsomuch. In fact, Green Girl knows he secretly fears having to kill a deer because then he'll be stuck with the whole messy task of dragging its carcass out of the woods and gutting it and stringing it up and taking it to a butcher and blah blah blah blood and yuck and ick. But deer hunting is upon us and there are more deer in the Back 40 than pheasants (which is a long and entertaining tale for another day), so Mr. D will take Mr. T out for The Great Deer Hunt.

Yesterday morning a buck and a doe stood in the field between house and school, luring Mr. T into the woods this fall--if the two deer offered the kid a DS and unlimited portions of crab rangoon they couldn't have gotten him any more excited about deer hunting. Green Girl wants the deer exterminated--by her own tribe or by the neighbors, it doesn't matter so long as the pestilence is kept out of her garden. She's totally cool with the deer being hunted and Mr. T participating and all of this taking place on their property--heck, it's one of the many reasons why Green Girl and Mr. D bought 60 acres in the first place.

This weekend Mr. D and Mr. T will track in the woods. They'll go shopping for a deer stand and hunting gear and make big plans for opening weekend. Green Girl will accept that the family's tradition of deer hunting will change forever as her men will hunt nearby, returning frequently for hot showers, hot meals and football scores. Instead of a free-wheeling solo weekend with Team Testosterone, deer hunting weekend will look like any other weekend in the fall, except she'll have more laundry, more food prep and more interruptions with requests from her Great White Hunters. It's a weird thing how this step into manhood requires Green Girl to let go while doing more at the same time. And she's willing to bet her freezer won't hold any more venison than it did in previous years when only ONE member of the household participated in The Hunt.

Read More

perception

Mr. D is a salesman, which means when he's in public he's "on." He has a public personality and a private personality that most people never see. These two faces are both genuine, but I've come to believe that the one I see at home is more truly Mr. D's. Like most people with huge public personas and large amounts of charisma, the man who comes home at night can be dramatically quieter and sometimes even grumpy to counter the exertion of being "on" all day long. After a week of constant contact, the last thing Mr. D wants on the weekend is to gad about with More People.

I'm used to both of his faces. I'm used to seeing him every day and I've grown accustomed to the lines on his face, the silver in his hair, the cleft in his chin. I see him without really seeing him.

This morning we sat on the porch drinking coffee and talking. Suddenly I saw him--differently--I saw how handsome he is, how boyish he still looks. I can't put my finger on exactly what part of his face I saw in this new light, but his eyes looked bluer, his jaw more defined. I glimpsed--for a moment--why so many other women find him attractive. And it reminded me that I take him for granted in many ways. I'm a pretty lucky gal.

Read More

cravings

It's incredible how 30 degrees can change your life. I've gone from hunched over and shivering beneath a quilt to puttering in the yard and putting things away in the garage. Robins fill the air with song, puddles cover the yard and drive, the boys are suddenly never in the house. It's great to bring order to things after pushing them aside for so long. Christmas lights and boxes that need to be broken down for recycling, broken glass in the corner of the garage that I couldn't face when it was 10 below is no sweat to clean up when it's 50 above. Filling birdfeeders when I'm not knee-deep in snow is a pleasant task and since the snow has mostly melted I can start measuring the places where my raised beds will go in the vegetable garden.

Mr. D and I have spent a lot of time in bed at night watching the Food Network which then makes us crave terrible foods. Terrible for us, that is, not terrible tasting. The other weekend we made french toast dredged through Captain Crunch cereal after watching Guy Fieri eat it on Triple D, for example. It tasted heavenly. Now it's been Irish pub food--all I've wanted all weekend was Shepherd's Pie and a pint of something dark and delicious. Sunday afternoon Mr. D returned from his run and hit the showers. I started to survey the boys about what they wanted for dinner. Mr. G called from the laundry room, "Lefty's here!" That's right, Lefty's home from college on spring break--would he join us for dinner? I began calculating the adjustments to our menu--adding a fully grown college boy makes a huge difference--when Mr. D came out of our bedroom dressed in jeans and a nice shirt. "You ready?" he asked me.

"Ready for what?"

"Lefty's here to watch the boys."

Lefty held up the two pizzas in his right hand and grinned.

I kissed each son on the head telling them, "See you later, Mommy and Daddy are going to be bad for a little while."

My Shepherd's Pie was savory and warmed me through my heart. My two pints of Bass Ale tasted heavenly. My husband is a wonderful man and Sunday surprises are the best.

How was your weekend, reader?

Read More

interview with a woman reading a book about vampires

It's true. I'm halfway done with The Historian, clutching my throat while I read...

Jo over at Ecology of a Woman has interviewed me--dang, she's good! I can't promise such revealing questions, but if you want to be next, leave a comment.
Here are the Interview Rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you 5 questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them 5 questions.

Without further ado:

How do you find the time, motivation, and inspiration to write?

I buy the time--a day care takes Mr. G while Mr. T and Mr. B are at school for a few days a week. It's desperate--I type as fast as I can in a silent house and my writing time is the first to fly out the window when errands or housekeeping calls. I've also been known to stay up VERY late at night when everyone else is down for the count. I'm motivated by how fun it is to invent new people who lead lives that fascinate me--I write about the lives I'd like to lead so the process is escapism. And creating renews my brain and attitude in a way that crafting might for other types of people. Writing blogs can be done with kids in the house--all 3 boys play together well and I can write short pieces in the midst of their noise and chaos. As far as inspiration goes, I'm always finding people, situations, places and qualities that need to go in a novel or short story--good material is all over. The only problem is finding the time to produce all the crazy thoughts in my head.

In honor of the upcoming holiday dedicated to love--I am sure we would all love to hear the story of you and Mr. D!

The long story was posted over our anniversary last August. If you're dying to read the entire bit, click here, here, here, here and here. And here. Which is more than you probably ever want to know. The short version is this: I met him while tending bar to pay for college. My first teaching job was about 40 minutes from where he lived and we started to date when I moved to the west side of the state. My second teaching job moved me across the state, Mr. D followed with a proposal and sweet promises of never letting me down and giving me a good life. Naturally, I fell hook line and sinker and this year we'll have been legally wed for 14 years. We've seen fire and rain, ice, sleet, snow, some flooding and a few tornadoes. But most days with him are balmy, with sunshine and a breeze.

Sixty acres of land is a LOT! I am a little envious! What do you do with all that land? Tell me about your gardens!

It is a LOT. We've got 40 acres enrolled in federal, state and county programs--some of it is managed forest, some is freshly planted prairie recovery and forest recovery. Because Duck Creek runs through our land, we qualified for a program that pays for our efforts to create a healthy buffer along the waterway. Up by our house we've planted hundreds of trees and a prairie. We've got trails for walking and x-c skiing and riding our ATV. The gardens are by the house--I have huge beds of perennials and am redoing the vegetable garden because it got ripped apart last spring, so prepare to hear more about that in a couple months. My old vegetable bed is now all strawberries since they took over. I have a raspberry patch and pear and apple trees. We also have a pumpkin/squash patch up behind our neighbor's property--that's a communal effort by both of us. I cut flowers for my table all season and try to be generous with the produce when it comes--I also freeze a lot of fruits and vegetables.

We all know that you are an eco-warrior! Tell me about how you came to realize how strong a passion this was for you. Was it a single event of an ongoing theme? What was the catalyst?

I've always loved to be outside my whole life--and as a Christian, I'm constantly amazed by the diversity and specificity I discover in nature. My environmentalism is really a combination of celebrating God's gifts to us and protecting the spaces I enjoy playing in. Among my favorite books are John Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath and he really nails how consumerism and "progress" destroy both the earth and people. I can't recall a single moment where I became sort of granola-y, it's been more of an evolution as I've learned more about the world and made the connections between politics, economics and ecology. I'm lucky to have married someone who feels as passionately about wide open spaces as me and we're both committed to preserving our little corner of the world for posterity (and bugs, bees, birds, & animals!).

You are quite a reader! What book has meant the most to you and why?

It's tough to pick one--any reader says that. Obviously the Bible is my moral compass and my spiritual foundation--as I reread it (2 chapters a night, no skipping around) I'm always surprised at what I learn and discover new questions along the way. Other books that I reread on occasion because they mean so much include Little Women because the Alcotts were my fantasy family, Frankenstein is visionary and genius the way it addresses science and ethics, Grapes of Wrath is laser-sharp and teaches one about poverty and "progress." A Room of One's Own encouraged my feminist beliefs. Walden is extraordinary and while I fear Henry David Thoreau was a bit creepy in real life, I love his brain. Mere Christianity deepened my faith.

Read More

who knew?

Last night Mr. D and I eagerly tore into season two of Doc Martin, anxious to see our curmudgeonly London surgeon's new adventures in Portwenn, England. Mr. D had ordered seasons two and three from Amazon.com.UK per my request for Christmas (good man) and we inserted the first DVD into the player.

A message to this effect came up on our TV set:
This disc will not play in this region.

Huh? I studied the back of the case. I reinserted the disc. I compared the fine print on the case to the fine print on Kung Fu Panda (yes! A new record--my obsession for this legendary film is becoming legendary--the stuff of legend indeed). No mention of region on Kung Fu Panda.

Mr. D couldn't figure it out either--we always thought a disc was a disc was a disc. Apparently not. Are DVD players made differently across the Atlantic? The DVDs are.

But don't panic--my brilliant husband told me to fire up the laptop. He put in the disc and after the notice came up again that the disc could only play in region 2, he clicked a couple of times and reformatted the Windows Media Player on my laptop. THEN my genius husband hooked up my laptop to a screen projector that he carts around in his car for when he does demos of software for his job. We lay in bed watching Doc Martin on our bedroom wall--it was positively lovely.

But we'd still like to know the story about regions and DVDs--any of your Brits out there willing to tell this Yank why this is? Season three has the same fine print, so we'll be watching it on my laptop as well ...

Read More

Silver Foxes--A Birthday Tribute

Green Girl has always had a special place in her heart for the Silver Fox. Sexy gray haired guys can make her heart swell, her throat dry up, her knees wobble. Sure, some women find nothing attractive about the distinguished streaks of age on a man's temples, but Green Girl thinks it is a look of supreme elegance and (wait for it...) awesomeness.

A gray haired man can still exude boyish charm,

a sense of reckless adventure,

sophistication,

um, Neil? You're Green Girl's Secret Gay Boyfriend, not her Secret Gray Boyfriend. You don't belong in this post.

Ah, that's better. Gray haired men can be sooooo sexy,

dashing,

and debonair.

Green Girl's pretty damn lucky to find all of these attributes in one singularly sensational Silver Fox. Happy Birthday, Mr. D. Love, Your Wife

Read More

Idiots & Heroes

Dear New Story Hour Librarian:

We recognize you're no Mrs. VH (who by now has embraced her retirement and we are still trying to forgive her). But a few tips for future story hours:
* lay down ground rules for parents and kids
* stick to your ground rules (when you let 2 kids walk around and stand DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THE STORY BOOK, it's basically a free pass for the rest of the group)
* WTF? You get up and let kids climb on your chair while you're doing a finger play with the rest of the group?
* more stories, less singing
* more books, less finger plays
* more reading & pictures, the kids can't read so they can't tell you which words on the page rhymed
* more expression in voice & face--your monotone is KILLING the stories.

Sincerely,
The Mom in the Back Glaring at You


Dear Fellow Story Hour Moms,

Control your kids or go home. You're wrecking story hour for the rest of us--you know, the two cute boys SITTING on the story rug, hand in laps, trying to see the story THROUGH your child's body which is now STANDING directly in front of the librarian and story book? Your kid isn't cute and your inability to discipline them to behave in public isn't doing anyone any favors.

Sincerely,
The Mom Glaring at You, Too
(Especially YOU!)



Dear New Police Liason Officer,

I understand you grilled my son after I dropped him off at school this morning. He is nine, so by law he does not need to wear a helmet on our ATV. And because I live across the field from the school, I drive him to school on the ATV in inclement weather because have you SEEN the car pool lane? If anything, you should thank me for alleviating the traffic. I think you have bigger fish to fry than banning my ATV from school property--we've been doing this without incident for 5 years and I'm unaware of any violation of laws on the books. Because it's your first day, I'll let it slide. In the future, I hope you'll appreciate our collective situation and worry about the boneheads driving cars in a congested parking lot, leaving Mr. T and me to our solitary business through the back fields.

Thanks,
Mr. T's Mom


Dear Big Daddy,

Thanks for bringing Mr. T to Boy Scouts and committing to help him with it. It means a lot to him and I think it's going to be huge for him this next year. You're a great dad.

Love,
Yo Wife

Read More

Tribute Time

Jenn at Juggling Life recently posted the most wonderful list about why she loved her husband--her teen sweetie husband--and #7 really got to me, but the whole list was great because each reason was so specific to him and and her and them.

I doubt I can do as great a job listing things I love about Mr. D, but here it goes (drumroll).

10. His spontaneous attitude. He's game for just about anything at the last minute, which is totally opposite of me (type A planner organizer) and NEVER has plans for the weekend. But he never gets too pissy with me when I ask him every single week, "What are you plans for the weekend?" By flying by the seat of his pants, Mr. D has given me some incredible experiences that I'd have missed.
9. Mr. D's got charisma. Everybody loves him, old people, babies, puppies, crabby receptionists who scowl at everyone else in the building will light up when Mr. D walks in the door. A born salesperson, he has a gift of reading people and a huge smile.
8. Friendly. He talks up waitresses and umpires alike. When we cross into the state of Iowa, he immediately begins giving the first and second finger lift off the steering wheel wave to Every. Single. Car. We. Pass.
7. He's an inspired dancer--makes me think about that teacher in Tuesdays with Morrie where the guy dances with total abandon. That's Mr. D in a nutshell.
6. Excellent sense of humor--I require daily doses of laughter and Mr. D laughs at all my jokes.
5. Even though we're opposites in some ways politically, we can discuss it and come around to the other person's point of view--on a number of issues. I can live with that. He's a Republican who hates talk radio.
4. Mr. D prefers weak coffee and I prefer strong, so he waters down his cup every day.
3. Generous to a fault with family and friends. I don't always understand or appreciate it, but it makes me proud that he takes care of others and spreads our wealth around.
2. Fearless. He's taken amazing chances with his career and other areas of his life with optimism and a classically midwestern work ethic--and he's almost never failed.
1. Loyal. Some guys are always on the prowl, regardless of their marital status. Mr. D's not that way at ALL. EVER. I could trust him anywhere, anytime, with anybody. That's a feeling money can't buy.

Read More