I remember gazing out the front doors of my one of my schools (I have a few I work in) and seeing little flakes fluttering down and promptly dashing into the office with glee. It was snowing! Come and see! Everyone get excited! Snow!
This was in December.
Today I gaze out of my office window and see little flakes fluttering down and slump down lower into my chair. It is snowing. Close the blinds. Wrap me up in a blanket (straitjacket style). Make giant mugs of coffee. Make a blazing fire. Go into denial.
Needless to say, I am struggling with winter this year. Last year we had nary a flake of snow. It was warm(er) than your average Midwestern winter. The sun shone down more than we saw clouds. Our vehicles did not become encrusted with their normal salt layers. I determined from my joy that yes, I could actually make a move to warmer climes and not miss the snow. I think last winter is why I am struggling this year. I am feeling desperate for some sunshine and warmth. The snow is no longer looking pretty to me. The wind is just cutting into my core and making me shiver. I want to pull out my sandals and sundresses.
I know, I know. I am whining. I have to endure all of March yet. I have to make it through four more tough weeks of darkness before we even start to see peeks of springtime around here. Based on my 34 years of experience, I can do this. But today, as it continues to flurry outside my window, I am feeling unable to face it.
At least Mel-O-Creme opens tomorrow. And I can get a chocolate marshmallow malt, turn the heat in my car to full-blast and pretend it is July.
notes from the middle
Showing posts with label Midwest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Midwest. Show all posts
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Seasonal Homesickness Disorder
Oh snow, I miss you. I miss your giant fluffy flakes that drift down. I miss your swirling white-outs when I'm sitting in my living room in front of a fire. I miss your cottony-soft drifts that pile up on the roadside and turn our generally flat landscape into tunnels and hills and valleys. I miss the sharp-edged trees getting flocked with coats of white.
We haven't had any snow here at all since last March. Early last March. And truly, it hasn't really snowed here in over a year. I mean a real Ohio snow. The kind that we cook batches of chili, eat peanut butter sandwiches, and drink lots of hot coffee for. The kind where schools close for a day while the streets get plowed out. The kind that makes us grateful for summer's heat and sunshine. Last winter was gloriously beautiful. It was warm enough that I ran outdoors much of the time. Without bundling up. It was sunny more often than not. There were days I walked out of my office and it smelled like spring-in January and February. When we bought my brand-new convertible it was March 17 and I was able to drive her home with the top down. This is so not typical. I was appreciative of the break in the weather. But I long for a good snowstorm. I know there are those who don't love snow. Those who loathe winter. But I love each season and the extremes. I wouldn't be a good Midwesterner if I didn't. Something feels like it is missing around here right now. Until we get the warnings to slow down on the roads, the schools start closing, and the winds start howling, I won't feel as though it truly is winter. And spring won't be as lovely. Nor will summer.
Can someone bring back my proper seasons? I miss them so.
We haven't had any snow here at all since last March. Early last March. And truly, it hasn't really snowed here in over a year. I mean a real Ohio snow. The kind that we cook batches of chili, eat peanut butter sandwiches, and drink lots of hot coffee for. The kind where schools close for a day while the streets get plowed out. The kind that makes us grateful for summer's heat and sunshine. Last winter was gloriously beautiful. It was warm enough that I ran outdoors much of the time. Without bundling up. It was sunny more often than not. There were days I walked out of my office and it smelled like spring-in January and February. When we bought my brand-new convertible it was March 17 and I was able to drive her home with the top down. This is so not typical. I was appreciative of the break in the weather. But I long for a good snowstorm. I know there are those who don't love snow. Those who loathe winter. But I love each season and the extremes. I wouldn't be a good Midwesterner if I didn't. Something feels like it is missing around here right now. Until we get the warnings to slow down on the roads, the schools start closing, and the winds start howling, I won't feel as though it truly is winter. And spring won't be as lovely. Nor will summer.
Can someone bring back my proper seasons? I miss them so.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Perspective
If you haven't figured it out already, I live in the Midwest. Right smack dab in the middle of Big Ten country. We love our football around here. Love it like it is a religion. On autumn Saturdays you can drive around and see each home's allegiance hung outside on the flagpole (in these parts it is mostly Ohio State, some Michigan, and a few others thrown in for fun). Our kids are raised in jerseys and memorizing past coach names and stats. Sure, we are fans of our NFL teams, we love our MLB boys of summer, basketball (college and pro) will hold our interest in the winter months. But it is college football by which we live and die.
Today many of us watched or listened as the NCAA handed down a list of sanctions to Penn State's storied football program and university. Some of us were simply shocked. Some were glad. Some were disgusted (this shocks me just to type it). I could write about many things here today, but I will leave the sport and legal analysis to the experts. What keeps leaping to my mind is our children who are growing up today and who are growing in their love of the sport. They will forever be marked by this decision.
I didn't attend a Big Ten school. We were a Division I-A. We played PSU during my sophomore year (and lost...it was Joe Pa's 300th win at the time). I never had hero-worship of my university's football coach. As an Ohio State football fan, I've never had hero-worship of their coach either. Of course, I grew up in a family that loved football and had the perspective that these men who ran the programs were humans-as capable of fault as any of us. We are raising our son to have the same beliefs of his own "heroes" that he sees in his favorite sports. But so many children I know don't have the same perspective. So many adults lack it as well. Just look at your facebook or twitter feeds today (and of late). It is one thing to enjoy the sport, to love watching the game. It is entirely another thing to make it your "be all and end all" each and every season.
I am proud to be a Midwesterner. I am proud of where I grew up and where I live. I am a proud follower of my favorite football teams. But I am not a blind fan of any of these things. I see them for what they are-places, things, teams all made up of beautifully flawed people. We have to seek to find balance between the hero-worship that has existed within the programs and the terrible downfall that can come when our heroes topple. We need to allow them to be human. We need to demand excellence, but not at the cost of honor. We need to be proud of teams and individuals that have academic integrity as well as athletic. This is so much bigger than what happened today at Penn State. So this fall when you throw your favorite university's jersey over your head, keep some perspective as you head out to your tailgates and watch parties. Remember what you are celebrating and help become part of the solution. Not part of the problem.
Today many of us watched or listened as the NCAA handed down a list of sanctions to Penn State's storied football program and university. Some of us were simply shocked. Some were glad. Some were disgusted (this shocks me just to type it). I could write about many things here today, but I will leave the sport and legal analysis to the experts. What keeps leaping to my mind is our children who are growing up today and who are growing in their love of the sport. They will forever be marked by this decision.
I didn't attend a Big Ten school. We were a Division I-A. We played PSU during my sophomore year (and lost...it was Joe Pa's 300th win at the time). I never had hero-worship of my university's football coach. As an Ohio State football fan, I've never had hero-worship of their coach either. Of course, I grew up in a family that loved football and had the perspective that these men who ran the programs were humans-as capable of fault as any of us. We are raising our son to have the same beliefs of his own "heroes" that he sees in his favorite sports. But so many children I know don't have the same perspective. So many adults lack it as well. Just look at your facebook or twitter feeds today (and of late). It is one thing to enjoy the sport, to love watching the game. It is entirely another thing to make it your "be all and end all" each and every season.
I am proud to be a Midwesterner. I am proud of where I grew up and where I live. I am a proud follower of my favorite football teams. But I am not a blind fan of any of these things. I see them for what they are-places, things, teams all made up of beautifully flawed people. We have to seek to find balance between the hero-worship that has existed within the programs and the terrible downfall that can come when our heroes topple. We need to allow them to be human. We need to demand excellence, but not at the cost of honor. We need to be proud of teams and individuals that have academic integrity as well as athletic. This is so much bigger than what happened today at Penn State. So this fall when you throw your favorite university's jersey over your head, keep some perspective as you head out to your tailgates and watch parties. Remember what you are celebrating and help become part of the solution. Not part of the problem.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Dry
I had been drafting a post about our little CSA (that's "community supported agriculture" for those not familiar) and summer life to go live this week, when events over the past few days conspired to get in my way. Unless you live in a rain forest and are completely disconnected from all forms of news media entirely, you must know that we (this United States of America) are in the grips of a horrific drought. Not a little dry spell. Not a week-long heat wave, let's all hope it rains and cools off. Not a turn your sprinklers on and we will make it. No, this is serious business. Literally and figuratively.
I live smack-dab in the middle of Northwestern Ohio's farm country. Out the window from my computer desk I look into a corn field. Directly behind our home on the other side of Dry Creek (literally right now) sits a large soybean field. To the north of our small neighborhood is a hayfield. Driving to work during the school year I pass more farms, barns, grain silos, tractor storage sheds, and elevators than I can count. Grain prices are listed on our news broadcasts right along with the stock market. As members of a local CSA, we are directly tied to the farmers who feed our family as well. Becky, Don and the crew are like family to us. Farmers make up a large percentage of the community that employs me as a school counselor. And right now, things are bad.
We aren't getting distribution this week for our CSA. Or next. The crops simply are not producing. Farmers are selling off herds of cattle. Chickens are dying due to heat. (and before anyone tells me about how they are kept in inhumane conditions, I'm talking about lovely hens that roam farmer's front yards and produce the most delicious free-range, organic eggs you've ever eaten). Even my own little garden that we irrigate isn't producing. The blossoms are coming on with my pepper, cucumber and tomato plants, but then drop off. The plants are so stressed.
My heart is breaking for those who are working so hard every day to feed us. I know so many of them and see it in their faces right now-the stress and sadness. And there isn't a thing we can do except pray for rain. Hope for the heat to break. Stare at radar screens and will those rain storms to dive south towards us instead of hovering 50 miles north.
I'm not a climate change expert. I'm not even close to what one would call a scientist. Quite the opposite actually, as it is my second-to-last worst subject. But I am hearing everywhere I turn that we are facing more winters that are warm and snowless. More summers with record-breaking heat waves and dry weather. So I am going to do my best to step up our efforts here to reduce our footprint. It may not bring the much hoped for rain, but it is the very least I can do. All I ask is that you do the same, and spread the word.
And hug a farmer. Then take them some lunch or dinner. They need all the support they can get right now, and we should take it right to their fields.
I live smack-dab in the middle of Northwestern Ohio's farm country. Out the window from my computer desk I look into a corn field. Directly behind our home on the other side of Dry Creek (literally right now) sits a large soybean field. To the north of our small neighborhood is a hayfield. Driving to work during the school year I pass more farms, barns, grain silos, tractor storage sheds, and elevators than I can count. Grain prices are listed on our news broadcasts right along with the stock market. As members of a local CSA, we are directly tied to the farmers who feed our family as well. Becky, Don and the crew are like family to us. Farmers make up a large percentage of the community that employs me as a school counselor. And right now, things are bad.
We aren't getting distribution this week for our CSA. Or next. The crops simply are not producing. Farmers are selling off herds of cattle. Chickens are dying due to heat. (and before anyone tells me about how they are kept in inhumane conditions, I'm talking about lovely hens that roam farmer's front yards and produce the most delicious free-range, organic eggs you've ever eaten). Even my own little garden that we irrigate isn't producing. The blossoms are coming on with my pepper, cucumber and tomato plants, but then drop off. The plants are so stressed.
My heart is breaking for those who are working so hard every day to feed us. I know so many of them and see it in their faces right now-the stress and sadness. And there isn't a thing we can do except pray for rain. Hope for the heat to break. Stare at radar screens and will those rain storms to dive south towards us instead of hovering 50 miles north.
I'm not a climate change expert. I'm not even close to what one would call a scientist. Quite the opposite actually, as it is my second-to-last worst subject. But I am hearing everywhere I turn that we are facing more winters that are warm and snowless. More summers with record-breaking heat waves and dry weather. So I am going to do my best to step up our efforts here to reduce our footprint. It may not bring the much hoped for rain, but it is the very least I can do. All I ask is that you do the same, and spread the word.
And hug a farmer. Then take them some lunch or dinner. They need all the support they can get right now, and we should take it right to their fields.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Why I'm Here
Way back when I started this blog in my little corner of the interwebs, I wanted to celebrate life here in our heart-shaped state. Because, let's face it, Ohio isn't always one for getting great press. We're out here in the middle. We have lots of farms. Our cities aren't gigantic. I hear from many people about how backwards we are, how terrible it must be to live here, how people who visit can't wait to get back to (fill in the blank____), how it is just 'meh.' When I start hearing these comments the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand up. I get defensive. Everywhere has their good and their bad. And when I hear someone talking about bad about where I live, I start mentally listing all the bad things I could say about where they live.
But that would be counterproductive. And I hate counterproductivity almost as much as I hate people hating on Ohio.
Yes, I have a point. Just this weekend, it was stunning and beautiful and perfect here. The skies were blue as could be with hardly a cloud to be seen. The air was warm on our shoulders. The grass felt just right under our feet. Birds were singing as if they were auditioning for a role on a Disney soundtrack. We had the quintessential summertime meal of hamburgers on the grill, made better by some fresh grilled asparagus. Ate on our screen porch in the evening sunshine. We drove to the local custard stand with the top down on my convertible and ate in the parking lot. I held hands with my husband while the three of us sung along with the radio. It was perfect.
Are there things about where we live that aren't perfect? Of course. But when you stand on your high horse and look down your nose at the rest of us as if we aren't good enough, you miss out on all those little moments that make up the good stuff of life. That is what I celebrate here. The good stuff that makes up our life here in The Middle. I will continue to choose to ignore the haters and embrace those who are positive. Be it about my love for all things Ohio, or places we go, this is the time we are given...let's enjoy it while we are here!
Now, I will climb down off my soap box, head outside to more sunshine and warmth, and maybe even enjoy some ice cream.
But that would be counterproductive. And I hate counterproductivity almost as much as I hate people hating on Ohio.
Yes, I have a point. Just this weekend, it was stunning and beautiful and perfect here. The skies were blue as could be with hardly a cloud to be seen. The air was warm on our shoulders. The grass felt just right under our feet. Birds were singing as if they were auditioning for a role on a Disney soundtrack. We had the quintessential summertime meal of hamburgers on the grill, made better by some fresh grilled asparagus. Ate on our screen porch in the evening sunshine. We drove to the local custard stand with the top down on my convertible and ate in the parking lot. I held hands with my husband while the three of us sung along with the radio. It was perfect.
Are there things about where we live that aren't perfect? Of course. But when you stand on your high horse and look down your nose at the rest of us as if we aren't good enough, you miss out on all those little moments that make up the good stuff of life. That is what I celebrate here. The good stuff that makes up our life here in The Middle. I will continue to choose to ignore the haters and embrace those who are positive. Be it about my love for all things Ohio, or places we go, this is the time we are given...let's enjoy it while we are here!
Now, I will climb down off my soap box, head outside to more sunshine and warmth, and maybe even enjoy some ice cream.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Sharing Ohio Love
I don't know about you, but I've been following the "Made In America" series on ABC News lately. I completely adore it. As a family, we do all we can to support local merchants, producers, and companies who employ our neighbors and communities. This series is all about putting people back to work and supporting our local economies. By committing to buy local and American made products, we can do our part to boost our economy and homegrown companies. Just by shopping! How can you not love that concept? Today I took a look at the list for Ohio, and here is what I found...
And that is only the tip of the iceberg! For one of our family gatherings, we do a gift basket exchange instead of gifting to each person. Our basket is an "Ohio Love You" themed gift basket...filled with jams, pickles, sauces and more that I've made over the summer months from produce gathered from our garden and the gardens at our CSA. We also stick in other Ohio made products...raw Ohio honey, Middle West Spirits OYO Whiskey, and more. It is my hope to show our family that Ohio products are the best around, and what I've created for them in our kitchen is straight from the heart to theirs.
I know that many of you have your holiday shopping done, but if you don't take the time to look into locally-owned shops and for items made as close to home as you can get. The map I've linked you to above is a great place to start. Believe me when I tell you, these merchants not only will provide you with a great product but will also build great relationships with their clients-in ways you just won't find with big box stores. So go forth readers! Find your small town merchants, your local treasures, your made in America goodies and gift away! Happy shopping and Merry Christmas!
And that is only the tip of the iceberg! For one of our family gatherings, we do a gift basket exchange instead of gifting to each person. Our basket is an "Ohio Love You" themed gift basket...filled with jams, pickles, sauces and more that I've made over the summer months from produce gathered from our garden and the gardens at our CSA. We also stick in other Ohio made products...raw Ohio honey, Middle West Spirits OYO Whiskey, and more. It is my hope to show our family that Ohio products are the best around, and what I've created for them in our kitchen is straight from the heart to theirs.
I know that many of you have your holiday shopping done, but if you don't take the time to look into locally-owned shops and for items made as close to home as you can get. The map I've linked you to above is a great place to start. Believe me when I tell you, these merchants not only will provide you with a great product but will also build great relationships with their clients-in ways you just won't find with big box stores. So go forth readers! Find your small town merchants, your local treasures, your made in America goodies and gift away! Happy shopping and Merry Christmas!
Monday, October 31, 2011
A Conferencing I Go...
Tonight may be Halloween, Beggar's Night, All Hallows Eve (or whatever version of Trick or Treat you prefer) but tomorrow I am hightailing it to our beautiful state capital for the one and only All Ohio Counselor's Conference. Don't lie, I know you are seething with envy at this very moment.
The AOCC is truly an amazing thing. First, because it is not just for any one type of (school, community, mental health, marriage, family, substance, etc.) counselors specifically. Nope, it is all-inclusive. Bring your favorite mental health professional along with you and enjoy! I will be sitting in on sessions with fellow school counseling peeps as well as those from community settings, private practice and more. It is so good to get perspective from such a diverse group of people. Secondly, AOCC is awesome because it has such a wide variety of sessions to attend. I will be sitting in on sessions on topics ranging from helping students with special needs, bullying, female aggression (grrrrr!), helping students in military families, how to avoid burnout and more! Finally, it is a chance to refresh, reconnect with colleagues I see rarely, and gear up for the tough time of my year. I always return home feeling excited about my job. Just the shot in the arm I need after a long start to the school year.
Did I mention how much I adore Columbus though? I start feeling giddy about going down there several weeks in advance. Between the amazing restaurants, the cool shops, and fun things to do, I find my days don't have enough hours in them when I'm at AOCC. The conference is held at Easton-for those not in the know, one of the malls made like a giant main street-so shopping and food abounds. But I like to escape the cardboard box of a mall and explore the more downtown districts. You'll find me roaming the sidewalks of the Short North (my favorite area!) and poking around the quaint streets of German Village. I love that Columbus can be both big city and small town all at the same time. You have to love the Midwest for that!
Now, I have to run...I have a very important itinerary to plan...with conference sessions, meal breaks, and all important shopping to squeeze in. See everyone soon!
The AOCC is truly an amazing thing. First, because it is not just for any one type of (school, community, mental health, marriage, family, substance, etc.) counselors specifically. Nope, it is all-inclusive. Bring your favorite mental health professional along with you and enjoy! I will be sitting in on sessions with fellow school counseling peeps as well as those from community settings, private practice and more. It is so good to get perspective from such a diverse group of people. Secondly, AOCC is awesome because it has such a wide variety of sessions to attend. I will be sitting in on sessions on topics ranging from helping students with special needs, bullying, female aggression (grrrrr!), helping students in military families, how to avoid burnout and more! Finally, it is a chance to refresh, reconnect with colleagues I see rarely, and gear up for the tough time of my year. I always return home feeling excited about my job. Just the shot in the arm I need after a long start to the school year.
Did I mention how much I adore Columbus though? I start feeling giddy about going down there several weeks in advance. Between the amazing restaurants, the cool shops, and fun things to do, I find my days don't have enough hours in them when I'm at AOCC. The conference is held at Easton-for those not in the know, one of the malls made like a giant main street-so shopping and food abounds. But I like to escape the cardboard box of a mall and explore the more downtown districts. You'll find me roaming the sidewalks of the Short North (my favorite area!) and poking around the quaint streets of German Village. I love that Columbus can be both big city and small town all at the same time. You have to love the Midwest for that!
Now, I have to run...I have a very important itinerary to plan...with conference sessions, meal breaks, and all important shopping to squeeze in. See everyone soon!
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Once upon a Chianti
Many years ago there was a boy and a girl who fell madly in love. They quickly knew they wanted to get married and began to plan their wedding in the girl's hometown. As they picked flowers, hors d'oeuvres, cocktails, wrote vows, and drew up seating charts the need for a rehearsal dinner site arose. They were particular about the place-it needed to have delicious food that rendered you speechless, it needed to have a wine list that was sophisticated yet approachable, it needed to have an atmosphere that was welcoming but sophisticated, and it needed to be locally owned. The boy and girl talked to friends and family and finally made dinner reservations at a small Italian restaurant quite near their wedding site. The initial dinner was perfection. A foodie's delight. Wine list that went on and on. They had found everything they were looking for and more. By the time they'd left, a rehearsal dinner had been booked, and new friends had been made.
That summer this boy and girl (more like man and woman) became husband and wife. It was as perfect a July day as anyone can order up in Ohio. 75 degrees, sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and no humidity. The day passed in a blur with well-wishes from family and friends. Before the newlyweds knew it, the celebrations came to an end and they were off under a beautiful summer night sky. But they were starving. Where to go? The groom suggested stopping off at the restaurant from their rehearsal dinner for a quick bite. His bride giggled-"in these clothes?" pointing to her voluminous ball gown and his tuxedo. "Why not?" And before long they were pulling into the parking lot. Tapping on the window of a restaurant that was closing up for the night, they were not certain of finding any food for their rumbling tummies. Yet the owner graciously unlocked the door and helped the groom put his bride on the bar stool. Of course they would be fed, and what a feast! The owner's mother had brought by some homemade Italian Wedding Cake for the staff that afternoon, and slices were brought out, along with several other delicious menu items to nibble on and bottles of wine. They all sat at the bar, laughing, chatting, eating, and making merry. When the bride and groom finally left, it was with two bottles of wine, a corkscrew and two wineglasses in hand. And memories to last them a lifetime.
Yes, Vaccaro's Trattoria was the perfect place to have our rehearsal dinner, but it was more than that. My husband and I will always love Raphael for his kindness and generous spirit he showed on the evening of our wedding, and each time we have returned to celebrate anniversaries, birthdays, even the pregnancy with our son. Returning to Vaccaro's is like coming home for us. We wish we lived closer than the two-hour drive so we could enjoy dinners there more often. It is all that we love in a restaurant-family owned, local, filled with tradition, and curated with love. We so look forward to the day when we can take our son there for his first dinner experience-once we break him of his chicken & fries only habit, that is!
That summer this boy and girl (more like man and woman) became husband and wife. It was as perfect a July day as anyone can order up in Ohio. 75 degrees, sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and no humidity. The day passed in a blur with well-wishes from family and friends. Before the newlyweds knew it, the celebrations came to an end and they were off under a beautiful summer night sky. But they were starving. Where to go? The groom suggested stopping off at the restaurant from their rehearsal dinner for a quick bite. His bride giggled-"in these clothes?" pointing to her voluminous ball gown and his tuxedo. "Why not?" And before long they were pulling into the parking lot. Tapping on the window of a restaurant that was closing up for the night, they were not certain of finding any food for their rumbling tummies. Yet the owner graciously unlocked the door and helped the groom put his bride on the bar stool. Of course they would be fed, and what a feast! The owner's mother had brought by some homemade Italian Wedding Cake for the staff that afternoon, and slices were brought out, along with several other delicious menu items to nibble on and bottles of wine. They all sat at the bar, laughing, chatting, eating, and making merry. When the bride and groom finally left, it was with two bottles of wine, a corkscrew and two wineglasses in hand. And memories to last them a lifetime.
Yes, Vaccaro's Trattoria was the perfect place to have our rehearsal dinner, but it was more than that. My husband and I will always love Raphael for his kindness and generous spirit he showed on the evening of our wedding, and each time we have returned to celebrate anniversaries, birthdays, even the pregnancy with our son. Returning to Vaccaro's is like coming home for us. We wish we lived closer than the two-hour drive so we could enjoy dinners there more often. It is all that we love in a restaurant-family owned, local, filled with tradition, and curated with love. We so look forward to the day when we can take our son there for his first dinner experience-once we break him of his chicken & fries only habit, that is!
This past weekend I was treated to another spectacular dinner at Vaccaro's Trattoria as a birthday gift by my husband. Impeccable as always. Readers, if you are in Akron, Ohio or near Akron I cannot urge you enough to make reservations and spend your evening leisurely dining there. We had another feast to remember...stuffed hot banana peppers brought out with bubbling hot cheese, a Belgian Endive & Baby Spinach salad with a goat cheese that left me nearly licking the plate in the most unlady-like fashion, Short Rib Osso Bucco made for a chilly autumn night, a perfectly crispy-chewy pizza topped with veal bolognese sauce and meatballs that will spoil you forever on take-out, all supplemented with a Super-Tuscan wine right up my "I want a red wine that is spicy and will smack-you-in-the-face bold" alley. Dessert was equally as delicious-my butterscotch molten cake and my husband's chocolate cheesecake. Oh, was it all ever delicious. I think we are still full from Saturday evening's feast! Raphael and crew, you outdid yourselves again. Thank you so much, from a bride and groom many years ago who came to you seeking sustenance and found so much more.
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| A Groom and his very hungry Bride |
Monday, October 17, 2011
I'm an Akron Girl
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| Photo courtesy Sandusky Register |
This weekend I had the chance to go home. Back to my old stomping grounds. Just when I think I am fully settled in the rural farm land of Northwest Ohio I spend a little time back in the rolling hills and valleys of Akron and Summit County and realize my heart will always belong there.
I may have been raised in a house in the suburbs of Akron, but whenever someone asks me where I am from I proudly proclaim "Akron!" My grandparents lived there-the south side. Firestone Park. My parents were raised there. Nearly every weekend of my childhood and much of my summers were spent there. Every firework display of my youth was watched at the feet of Harvey S. Firestone. I learned how to ride a two-wheel bicycle in Heinz Hillcrest park. I sliced open my foot at the kid's carnival in Firestone Park one summer. Had to walk the three blocks back to grandma's house barefoot and bleeding. All pizza is measured by the giant yardstick known as Italo's. And any Akronite worth their salt can make the blimp noise without blinking when asked.
I realized how much I missed home while back this past weekend. My husband and I were grabbing coffee. Sitting there I heard snippets of conversations around us. Mundane conversations that didn't mean much, but to my ears were like music. "You need to get better tires soon, this is the snowbelt after all." "How is the spread today on our Browns?" (said by a group of men clutching Cleveland Browns coffee mugs) A group of older men speaking some Eastern European tongue. Another table with a couple fighting over sections of my beloved Akron Beacon Journal Sunday Edition. We don't even get the paper on home delivery here. But if we lived in Akron, we would. It is a fabulous local paper. Fabulous. And that group discussing tires-they were clutching boxes of new windshield wipers and one had on a Firestone jacket. So very Akron of them.
This all reminded me that earlier in the week, the blimp flew over my school. Right when school let out, the blimp floated over the buildings as students poured out the doors and onto buses and into cars. They walked, mouths agape, eyes skyward in wonderment. The adults on bus duty were in much the same pose as well. All you could really hear was that whrrrerrrerrrerrerrr of the blimp and the bus engines. To me, the sight and sound was so comforting and familiar and yet to these children it was foreign. This could have been an alien ship coming in to land. Oh, the magic of growing up in Akron where the Goodyear would float over your summertime dinners on a weekly basis, or your afternoon fort building business. You would hear the whrrerrerrerr before you saw it, crane your neck, wave wildly and then go about your business. After all, it was just the blimp.
Yes, I miss Akron. I miss my rubber city. I miss its pizza, its burgers, its deep winter snows, its fall colors, its rusty pride. I may have put down deep roots here in the plains of Northwest Ohio, but at my heart I will always be an Akron Girl.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Carl Sandburg.
I adore this poem. Adore it I tell you. And today it is perfectly fitting for my drive to work. I thought I knew what fog was when I grew up in Northeast, Ohio. Then one morning in college I got up to go to class, walked out of my dorm and couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I could hear other students walking around our Northwestern Ohio campus. Could sense there were buildings close by. Yet the fog was so thick my hair was soaked in my short walk, I felt completely disoriented and isolated. And that was in town. When I started working as a teacher here, driving my way to work across farm fields and rural communities, I earned an entirely new appreciation for fog delays. I have had mornings where I drove to work, my low beams on, my window down at rail crossings, and every finger and toe crossed for luck. It makes you feel that at any moment you will drive off a cliff, because the road simply disappears before your eyes. Then suddenly "poof!" the fog lifts and your eyes are as clear as day. Or you are in the clear and you see it lurking down the road ahead. Knowing that you are about to be blinded.
I remember reading Sandburg's poem in my high school American Literature class and loving it. I'm a sucker for poems that are simple, paint a vivid image, and move on. His does that. I could sit in that image for hours. Yet I never truly appreciated it until adulthood. But here in our neck of the woods sometimes fog doesn't come on little cat feet. No, it is more like a thundering herd. One that suddenly got exhausted and parks on you for a long nap.
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Carl Sandburg.
I adore this poem. Adore it I tell you. And today it is perfectly fitting for my drive to work. I thought I knew what fog was when I grew up in Northeast, Ohio. Then one morning in college I got up to go to class, walked out of my dorm and couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I could hear other students walking around our Northwestern Ohio campus. Could sense there were buildings close by. Yet the fog was so thick my hair was soaked in my short walk, I felt completely disoriented and isolated. And that was in town. When I started working as a teacher here, driving my way to work across farm fields and rural communities, I earned an entirely new appreciation for fog delays. I have had mornings where I drove to work, my low beams on, my window down at rail crossings, and every finger and toe crossed for luck. It makes you feel that at any moment you will drive off a cliff, because the road simply disappears before your eyes. Then suddenly "poof!" the fog lifts and your eyes are as clear as day. Or you are in the clear and you see it lurking down the road ahead. Knowing that you are about to be blinded.
I remember reading Sandburg's poem in my high school American Literature class and loving it. I'm a sucker for poems that are simple, paint a vivid image, and move on. His does that. I could sit in that image for hours. Yet I never truly appreciated it until adulthood. But here in our neck of the woods sometimes fog doesn't come on little cat feet. No, it is more like a thundering herd. One that suddenly got exhausted and parks on you for a long nap.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sense of Place
I'm feeling meditative this Sunday evening. That sort of pre-fall, end of summer reflective period we all stumble into before the cold chases us indoors around here. In my nest we are getting back into a regular routine of school days, weekends of catching up and athletics, wash, rinse and repeat. As much as I felt dragged back into it this evening as we drove back home across the countryside I felt strangely soothed by it. Knowing what I have planned tomorrow, that work/school is on the agenda, that weekends now have their familiar rhythm back, is an adulthood security blanket to me.
But my meditations of late have been reflective on place more so than time. This summer we did a bit of traveling and exploring. I loved it. But I love home more. Why? Why do I find this small-town, middle of corn/bean/wheat field, place that so many look down their noses at so wondrous? Because it is the place that wraps its welcoming arms around me. Everyone needs a place like that. This afternoon I was sitting in the top row of bleachers at my nephew's 6th grade football game, looking at the parents cheering on their boys, the sun setting across acres and acres of corn, the impossibly blue skies, and felt so lucky to be there in that moment. No place is perfect. That I do understand. Anywhere you choose to put down roots will have its flaws. The key to finding bliss in your chosen (or forced for some) homeland is to find what you love about it, and love the heck out of it. When I first arrived in Northwest Ohio I never in my wildest imagination thought I'd stay forever. It was too flat. It was too far removed from city life. It was too, well, too strange to this girl who grew up steps from a few cities. Yet here I am.
I challenge you, my readers, to spend a little time this season of transition meditating and contemplating your own sense of place. Some of you live exactly where you want to. Some of you live exactly where you have to. How do you embrace it? How do you find your bliss in the situation where you are? Life is too short lamenting all that is wrong with our "place." Enjoy all the beautiful flaws, quirks, and strangeness of your home place. It will bring you such joy.
But my meditations of late have been reflective on place more so than time. This summer we did a bit of traveling and exploring. I loved it. But I love home more. Why? Why do I find this small-town, middle of corn/bean/wheat field, place that so many look down their noses at so wondrous? Because it is the place that wraps its welcoming arms around me. Everyone needs a place like that. This afternoon I was sitting in the top row of bleachers at my nephew's 6th grade football game, looking at the parents cheering on their boys, the sun setting across acres and acres of corn, the impossibly blue skies, and felt so lucky to be there in that moment. No place is perfect. That I do understand. Anywhere you choose to put down roots will have its flaws. The key to finding bliss in your chosen (or forced for some) homeland is to find what you love about it, and love the heck out of it. When I first arrived in Northwest Ohio I never in my wildest imagination thought I'd stay forever. It was too flat. It was too far removed from city life. It was too, well, too strange to this girl who grew up steps from a few cities. Yet here I am.
I challenge you, my readers, to spend a little time this season of transition meditating and contemplating your own sense of place. Some of you live exactly where you want to. Some of you live exactly where you have to. How do you embrace it? How do you find your bliss in the situation where you are? Life is too short lamenting all that is wrong with our "place." Enjoy all the beautiful flaws, quirks, and strangeness of your home place. It will bring you such joy.
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| See that #44? That's my nephew! (kidding-I know you can't see him!) |
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Strawberry Season & Freezer Jam
So I've started on my Summer List already (this is the new & improved version of vacation everyone!). Last week I was driving to a meeting and saw our spot for strawberries had their sign out. Ohioans, strawberry season has arrived! I'll apologize now for the prolific use of exclamation points in today's post, as local strawberries seem to warrant it. I mean, just look at these beauties. How could they not?
Enough with the barns...ready to get down to brass tacks? It's time to make some jam.
Because it is so important to do this step-by-step, even though it is the "quick and easy" method (aka, freezer jam), I'll walk you through it and post the full recipe at the end. It is very easy, but you still have to follow the directions. Let me repeat...follow the directions. By the letter. Mmmmm kay? Let's begin!
First, assemble all of your ingredients and supplies before you begin. This will ensure you aren't running to look for, let's say, lemons while your jam is starting to set! That would be bad (as my sweet boy says).
As you can see, I have placed everything on the counter. You'll need pectin. For this exact recipe I use Certo Liquid Pectin. I follow my mother-in-law's instructions, and she was very specific about this brand. It worked like a charm. Also, cane sugar. Extra fine. Extra fine people. You aren't cooking this and want the sugar to dissolve without heat. Beet sugar (common around the Midwest) won't cut it for this part. Pony up the pennies and get the best you can get your hands on. Extra fine. Lemons are needed for their juice. Because I said so. Then you have needed accouterments-measuring devices, cutting boards, etc. And then....
Once you've gotten the berries cut up, time to measure and begin the quick and easy part. The directions say you can crush the berries with a potato masher, but I prefer to use my hands. It's the kid in me. Measure your strawberries in a liquid measuring cup. I just grab handfuls (clean hands!) and squeeze them into the measuring cup. We like a chunky jam, but crush to your desired consistency.
So, we geared up this morning, drove down to Wolf's Blooms and Berries and grabbed ourselves several quarts of those juicy little gems.
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| Two thumbs up for strawberries! |
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| Can't help it...I love me some barns. |
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| Oooohhhh...this one too! |
Because it is so important to do this step-by-step, even though it is the "quick and easy" method (aka, freezer jam), I'll walk you through it and post the full recipe at the end. It is very easy, but you still have to follow the directions. Let me repeat...follow the directions. By the letter. Mmmmm kay? Let's begin!
First, assemble all of your ingredients and supplies before you begin. This will ensure you aren't running to look for, let's say, lemons while your jam is starting to set! That would be bad (as my sweet boy says).
 |
| These will get rinsed in the sink...explanation to follow. |
As you can see, I have placed everything on the counter. You'll need pectin. For this exact recipe I use Certo Liquid Pectin. I follow my mother-in-law's instructions, and she was very specific about this brand. It worked like a charm. Also, cane sugar. Extra fine. Extra fine people. You aren't cooking this and want the sugar to dissolve without heat. Beet sugar (common around the Midwest) won't cut it for this part. Pony up the pennies and get the best you can get your hands on. Extra fine. Lemons are needed for their juice. Because I said so. Then you have needed accouterments-measuring devices, cutting boards, etc. And then....
You'll need a giant bowl. Huge. Two of em actually. Because after you rinse the berries, they need to go somewhere. Then you'll need to measure em, crush em, and put that into something else. Two big uns. Get yourself some. Giant ones.
Then you'll need something to put your jam into once you've finished it. I just use the Ball jars I have for other preserving purposes. They're pretty, freeze just fine, and are re-usable. Whatever you choose, it must be freezer safe. Wash it up first in extra-hot, soapy water. Then line it all up like little soldiers and admire your work. Okay, you can skip that part, but I like to do this before I start for fun. And, have more on hand than you think you'll need. Just in case the recipe made more, you'll want to preserve it too, right? At least we don't throw away good jam in this house!
Now, the strawberries that were all pretty earlier got dumped (gently) into my sink. I don't mess with a strainer, colander, or other contraptions when I'm washing up this much fruit. I just turn over the stopper, and rinse right in the sink. Then I trimmed off the stems/leaves put them in the compost pile and quartered the berries. Here is my finished work. See why you need a large bowl?
Now, I only have so many hands, and this part goes fast. But you add in your sugar, lemon juice and pectin mixture and stir away to dissolve everything together. I forget how quickly it begins to work! But look at that lovely jam already made. You could almost taste it on the screen!!
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| Can I ride my bike yet momma? |
I use a wide mouth funnel to fill the jars. Once filled, wipe the rims with a damp cloth and they're ready to seal. Since it is freezer jam, there is no need to process at all. Just let it sit at room temperature for 24 hours until set. Then refrigerate for up to 3 weeks or freeze for up to 12 months. Voila! Strawberry Freezer Jam! The process, start to finish took about three hours, the longest part was cutting the fruit. And honestly, I made a quadruple batch because we adore this stuff. When I make blueberry freezer jam, peach freezer jam, and mixed berry freezer jam, the quantity won't be quite so high. Maybe just double batches? Someone stop me!
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| Finally, she's done! Now I can ride my bike! |
Here's the recipe/directions for any interested readers. Enjoy your local strawberry seasons while you can by supporting local berry farmers. Make lots of jam, shortcakes, pies and more!
Strawberry Freezer Jam
1. Wash and rinse containers with tight fitting lids. Use 1-2 cup size containers. (Some of mine were 4oz)
2. Prepare fruit as directed. Crush berries one cup at a time. Use a potato masher for best results (or clean hands). If using food processor, pulse to fine chop DO NOT PUREE.
3. Measure exact amount of prepared fruit into large (giant) bowl.
4. Measure exact amount of sugar into separate bowl. (REDUCING SUGAR OF USING SUGAR SUBSTITUTES WILL RESULT IN SET FAILURES)
5. Stir sugar into prepared fruit. Mix well. Let stand 10 minutes, stir occasionally.
7. Stir pectin mixture into prepared fruit. Stir constantly until sugar is completely dissolved and no longer grainy. (about 3 minutes...a few crystals may remain)
8. Pour into prepared containers, leaving 1/2 inch headspace for expansion during freezing; cover.
9. Let stand at room temperature for 24 hours until set. Refrigerate up to 3 weeks. Otherwise store in freezer for up to 1 year. Thaw in refrigerator.
Ingredients:
2pt strawberries
1 lemon
Discard stems and crush strawberries.
2 cups crushed strawberries
2 tbsp. fresh lemon juice
4 cups sugar
1 pouch Certo Pectin
Yield 4 cups jam
Happy preservation!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Detroit Rock City
I'm an Akron, Ohio girl. Born and bread. Raised in the shadows of rubber factories, the Goodyear blimp, and that other city to the north of us that we have a love/hate relationship from. You know, Cleveland. We live and die with their professional sports teams. So it stands to reason that I'm a huge Cleveland Indians fan. I grew up wearing the red, white and blue of team spirit. Hoping that each year would be "the year" for us. Witnessing my very first professional game at the old Muni Stadium when hardly anyone was even there. Remember when The Jake was really The Jake. Screaming at the top of my lungs in the late 90's. Dying a little inside each of those seasons. We still love our boys though. How could we not?
Then I married a Detroit Tiger's fan. Now I love baseball in all of its forms. Little league games on warm summer nights. Kids playing catch on the lawn. Sappy baseball films on winter nights. Baseball speaks to the poet lurking in my soul. I would watch any game, any time, anywhere. While I don't get to see my boys as much as I would like to, we take the 40 minute drive north five times each season to see the Tigers in Detroit. This was one such weekend away with friends. I am here to tell you, that city is anything but dying. Gritty yes, dying no.
Spending any weekend in Detroit, I can't recommend the Book Cadillac Hotel enough. This was our third stay with them, and each time it has been divine. After over 30 years of decline, in 2008 the Book Cadillac was re-opened by the Westin group and is an absolutely stunning historical landmark of a hotel. The rooms are elegant, beautiful, comfortable, and I would seriously move in if they'd let me. Actually, they might since they have condominiums on the uppermost floors! I mean, those showers alone are enough to get me through the door. Heavenly isn't enough to explain just how lovely they are.
We were in town with friends for a baseball experience. It started with a play, Ernie. It chronicled the life of Ernie Harwell, the longtime voice of the Detroit Tigers who recently passed away. To be honest, I was along for the ride on this one at the outset. I knew how much my husband was looking forward to it, being written by one of his idols, Mitch Albom and about one of this other idols, Ernie Harwell. I don't have such an attachment to either. However, I sobbed my way through one Kleenex and well into another by the end of the 9 inning, two actor, play. It is told in a tunnel under Comerica park on the night Ernie was there to deliver his farewell speech to the crowd. He tells a boy all about his life, love for his wife, love of the game, and more. I wept each time Lulu came up, when he talked about seeing the expanse of green the first time he went into a major league park, even when he talked about his cancer. If you are a lover of baseball, get yourself to Detroit, get tickets and go. It is breathtaking. And take tissues. There wasn't a dry eye in the house.
After the game, we wandered a few blocks over to Cliff Bell's Night Club, a live jazz, art deco, totally awesome jewel in the city. Sitting there in my cocktail dress, sipping on my drink, I felt transported back to the time of Mad Men and Don Draper. Only I am lucky enough to have a lovely husband to go home with! The music was hopping, the drinks were delicious, and the place was packed. We have been there twice, and if you go, I do recommend two things-make sure you have cash for the cover charge (they have to pay the band!), and have a bit of an empty stomach because their food is very yummy!
The following day we went to Comerica Park to take in an actual baseball game. While my heart does lie in the expanse of green we sentimentally call "The Jake" still, I do really like Comerica Park. It is a great place to take kids for a game, there isn't a bad seat in the place, and the food is delicious. (why do I always seem to come back to food...I'm noticing that as a pattern...hmmmmm...) While the Tigers lost, it was a great afternoon to take in a game. I got to see a few dads and sons there together for the first time, a trio of sons taking their dad for probably the thousandth time (who was at least 75), one manager in a heated discussion with an ump, several hits sink into the stands to get tossed back onto the field, and ate an entire bag of peanuts. It was blissful.
Today I'm home, sunburned on my cheeks, and a bit sleepy. Thank you, Detroit Rock City, for being your lovely gritty Midwestern self. We will be back soon. And for those of you who have never thought of going, please do so. She's a great place to visit!
Then I married a Detroit Tiger's fan. Now I love baseball in all of its forms. Little league games on warm summer nights. Kids playing catch on the lawn. Sappy baseball films on winter nights. Baseball speaks to the poet lurking in my soul. I would watch any game, any time, anywhere. While I don't get to see my boys as much as I would like to, we take the 40 minute drive north five times each season to see the Tigers in Detroit. This was one such weekend away with friends. I am here to tell you, that city is anything but dying. Gritty yes, dying no.
Spending any weekend in Detroit, I can't recommend the Book Cadillac Hotel enough. This was our third stay with them, and each time it has been divine. After over 30 years of decline, in 2008 the Book Cadillac was re-opened by the Westin group and is an absolutely stunning historical landmark of a hotel. The rooms are elegant, beautiful, comfortable, and I would seriously move in if they'd let me. Actually, they might since they have condominiums on the uppermost floors! I mean, those showers alone are enough to get me through the door. Heavenly isn't enough to explain just how lovely they are.
We were in town with friends for a baseball experience. It started with a play, Ernie. It chronicled the life of Ernie Harwell, the longtime voice of the Detroit Tigers who recently passed away. To be honest, I was along for the ride on this one at the outset. I knew how much my husband was looking forward to it, being written by one of his idols, Mitch Albom and about one of this other idols, Ernie Harwell. I don't have such an attachment to either. However, I sobbed my way through one Kleenex and well into another by the end of the 9 inning, two actor, play. It is told in a tunnel under Comerica park on the night Ernie was there to deliver his farewell speech to the crowd. He tells a boy all about his life, love for his wife, love of the game, and more. I wept each time Lulu came up, when he talked about seeing the expanse of green the first time he went into a major league park, even when he talked about his cancer. If you are a lover of baseball, get yourself to Detroit, get tickets and go. It is breathtaking. And take tissues. There wasn't a dry eye in the house.
After the game, we wandered a few blocks over to Cliff Bell's Night Club, a live jazz, art deco, totally awesome jewel in the city. Sitting there in my cocktail dress, sipping on my drink, I felt transported back to the time of Mad Men and Don Draper. Only I am lucky enough to have a lovely husband to go home with! The music was hopping, the drinks were delicious, and the place was packed. We have been there twice, and if you go, I do recommend two things-make sure you have cash for the cover charge (they have to pay the band!), and have a bit of an empty stomach because their food is very yummy!
The following day we went to Comerica Park to take in an actual baseball game. While my heart does lie in the expanse of green we sentimentally call "The Jake" still, I do really like Comerica Park. It is a great place to take kids for a game, there isn't a bad seat in the place, and the food is delicious. (why do I always seem to come back to food...I'm noticing that as a pattern...hmmmmm...) While the Tigers lost, it was a great afternoon to take in a game. I got to see a few dads and sons there together for the first time, a trio of sons taking their dad for probably the thousandth time (who was at least 75), one manager in a heated discussion with an ump, several hits sink into the stands to get tossed back onto the field, and ate an entire bag of peanuts. It was blissful.
Today I'm home, sunburned on my cheeks, and a bit sleepy. Thank you, Detroit Rock City, for being your lovely gritty Midwestern self. We will be back soon. And for those of you who have never thought of going, please do so. She's a great place to visit!
Monday, May 30, 2011
To Honor, To Remember
Happy Memorial Day! Today we honor, celebrate, and remember those who have, and those who are serving our nation. Today we take the time out of our hectic lives to give thanks for each and every one of them. I know that there are many in my family who I will be thinking about, and honoring today.
My Great Uncle Nick, who lost his life during World War II. He was the only son in a family of women. My great grandfather abandoned the family during the depression, leaving my immigrant great grandmother to raise the children on her own. He became the man of the house, leaving for the Civilian Conservation Corps to help contribute when there were no jobs to be had. My grandmother, his sister, never spoke much about his loss, and I know it devastated them. I remember many Memorial Days/Easter Sundays/Thanksgivings and other holidays where we would make the trip to his grave site to leave flowers. He is still remembered.
My Grandpa Ereth. He served as a sailor on the USS Miami in World War II. The photographs of a ornery young man in his football uniform, transitioned into a ornery young man in his navy uniform. He never spoke much about his service, but faithfully attended reunions until his health prohibited it. I cannot imagine how frightening it must have been, to a teenaged and young twenty-something man from Akron, Ohio to sit on board the ship and see kamikaze fighters coming straight for them. Men such as my grandfather simply slay me.
My Grandpa Wronkovich. He served in the army during World War II. I know that he was part of D-Day 6. As a child, I stumbled across a myriad of small photographs of a concentration camp that his unit uncovered near the end of the war. He documented those that they found in the camp. It both frightened me and made me proud that my grandfather was part of a group of men who helped to liberate the camp. He never told me where it was, as many in his generation-he was a man of few words. They simply did what they had to do and came home.
My Grandma Wronkovich. No, she didn't don a uniform. She didn't fly a plane. Yet each day she pulled on a pair of coveralls over her pretty clothes, tied a kerchief over her thick brown hair, eschewed makeup, and headed into the factory to help the defense department win the war. My grandma was a Rosie the Riveter during World War II in Akron, Ohio. She was a little woman, and very athletic, so she was tasked with the job of reading meters three stories up the machine in the factory. She was also quick, and would be given the job of "pace setter" for the shift each day. She took great pride in her work during that time, as we do in her today.
Now I am proud to say I have a stepson-in-law who is serving us in the United States Navy. He returned from deployment this past winter and we couldn't have been prouder of the work he has done. We do worry for his safety, but trust he will always do what needs to be done. We are so blessed to have him as a part of our family.
Take some time today to think about, and to thank the service men and women in your life. I could go on and name the former students of mine who I know are stationed near and far, the classmates of mine, and more. But know that you are all in my thoughts and prayers daily. Happy Memorial Day everyone, and most especially to our service men and women!
My Great Uncle Nick, who lost his life during World War II. He was the only son in a family of women. My great grandfather abandoned the family during the depression, leaving my immigrant great grandmother to raise the children on her own. He became the man of the house, leaving for the Civilian Conservation Corps to help contribute when there were no jobs to be had. My grandmother, his sister, never spoke much about his loss, and I know it devastated them. I remember many Memorial Days/Easter Sundays/Thanksgivings and other holidays where we would make the trip to his grave site to leave flowers. He is still remembered.
My Grandpa Ereth. He served as a sailor on the USS Miami in World War II. The photographs of a ornery young man in his football uniform, transitioned into a ornery young man in his navy uniform. He never spoke much about his service, but faithfully attended reunions until his health prohibited it. I cannot imagine how frightening it must have been, to a teenaged and young twenty-something man from Akron, Ohio to sit on board the ship and see kamikaze fighters coming straight for them. Men such as my grandfather simply slay me.
My Grandpa Wronkovich. He served in the army during World War II. I know that he was part of D-Day 6. As a child, I stumbled across a myriad of small photographs of a concentration camp that his unit uncovered near the end of the war. He documented those that they found in the camp. It both frightened me and made me proud that my grandfather was part of a group of men who helped to liberate the camp. He never told me where it was, as many in his generation-he was a man of few words. They simply did what they had to do and came home.
My Grandma Wronkovich. No, she didn't don a uniform. She didn't fly a plane. Yet each day she pulled on a pair of coveralls over her pretty clothes, tied a kerchief over her thick brown hair, eschewed makeup, and headed into the factory to help the defense department win the war. My grandma was a Rosie the Riveter during World War II in Akron, Ohio. She was a little woman, and very athletic, so she was tasked with the job of reading meters three stories up the machine in the factory. She was also quick, and would be given the job of "pace setter" for the shift each day. She took great pride in her work during that time, as we do in her today.
Now I am proud to say I have a stepson-in-law who is serving us in the United States Navy. He returned from deployment this past winter and we couldn't have been prouder of the work he has done. We do worry for his safety, but trust he will always do what needs to be done. We are so blessed to have him as a part of our family.
Take some time today to think about, and to thank the service men and women in your life. I could go on and name the former students of mine who I know are stationed near and far, the classmates of mine, and more. But know that you are all in my thoughts and prayers daily. Happy Memorial Day everyone, and most especially to our service men and women!
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Time for the Checkered Flag
Welcome to summer, dear readers! I know, blah, blah, blah...it isn't the "official start" of summer yet. But in our books, Memorial Day weekend is the weekend right around the last day of school in these parts, the weekend where graduations are held, party tents spring up, grills fire up, pools and ponds are open for the season, the boating forecast is now a regular part of our weather casts, and summertime festivals start each weekend off in small towns across the county.
Growing up in Akron, Ohio this weekend meant two things to us. Chicken from Diefeo's on the spit and the Indy 500 on the TV and radio. We would sit in the driveway at our grandparent's house while grandpa grilled that chicken, our mouths watering, nibbling on potato chips and Coca-Cola, bare feet smushed into the grass. The summer seemed like an eternity before us. Grandpa would mutter under his breath as the racing teams bearing Firestone tires fell behind Goodyear. The backyard we were enjoying this picnic in was nestled in the Firestone Park neighborhood of Akron, Ohio. It was a house bought and paid for by two people (our grandparents) who made their livelihood through the fortunes of tires that America rolled around on. My grandmother was a Rosie the Riveter through the wartime, and stayed on after for nearly 10 years more. My grandfather worked as a pipe fitter for various rubber companies in the city, eventually retiring from Goodrich. Memorial Day weekend in the city of my youth was a battle of pride. Whose companies tires would propel the car to victory? We would all wait the outcome with breathless anticipation.
As an adult, I love the Indy 500 every bit as much as I did when I was little. There is just something so lovely, so nostalgic, so distinctly Midwestern about it. While I will not get to watch much of it this year, as I'll be sitting in a high school graduation ceremony, I will know those tires are squealing out there, and the crowds are roaring. I'll be keenly aware that the city of my youth is still hanging on each turn, eager to see who will claim victory this year. (even if the fortune of the tire companies have long since left town)
Us Midwesterners hold on to things with fierce pride. This race, it is part of our identity. So, gentlemen, and ladies...start your engines. It's going to be a hell of a race!
Growing up in Akron, Ohio this weekend meant two things to us. Chicken from Diefeo's on the spit and the Indy 500 on the TV and radio. We would sit in the driveway at our grandparent's house while grandpa grilled that chicken, our mouths watering, nibbling on potato chips and Coca-Cola, bare feet smushed into the grass. The summer seemed like an eternity before us. Grandpa would mutter under his breath as the racing teams bearing Firestone tires fell behind Goodyear. The backyard we were enjoying this picnic in was nestled in the Firestone Park neighborhood of Akron, Ohio. It was a house bought and paid for by two people (our grandparents) who made their livelihood through the fortunes of tires that America rolled around on. My grandmother was a Rosie the Riveter through the wartime, and stayed on after for nearly 10 years more. My grandfather worked as a pipe fitter for various rubber companies in the city, eventually retiring from Goodrich. Memorial Day weekend in the city of my youth was a battle of pride. Whose companies tires would propel the car to victory? We would all wait the outcome with breathless anticipation.
As an adult, I love the Indy 500 every bit as much as I did when I was little. There is just something so lovely, so nostalgic, so distinctly Midwestern about it. While I will not get to watch much of it this year, as I'll be sitting in a high school graduation ceremony, I will know those tires are squealing out there, and the crowds are roaring. I'll be keenly aware that the city of my youth is still hanging on each turn, eager to see who will claim victory this year. (even if the fortune of the tire companies have long since left town)
Us Midwesterners hold on to things with fierce pride. This race, it is part of our identity. So, gentlemen, and ladies...start your engines. It's going to be a hell of a race!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
I Died and Went to Chocolate Heaven
I love chocolates. All things chocolate. When I went to Europe 9 summers ago, I ate my way through Brussels, Paris, Venice, and Florence on the back of chocolate shops. I'm not a chocolate snob per-say. I would drown my sorrows just as easily in Cadbury Eggs, Almond Joy Bars, Hershey Hugs, or Reese Cups as I would Deitsch's Brothers chocolate covered pretzels, fine Belgian chocolates, Godiva, or any other handmade delicacy I can get my grubby, chocolate-covered paws on. One of the many ways my husband romanced me was to bring chocolates and red wine over to watch PBS one evening (I never claimed we weren't nerds...) Well, last Sunday, I discovered a new place for chocolate lovers, such as myself.
Lilly Handmade Chocolates is located in the Tremont neighborhood of Cleveland, Ohio. We were having brunch just down the street, and when we were walking into the cafe I spied the bright pink sign for Lilly's down the street. Of course, I would have to inspect it. Immediately after brunch we took a stroll down the street. According to Lilly's website they are, "an artisanal chocolatier that specializes in pairing fine wine & craft beer with its fresh, handmade chocolate confections." Well, had I known that, I might have skipped brunch and headed straight for the chocolate shop. (Okay, I wouldn't have, because Lucky's Cafe was amazing. So good, I forgot to take any photographs, so much into a food coma was I.) The shop is bright, shocking pink. Delightfully pink. Elle Woods would approve. Each chocolate was matched with a bottle of wine or craft beer. I think there may still be puddles of drool in front of their glass case. (so sorry ladies!) There were also these steel sculptures made by a local artist holding Lilly Chocolate's bark, and special Easter Eggs. So began my decision making trial....
I decided to go with a six-piece assortment to sample a variety of flavors, along with a Salty Bunny Egg for our boy Jack (and us as well!). Owner, Amanda Montague and a lovely assistant were both on hand to discuss the offerings that sunny Sunday afternoon, so when we left, I felt ready for my first (of many!) Lilly Chocolate experiences.
Three of the chocolates I chose were a bit of a walk on the wild side for me-while I love chocolate, I do not typically like when it mixes with something healthy, like fruit. But I chose 40 Winks (dark with lavender essence), Cinnabunny (dark with Vietnamese cinnamon/ground ginger and honey), and Lime (white with lime juice) as my "daring" choices. My safer choices were Old School (milk with malted milk), PB Monsters (milk with peanut butter/honey/crunch topping), and Southern Gentleman (milk with Makers Mark and buttered pecan). Ready?
This was my very first taste of Lilly Chocolate. I chose it because the flavor profile reminded me of my favorite Jeni's Ice Cream Flavor (Wildberry Lavender). I was a bit skeptical, but totally wowed! The bittersweet chocolate made the lavender flavor more pronounced in the ganache. And that candied violet on top, was a subtle and sweet crunch.
Now, I have fallen in love with Saigon Cinnamon ever since Jeni used it in her ice cream, so while this was a little "daring" for me, I was looking forward to tasting it. I found the chocolate profile to be less bitter than the Forty Winks but perfect for the accompanying flavors. The cinnamon taste reminded me of those red hot candies I loved as a child-only all grown up! And those cocoa nibs on top, where can I get my hands on some to throw into my own candies and cakes? Delicious!
Now, I am a sucker for Key Lime pie. I see it on a menu and am immediately figuring out how to save room. I love lime beverages, lime candy, lime everything. However, I have yet to try lime with white chocolate. Why have I waited so long? I could smell the tartness of the lime curd filling before even biting into this. The mellow, buttery white chocolate was perfect for the puckery lime filling...I could almost picture myself on the deck at AJ's Dockside in Tybee Island. Almost.
This ended up in our box because I made a killer Dark Chocolate Bourbon Pecan Pie for the holidays. It fairly oozes chocolate, and I only use Maker's Mark. I even put the booze in my whipped cream. Well, the Makers Mark hits you as soon as you sink your teeth into this beautiful plaid chocolate. The milk chocolate tempers the booze flavor only enough that it doesn't bite back. And that pecan inside was buttery perfection. I would swear that Amanda was standing over my shoulder as I baked my pies when she came up with this one.
We are a peanut butter loving family. So it only served to reason that I added a peanut butter filled concoction to our sampler. PB Monsters ruins forever any grocery-store checkout peanut butter candy for me. It was salty, crunchy, and had just the right amount of peanut butter flavor so as to not overwhelm the smooth milk chocolate.
I ended the tasting with Old School. This was dusted with malted milk powder on top, which was a delicious touch. It reminded me of those delicious malted milkshakes you can only get in the summer from our Midwestern custard stands. It was smooth, malty, milk chocolatey goodness all in one bite. Perfection!
Lilly Handmade Chocolates is located in the Tremont neighborhood of Cleveland, Ohio. We were having brunch just down the street, and when we were walking into the cafe I spied the bright pink sign for Lilly's down the street. Of course, I would have to inspect it. Immediately after brunch we took a stroll down the street. According to Lilly's website they are, "an artisanal chocolatier that specializes in pairing fine wine & craft beer with its fresh, handmade chocolate confections." Well, had I known that, I might have skipped brunch and headed straight for the chocolate shop. (Okay, I wouldn't have, because Lucky's Cafe was amazing. So good, I forgot to take any photographs, so much into a food coma was I.) The shop is bright, shocking pink. Delightfully pink. Elle Woods would approve. Each chocolate was matched with a bottle of wine or craft beer. I think there may still be puddles of drool in front of their glass case. (so sorry ladies!) There were also these steel sculptures made by a local artist holding Lilly Chocolate's bark, and special Easter Eggs. So began my decision making trial....
I decided to go with a six-piece assortment to sample a variety of flavors, along with a Salty Bunny Egg for our boy Jack (and us as well!). Owner, Amanda Montague and a lovely assistant were both on hand to discuss the offerings that sunny Sunday afternoon, so when we left, I felt ready for my first (of many!) Lilly Chocolate experiences.
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| My Six-Piece Assortment Box Sampler |
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| Forty Winks |
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| Cinnabunny |
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| Lime |
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| Southern Gentleman |
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| PB Monsters |
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| Old School |
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| Snif. Guess it is time to restock. |
In all, I would have to say that my favorite was the Forty Winks...a surprise for me since I am more a traditionalist when it comes to chocolates. It makes me anxious to return to Cleveland and get a sampling of all the other delectable chocolates Amanda cooks up! Of course, I could order online and have them shipped to my doorstep, but it wouldn't be as fun as strolling the length of the counter, chatting with them, and browsing the immense wine and craft beer selection they have. I promise, if you can check out Lilly Chocolates, you will not be disappointed!
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Signs of Spring
Spring has been in fits and starts here. We've had precious few warm days. Many days of rain and wind. A few days of snow. As one of my co-workers pointed out, we are in the ugly duckling stage of the year-just after the beauty of white winter and just before the greening of spring arrives. Everything is brown and muddy. Well, driving to work today, I saw the first real sign of spring here in the farmland of Northwest Ohio-green winter wheat fields. I can't explain it if you've never lived around them, but I can tell you this much-one day they are a pale, anemic green, then that afternoon or the next morning-poof!-supersonic green. Lush, lovely, beautiful green of springtime has rushed into their short spears. Soon those wheat fields will start growing like mad, bending and waving in the late spring sunshine. There will be other growing and beautiful things then too-baby corn fields, daffodils, tulips, sweet peas, apple blossoms, and more. But for now, like beautiful patches covering the bare spots, winter wheat fields are showing us that the warmth is coming. While the rest of our world is still brown, dormant, and muddy, today the wheat fields are telling me to hold out hope. Soon enough that spring warmth will creep northward and we too will share in its glory.
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| Getting greener by the second! |
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