Tag Quality Time

Food For Thought

Michael 2 Comments

It’s time to clean out the refrigerator. For me it’s that time every time this time of week. I’ll be getting ready to cook.

Perhaps I should start in the middle. When I was in the hospital, because of why I was there my sister naturally was also in the hospital. That took two members of my immediate family out of daily activities including, among other things, cooking. The other two spent much of their time at the hospital while were inpatients, limiting their available time for daily activities including, among other things, cooking. But friends and other relatives eased that burden by creating food chains or meal trains. When it became evident that I was destined for a much longer than anticipated hospital stay and recovery period, those friends and relatives along with friends of relatives and even relatives of friends presented us with the modern equivalent of hot casseroles, gift subscriptions to meal services. So many in fact that this Sunday we will be preparing the last of the gifted meals.

We in this case are my daughter and I. We’ve been spending a day a week almost every week since mid-June, first in her kitchen now in mine, preparing the following week’s meals. This is hardly unique. Much of the working world preps and even pre-cooks the upcoming week’s meals. Even when I was part of the working world I would do some manner of advance preparation. Then it was often a matter of my daughter and I chopping, seasoning, arranging, and storing in a suitable cooking vessel that day’s dinner before I went off to work and she to school each morning. Sometime after her return in the afternoon she cookrd and plated as I dragged myself in from another day at the rat races. (I always bet the #7 rat to win the 7th race by 7 lengths but he never came in.)

So you see, meal prepping is in our blood, or at least on our resumes. Little things like my daughter’s own entry into the working world and my entry into the limited lifting and standing world, coupled with the fact that we no longer live in the same house, make daily prep pretty inconvenient. But the once a week plan has really made life much easier for me.

Something else it’s made me is it’s made me think how fortunate I am to have a daughter who is willing to give up one of her two free days each week to spend with her father. It’s also made me realize that if there are a few others like her out there maybe this world isn’t destined for global annihilation as soon as the last of the Baby Boomers leaves it. The few hours it takes us to chop and season, arrange and cook, store and clean up make for some pretty quality time. And so does the eating and sitting and chatting and re-bonding after.

A family dinner really is a gift. Even a bunch of them all at once.

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Swing Your Partner

Michael 1 Comment

Did you ever run across something that is just so bizarre you can’t stop watching?  Then you are ready to experience the world of tractor square dancing.  Go ahead and re-read that sentence all you want.  It really does end with “tractor square dancing.”

I don’t know when I first ran across this spectacle (there really is no other word for it).  I think it might have been some 10 years ago when my mother was sick and I would spend afternoons with her so she wouldn’t be alone.  It was this time of year and our state was holding its annual farm show which was televised on the statewide cable network.  Yes, I know this is January.  Yes, I said farm show.  No I don’t live in the southern hemisphere.  Yes, this is getting sillier by the paragraph.  Anyway, on television back then, in the middle of the afternoon, there were soap operas, Jerry Springer shows, or silly cable programs.  Neither my mother nor I were farm people, animal people other than the occasional house pet, prize winning produce people, and certainly not tractor people.  Yet between choosing among soaps, Springer, or Farmville, tractor square dancing caught our attention.

There was a couple year period when I thought I might have successfully detoxed from the phenomenon.  Again, it was about this time of year and I was on the phone with She.  Our televisions were on and the inevitable “What are you watching?” was asked.  “The farm show.”  “Haven’t seen that for a while.  What’s on?” “Tractor square dancing!”  Another victim — err, fan.

That was when I gave up and made it a point that every January I would click my way around the TV remote until I landed on the Tractor Square Dance event.  Four “couples” of antique tractors in a dirt arena, do-si-do-ing and allemande-ing under the direction of a dance caller just like a regular square dance but this one powered by John Deere and diesel.

I see you don’t believe me.  Go to your favorite search engine and type in “Tractor square dance.”  Among the 300,000 or so returns you will find plenty of clubs dong it all across the country.  And videos!  Watch the videos!  But don’t blame me if you get addicted.

Although not even a regular (?) square dance person, tractor square dancing is so out of the ordinary that I considered it (albeit briefly) for inclusion on the bucket list.  Apparently there is a group not that far from me that is always looking for new drivers.  No experience necessary.  In fact, no tractor necessary either.  They keep their own stable of antique tricycle configured contraptions.  I’m pretty good with a riding lawn mower.  How hard could it be?

Now, that’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Then I Lay Me Down to Sleep

Michael Leave a comment

I don’t want to get maudlin here but lately I’ve been wondering if there are some things I want to do before kicking the proverbial bucket.  Proverbially.  Not so long ago we posted a “Hole in the Bucket List,” or those things we really don’t want to do.  (See “I Would Do Anything – Not!” Feb. 11, 2013.)  That list ran the gamut from alligator wrestling to tornado chasing.  And even in thinking of those things I’d like to do there are more that I don’t and certainly won’t than those that I wish I had and will try to do.  But if one was to write a bucket list and if that one was me, what would be there?  First it would be of three parts – things to do, places to go, and experiences to um, experience.

Starting with the second first we find the easiest category.  There was once a time that I’d have been convinced that I couldn’t call it a life fulfilled if I hadn’t visited all fifty of the United States.  With apologies to the Midwest, once I got to Kansas, that goal tarnished.  There’s only so much flat and level one can take.  There just isn’t that much difference between North and South Dakotas, and ditto the Carolinas to require four stops on that Triptik.  Alaska is way too big and Rhode Island is way too small to compose jaw dropping long weekends. Fifty states are just too many for more than just weekends.  Regions are a different story.  New England, Mid-Atlantic, Southeast, Southwest, Midwest, West Coast, Northwest.  Those are manageable.  And I’ve been to them all so that’s off the list.  But within each region there are special places.  And some special places deserve special notice.

One city that I have to get to while the getting is still getable is Punxsutawney Pennsylvania, home of Punxsutawney Phil, the world’s greatest weather rodent.   Another go to place is the home of the world’s greatest, and first pizza, Naples.  Naples is also the home of half of my heritage so a trip there would kill two tomatoes with one wheel of cheese.

Things to do before that bucket tips are probably at the top of everyone’s list.  I guess I never have been that conventional.  If I wanted to do it, it has already been done.   There aren’t that many noteworthy things that I feel I have to do again.  Drive across country – done that.  Jump out of a flying object – once was enough and I did it more than that!  Race around a race track in a race car just like a race car driver – no desire.  Nope, there aren’t many things to do to be done or else feel like there is something missing in my life.  Two things to continue to do are to wind down in the hot tub and to wind it up cruising top down along a country lane.  And if I get to pick a companion it would be She.

Part place to go, thing to do, and experience to experience is the last item on the list.  Last here is certainly not least but is at least the least likely to be experienced, or done, or gone to when last call is called.  That would be the Mediterranean Wine Cruise.  Years ago while dreaming of vacations to consider, She and I ran across an ad for a two week cruise across the Mediterranean Sea and all the ports of call were where “wine country” was one of your first thoughts of the area.  Whoever put this together did not use Mediterranean euphemistically like we feel compelled to in this country.  It was not code for Turkey or Greece.  It covered all of the countries that touch that body of water and there are a lot of them.  And they all make wine.  We didn’t get there and for why ever that was it never seemed to be a big deal except for now when I think of places I’d like to go or things I like to do or an experience I’d like to have that I didn’t, or hadn’t, or wanted.

So they aren’t the most adventurous things and places and what nots.  That’s my list and I’m sticking to it.  I wonder now, what would happen if you compare this list with the Hole in the Bucket List?  I guess that makes these sort of the pros and cons of things to do today.

Now, that’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

In Pursuit of (a Thankful) Perfection

Michael 1 Comment

A few years ago He of We included in the Thanksgiving blessing thanks to God for making the family somewhat dysfunctional.  After all the relatives were done gasping and sputtering he explained that the imperfections are what keep the family together as we all support those who need it when they need it.  A few weeks ago on some television show he heard the head of the household give his fictional blessing thanking God for his imperfect family.  After all the relatives were done gasping and sputtering he explained that the imperfections are what keep the family together as they support those who need it when they need it.  Somebody has been paying attention.

What fun is it if everybody gets along all the time?  How would anybody grow if there was never an incentive to be better tomorrow than one is today?  Isn’t part of giving thanks improving from year to year – from day to day even?  Otherwise it’s just an exercise for everybody else to conform to one person’s idea of normal, regardless of how abnormal that normal may be – or might even be is.

Once upon a time all of the traditions that we hold so dear on Thanksgiving weren’t.  They weren’t traditions, they weren’t habits, they might not have even been normal.  But they stuck.  For some reason everybody decided that on Thanksgiving we would have turkey and stuffing with cranberry dressing.  Turkeys are impossible to cook properly, cranberries are the sourest of all the fall fruits we could possibly pick, and to quote a well know TV celebrity chef, stuffing is evil.  Somehow, this terrible trio became the standard for our most family-centric holiday.

Eventually we learned how to prep that bird so it stayed juicy throughout cooking, figured out how to sweeten those bog berries, and learned that you could make a stuffing that actually cooked all the way through when you do it in Pyrex rather than poultry.  The imperfections guided our practices to make a new normal.

So this week when you are practicing your blessing, think about not just what you are thankful for but what you’d wish you could change.  Then be thankful that you might get the chance to change them.

Who knows, maybe someday our Thanksgiving feast will start at 9 in the morning so one can be first in line at the Pre-Black-Friday Sale as part of a new tradition.  Yeah, right.

Now that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you.

 

Family Time

Michael Leave a comment

For the first time in a long time She and He were not out in public as the We’s.  We were out in public, just not together.  It’s an unusual feeling, but then, we’re not your usual couple.  Not only were She and He not doing our things together, even the Children of We were off doing their own things, sometimes in completely different states.   Let’s take roll.

He of We is mostly responsible for the disparate activities in WeLand this weekend.  He set out for the waters of Lake Erie with Friend of He and three others on their annual fishing trip which precedes the annual Fish Fry and the annual how high can you get your outdoor flame contest.  Actually, that is not a sanctioned competition and only happened one year.  The fishing trip happens every year and there are no she’s connected to any of the he’s there there.  So that started out the weekend early Friday with He of We and Friend of He blazing the trail for the others to follow, getting licenses, checking into the hotel, and timing the route from hotel to dock so we know what time to leave in the morning to be there at 5am, our assigned departure time.  The trip was wildly successful with the fisherpeople maxing out in record time.  So fast were the limits caught that when the group returned to the dock there was actually a wait for the cutters and cleaners to come in and turn the haul into groceries. But even with an early return, getting up at something after three in the morning made for needing much sleep the rest of Saturday and Sunday and therefore few she’s saw anything of any of their he’s who were part of that group.

So there you have the impetus for the We-free weekend.  But there were still others among us who managed to spend their weekend times without the rest.  For example, Daughter of He spent her Saturday in running gear running past those who would be lobbing powder-based paint at her and the others taking part in another annual event, the Color Run.  The Color Run is too hard to explain here but it involves people who run a fairly normal 5K fun run circuit except they are clean at the start and look something like bad graffiti at the finish.  Daughter of She was doing this about 150 miles from home so that shot her day with any other family members.

Sons of She weren’t there to put the family in family time either, both taking part in one of their many shared interests, golf.  For two brothers who act like brothers as much as two brothers can act like stereotypical siblings, they have remarkably similar interests.  They both golf, they both enjoy the presence of a pool in each of their respective backyards.  They are both fond of eating out but with different partialities.  She of We often has told the story of them as mere toddlers in restaurants, the older would order for both of them with “I’ll have the steak and my brother will have the shrimp.”  They both like vintage toys and as we found out for the first time last week, they both like being at the racetrack.  But this weekend they were both golfing and even if they both managed to keep all four wheels of the carts on the cart paths and no errant drives found their ways through either’s sun roof (both potential topics for this very post), it would still be a full day affair because that’s how they do it.  Whether separately or together.

So now you see why She of We was We-less through the weekend.  Before it was over, the Children of We did manage to find their respective ways to the respective parents and made less than token appearances, because that’s what our kids do.  And She and He of We managed to find some hours together either by phone or by text to keep each other up to date with their We-free Weekend because that’s what we do.

Even if none of us were able to get any of ourselves together for just a weekend it would be fine because we happen to know that for this small group of people, all adults, all with their own lives, we still keep it together.  For us, any time is family time, and all the time is quality time.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Just Stuff

Michael Leave a comment

We’ve made no secret that we like to do a little joy riding when we feel the need for a little joy in a weekend.  He of We has a little 2 seat roadster and She of We keeps a bottle of sun screen in her door pocket.  It works.  Usually.  Sometimes we find ourselves scratching our heads over something somebody – sometimes us – has done.  Let us explain.

Once on an afternoon drive through the park we stopped at a “little bit of everything” store.  They have tools, hunting and fishing gear, canned goods, sports memorabilia, boxed candy, various needle-works supplies, furniture, plumbing fixtures, wheelbarrows, doll houses, and trees.  How can you pass up a deal on trees.  We couldn’t.  Just because the tree was about 20 miles from where it was going to be planted might make mere people say “let’s think about this.”  Not us.  We’re Reality People.  And we did not want to drive back and forth a few times to get the right vehicle with the right storage capacity in the right parking lot to transport a tree.  It’s just a tree.  To make a long story short, in order not to damage the trunk or the trunk, it ended up between She of We’s legs in the front seat, extending about 3 feet above the windshield.  We drove slow.  Which made eating the ice cream we stopped for easier.

On another excursion we passed a row of simply beautiful houses.  It’s easy when you seek out a high end housing plan where somebody is turning out mansion after mansion just like a suburban factory project.  Often we find the people in the million dollar homes have the same things in their driveways and side yards we have in ours and we smile happily.  This one afternoon in this one neighborhood we weren’t in a plan.  We were among bona fide multiple million dollar manors rivaling anything Hollywood so to be exes would fight over.  Just beautiful.  And we weren’t but 100 feet from their front doors.  We wanted to walk up each rolling expanse of lawn and ring the bell just to say hello.  And among them, among the carefully landscaped, fenced, fountained, and paved portraits of residential indulgence, lay a deflated 24 foot round, 4 foot tall inflatable portable swimming pool.  Complete with knocked over steps.

Then there was the time we stopped at a farm market.  We’ve stopped at several and usually find the freshest bargains for the evening’s dinner.  If they have a good gift shop we could pick up birthday, anniversary, and Christmas gifts for several occasions.  But this stop took the cake.  Or rather, took the pie.  Not to say it wasn’t home-made but on this display case sat several absolutely identical looking $14 pies.  Right next to the $10 peaches, $6 blueberries, and $16 skirt steaks from “local” beef.  Trust us.  We’re local and there’s no beef where we are.  A little checking and we found that their corn might be theirs.  The rest was bought from the same purveyors that the mega-mart on the hill goes to.  Shame on them!

Not on a weekend drive, He of We recently was at that mart.  He did his shopping (New York Strip, $8 for a 12 ounce cut) and moved over the giant home supply store that shares the hill.  There he found a guy tying a set of mini-blinds to the back of his motorcycle.  “Let me tell you about this tree,” He of We said to him.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Summer Sunny Day Fun Days

Michael Leave a comment

Summer is here in the northern half of the United States.  For some of the country summer isn’t a huge thing.  Is there really much difference between April 1 and July 1 (other than fireworks sales) in Houston or Miami or Anaheim?  But north of the Mason Dixon line, even with the mild spring we’ve had, you really can’t pull out the shorts and sandals until the summer solstice shows up in the weatherman’s graphics. 

This year the first of day of summer harkened in a summertime heat wave like we hadn’t seen for quite some time.  As we write this on the 18th day of summer the temperature in our town has exceeded 90 degrees on 12 of those 18 days.  You’d think that would have altered many’s attempts at fireworks, picnics, vacations, swimming, and so many other outdoor activities that are much more pleasant at 78.  Well they have altered some but not so much that many are complaining.  Even us.  Although we took in the Fourth of July fireworks from a downtown river dock we decided to forgo our annual outdoor jazz festival.  But we’ve still managed to have our fun and not risk our health.

Apparently, many others are also.  The local MLB team is packing them in with sold out weekend games and close to sell outs during the midweek evenings.  Pools are filled to capacity.  Restaurants with outdoor seating are serving some brave ones outdoors in the glorious shade of roll out canopies. 

We have made the weekends our time to hop into the little car, put the top down, turn on the air conditioner to high, slather sun screen on our necks and let our man made 35 mile per hour wind cool us as we drive through the canopies of the tall trees that line our underused back roads.  A couple hours of oohs and ahhs for nature’s companions trying to beat the heat (we got to sit in our car and chat with a young deer not more than 20 feet away while she was resting in the shade), and a couple of oohs and ahhs for some of the biggest, most expensive, and gorgeously landscaped estates we can’t believe are in the same county as our modest middle class just-plain-houses (but even a rich man should put a shirt on if he plans on reading the evening paper on his recliner that is just inside the front window – and backlit to boot).

Now the best part of it all we reminded ourselves of this morning.  As we head into what the weather predictors are saying is going to be our first week entirely under 90 degrees since mid-June, we’ve heard of only 2 unfortunate heat related accidents and neither fatal. 

Quite often our posts here poke fun at the way people have taken so cavalierly to reality.  The reality is that sometimes we can be quite responsible. 

Quite remarkable.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Baseball, Hotdogs, Apple Pie, and “Batter Up!”

Michael Leave a comment

It’s almost our birthday, that’s our country’s birthday, and we’re still trying to figure out what makes us Americans – the good things, the bad things, and the things no other country wants to admit to doing.

Last weekend we were in a restaurant for a late dinner when a family of Mom, Dad, and four children ages 8 months to 11 years old take the table next to us.  We said it was a late dinner.  For us, 9:00 qualifies as late and that’s what time we were seated.  These folks came about ten minutes after us.  What could these six people ranging in age from “not yet a year” to “should know better” be doing on a Saturday that they hadn’t yet had dinner at that hour?  What else?  Baseball. 

Baseball?  At 9:00.  At night.  Really?  Yep, the oldest child just finished up his weekly baseball game.  We recall when we and ours were of little league age that we had one game at 1:00 and one at 2:00.  It didn’t take long to play Little League baseball then.  Three outs often came on 3 pitches assuming somebody could manage to get the ball anywhere near first base where 3 other defenders had rushed in to back up the first baseman ready for him to miss the throw to first.  The longest play in Little League then was the high pop up when everybody, including the batter, turned to look at the umpire (often somebody from the American Legion league who played on the same field at 4:00) to tell them fair, foul, safe, or out.  And then to explain what to do next.

But today, in the spirit of every one’s a hero, games take hours to play.  There are no outs, you just keep getting up to bat until everybody has had a turn.  There are no runs, you just keep going around the bases to make room for whomever is up next.  There are no strikes, or balls, or foul balls, you just keep throwing until the little snot finally connects with the ball and remembers to run to first base instead of to the bathroom like last week.

This isn’t our first post about the insanity of trying to build a world with no losers.  (See “Your Turn to Keep Score,” Jan. 16, 2012 and “There Is No Crying,” April 26, 2012.)  Somewhere along the course of trying to take the pressure of winning off our children we’ve also taken the joy of winning from them.  We’re also taking the discipline they will need to be productive adults from them. 

When the authors of the Declaration of Independence wrote that “all men are created equal” and that we are endowed by our Creator with those famous unalienable rights of Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness, they didn’t mean there will never be any losers.  If they did, they would have let King George take one more at-bat.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Spring Chickens vs The Codger

Michael Leave a comment

With age comes wisdom.  And a bunch of people who don’t care.  We’re sorry, did that seem harsh?  Get used to it because the older you get the harsher reality becomes.

Neither of We is anymore what a spring chicken strives to be, but then Neither of We is at the codger level.  He of We is 5 or 6 years ahead of She of We and he might be starting to see it more.

See, back about 25 years ago He of We was a pretty good looking fellow.  Lots of hair, firm chin (with a dimple), clear eyes, and a dashing figure proclaiming him to be quite in shape.  Today he’s a bit puffy around the face and neck, lots of skin on top of his head, a figure that begs to cry out “but round is a shape.” Back then he didn’t know much more than what he learned in school and everybody knows that’s only 10% of everything anybody needs to know to be successful.  But he routinely was looked to for advice and confirmation and became that person who people listened to when E. F. Hutton wasn’t available. 

Over those 25 years he’s seen lots more of the stuff that makes him quite an invaluable asset to his employer.  Except now that he has the knowledge and wisdom that experience brought, nobody wants to listen to him.  They are all flocking around the new guy with the shirt collar that can be buttoned.

It’s probably not like that in the animal kingdom.  The dogs still follow the alpha male and it’s still the older birds that rule the roosts.  Probably in organized crime and the legal profession a little age and experience are also sought after attributes.  You can’t know a good loophole until you’ve been in one.  And maybe if you’re a dentist you never really want to turn your back on other dentists that have discovered how to keep the patient from biting and still cheerfully fork over outrageously high co-pays.

But by and large, it’s not what’s in your head that people look for at the weekly managers’ meetings.  It’s how that head looks that moves the body to the middle seat at the conference table.  If youth is wasted on the young, then experience is a mockery to the experienced.  But there is a way around this so what one learns in life isn’t wasted and what the men and women beginning their lives can learn without admitting they don’t know everything. 

Ooops, sorry.  Time for our naps.  We’ll get back to you with that at our next meeting.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Game On!

Michael Leave a comment

Many people who are just acquainted with us are often shocked to ultimately find out that He and She of We are not married, or at the very least for the 21st century, not even living together.  We spend a lot of time together but we each have our own houses and spend more time in our own houses than we do at either’s others’ houses.  Of course there are evenings we’ll be found on one or another’s sofas usually in the glow of a televised sporting event or a demanded, if not on-demanded movie. 

Last weekend we were on He of We’s furniture, about 4 feet apart, rapturously engaged in a game of words.  No, not the grand-daddy of all games of words Scrabble, not the second cousin of word games without words, Charades.  No, we were sitting next to each other, letting our fingers do the walking through Words with Friends on our cell phones.  In the same house.  In the same room.  On the same couch.

Although both of our children are either young enough, or old enough depending on your point of view, to have discovered and to have played with PlayStation, Nintendo, and Wii, none of them became one of the electronic game junkies who walk around with fingers flailing over tiny controllers of hand-held versions of the gaming consoles that hold so many in mental hostage situations.   And all of them are familiar with games that involve fold-out boards, dice, tiles, poppers, timers, and a pad and pencil to keep score.  We’re pretty proud parents that our children made it into adulthood with having hand-held electronic games listed as dependents on their income tax forms.

So where did we go wrong for ourselves?  How did we manage to find ourselves phoning in our own recreation?  Don’t tell the children this but it is darned convenient having a game at your fingertips.  No boards to pull off shelves, no tables to clear.  No looking for the pieces that fall under the chairs, no pencil sharpeners to wonder if we even still have to look for.  No shaking up bags of tiles to pick from randomly, no wondering if that really is a word and will I look foolish if I challenge it.

So yes, we’ve succumbed to the dark side.  This time.  We’re willing to let a microprocessor randomly select letters and accurately add up scores.  We still get to use the best game piece – our minds.  Yep, of all the things we’ve lost – tile holders, letters, box tops, score cards – we’ve not yet lost our minds.  We’re pretty sure of that.  Yeah, pretty sure.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?