Tag Archives: postaday2011

Steve McCool

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I met Sig in 1970, and I then, gradually met his family. There was a bank of uncles and aunts; they were tall, striking people with high cheekbones. The women had sparkling eyes and all knew how to cook; the men were really crazy about strong coffee and liked to drink it in sturdy mugs.

When I met his uncle, Steve McCool, my first thought was, I cannot believe how cool it is to have a name like McCool. I said, “Nice to meet you.”

Over the years, I saw Steve at family gatherings – and I was always glad to see him, to sit down beside him and talk about what was up. He was always upbeat, always interesting, always other-centered.

Steve was 93 when he died mid April. His two sons planned a service for him today. It was a perfect farewell for him, it was upbeat and focused on what comes next in the great beyond.  And afterwards, there was a lunch in the Fellowship Hall with all manner of  sandwiches and Lutheran jello salads.

It’s too bad that the guest of honor is not there when you throw the perfect party. Steve would have been so at home with all of the guests, so pleased with the music, so appreciative of the lunch.

And still all I could think about is how cool it was to be named “McCool.” And, I know he would have gotten a big kick outta that.

No Place Like Home

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I tried to explain to a friend of mine who was born and bred in Oregon that the Kansas Flint Hills had a lot in common with the Pacific Ocean. Her eyes would invariably start to glaze over when ever I started in on the subject. 

Finally, I simply told her, “You’ll just have to see for yourself.” But, she never got the chance to make the trip.

So every time I get the chance to travel through the amazing grassland sea that is the Flint Hills, I always think I hear the sounds of the waves breaking on the shore.

The Flint Hills were part of a great shallow sea some 250 million years ago and as a result developed a wide swath of underground limestone. The prairie had too much rock to be fertile farm land and so was left for grazing. It was never really developed and now stands as the largest remaining tract of tallgrass prairie in the nation. I’m telling you, it’s worth a slot on your bucket list.

(I found this photo on a web site promoting a bill on recycling in Kansas; unfortunately there was no photo credit.)

Birther Business

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Actress Cloris Leachman is 85. I know this because my morning paper has a column called Birthdays. The format never changes. There are always five people featured. First there is a descriptor, then the name followed by age. Actor Willie Nelson is 78. They are in descending order by age. Director Jane Campion is 57. One lucky duck is featured in a thumbnail photo. This time it is Cloris. Actress Kirsten Dunst is 29. I seldom know the last person on the list, today is no exception. Actress Dianna Agron is 25

It would seem any self-respecting editor would have nixed this column idea a long time ago. It’s not like readers all of a sudden jump up and run out to buy birthday cards. But I guess someone thinks it’s pretty important to know Cloris Leachman is 85 today.

Insider’s tip

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I ate at IHOP this morning. I wanted a couple of poached eggs and did not want to make them myself.  When I walked in,  I saw that Eggs Benedict with hash browns and sausage was the blackboard special.

Maybe IHOP has changed up their menu? I never think of it as a breakfast destination for a gourmand. I need not have wondered.  Restaurants may come and go, but IHOP holds fast to a bottomless coffee pot and huge portions.

I ignore the parade of pancake stacks topped with syrupy blue or red fruit filling crowned with a huge wave of whipped cream, and order the Two Egg Quickie.

The eggs are perfectly poached and paired with my choice of meat and toast.

The waitress told me I had made a great choice, she “loves the poached eggs here.” When I left she said, “Have a good day. Kid. Stay out of trouble.”

Attitude of Gratitude

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Every so often it makes sense to whip up a list of things that fill me with a sense of gratitude. These are on the top of today’s list.

1) I am glad my dentist is not Dr. Orly Taitz, the queen of the birthers who lives in a meaningless and irrational world totally of her own making.

2) I am grateful that it wasn’t at all hip to get a tattoo when I was in my teens.

Oh. William and Kate. Nearly life-size. That's something.

3) I am happy that no one I know is selling Tupperware at home parties any more.

4) I am very grateful that someone else dug up the garden and all I need to do is figure out what to plant.

5) I’m so pleased that my wallet was on the floor of my car rather than left on the counter at Starbucks.

6) And – I’m thankful that I will never have to call Goodwill to haul away a commemorative refrigerator.

Oops

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A friend e-mailed me on the fly to let me know, if I didn’t already, that a mutual acquaintance had died.

That’s awful, I thought.  The three of us had worked on a number of projects over the years and we had a healthy friendship. The last time I had seen her, she was as enthusiastic and energetic as ever.

Goes to show you, I thought glumly as I pulled up the obituary online.

I read through the first paragraph and stopped and started again. The name was right.  And yes, our friend’s husband had already died but I was pretty sure his name was George, not Henry.  And she did have children but not Jack and Harry; she had 2 daughters, Lucille and Darlene.

Wellll – it wasn’t who we thought it was. I scrolled down and saw a very nice note; it was from the friend who had e-mailed.

She offered sympathy to the family and then reminisced about the deceased. She mentioned her generosity, her kindness and how flat-out hilarious she was when she entertained troops dressed as Chucky Chipmunk. She went on to say something about her never being forgotten by all the hundreds she had dazzled over the years.

I couldn’t help but think the deceased was laughing her head off, I sure was.

Thanks, Phoebe

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It’s a Sunday twilight in a coming-together apartment in the middle of a middle-of-the-road town. Two young women are sitting at an oak dining room table drinking gin and orange juice ladled from a pink plastic bowl sitting between them.

“Ok, ok –let’s try it again,” one says to the other. “We almost had it nailed that time.”

“Yeah, we’re close, really terribly, terribly close,” her friend answers while reaching over and flipping on the repeat button.

The two sing along all the way to the end. “Let’s do it just one more time…”

Man Up, Bug

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Way to go Volkswagen.

2002 Beetle

All this hoo-rah-rah about the new generation Beetle is not going down all that well in some quarters. My 2002 Beetle, for instance, is building a steady head of steam with all the talk about more sporty, more dynamic and more masculine.

“Oh, yeah” –the conversation goes at a stoplight when abreast another Bug, “so who CARES about a lower profile, a longer hood and a steeper windshield?”

2012 New Beetle

“Ha, they think that’s a big fat difference?”

“Right,” spits the other car.  “And engine-smidgen, I’m already turbo-charged. Let me at ’em on a straight away! And what’s this about a Spoiler? Any Junker can have a spoiii–leer. I can hardly believe my own ears.”

“More Power, less Flower, my tail-pipe!” my car grumbles loudly as the light turns green.

“See you around,” the other car yells turning left into the intersection. “By the way, love the daisy on your dash.” “Thanks,” my car smiles cheerfully as we drive straight ahead. “I got it at Costco, a great place for flowers.”

Hope Springs a Turtle

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Last year, I didn’t get around to putting in a garden. Oh, you know –this and that caught up with me. And before I knew it my carefully plotted out garden was over-run and out of control.

I am not going to let that happen this year. I hired someone to clean it out early this week.  Here it is (from the window of the upstairs spare bedroom) after the clean-up; today it was warm and dry enough to get the soil ready so I’m now ready to plant.

I’m planning a combo of vegetables, herbs and flowers. Mostly I want to see if I can get some really good vine ripe tomatoes.  And I want to look out the window at sturdy little marigolds, cheerful cosmos and hardy moss rose. I want to cut cilantro for tacos and make basil pesto.

Let someone else take care of Versailles.

Earth Day

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I ended up with my mother’s cast iron skillet. It’s in the garage right now; it needs to be cleaned up and seasoned. Maybe I’ll do that in honor of Earth day. And then I might make wilted lettuce ’cause it’s so earthy.

I stumbled across a recipe for it in a book about growing up on an Iowa farm during the Depression, called Little Heathens.  Mildred Kalish came from a time and place where every meal was equal measure of labor and love.

Pick, wash and dry a large bowl of leaf lettuce. Fry about 8 slices of bacon in an iron skillet until crisp and brown. Crumble over lettuce.

Pour all but 3 tablespoons of fat from the pan. Add 1/2 cup water, four chopped green onions, 1 TB sugar and 3 TBS apple cider vinegar. Bring mixture to a boil while scraping brown bits from bottom of skillet.

Pour the mixture over the bacon and lettuce which will wilt the lettuce. Stir and serve immediately with some good bread.

Mildred’s family aren’t the only ones with a soft spot for wilted lettuce: I found 174,000 entries when I searched recipes. Though I didn’t read every one of them — it looks like there are only a few variations to the bacon, vinegar, boiling-mixture-over-lettuce-formula.

I did bookmark a blog so I can find my way back to it. It’s called Mixed Greens, lots of really good photographs, and ideas/recipes for taking advantage of local and seasonal food. Happy Earth Day.