Saturday, September 26, 2009 Since I decided to try not spending so much money on coffee, I have found the following:

Maxwell House French Roast/Dark Roast = tolerable, but in truth not all that good, nonetheless for the price, it's the one I normally go with now

Melita European Roast = tolerable, not too bad, maybe better than Maxwell House, but more expensive, quality difference not enough to justify price difference for me

Folgers Classic/French Roast/Columbian = marginally tolerable (gets better if you use a lot more than recommended, but your friends might think it's too strong that way), but usually cheaper than Maxwell House, so there's that

Hills Bros Original Blend = crap, awful taste, won't buy it again, glad I only tried one of those small containers

Sunday, November 16, 2008 Here in Chicago. I had no idea. Just took Rainey out to go for an evening walk, and there was a light snowfall! Of course, it always seems special and pleasant and new when its the first time of the season--though as we all know, I'll feel differently about it come April. But oh well. I still enjoy it just the same every Fall. Rainey and I enjoyed a walk in our local park for about an hour in the new snow. Not much on the ground, just enough to make a light, slightly slushy covering that will no doubt melt soon. The walk was only marred by a man out with a girl I presumed to be his daughter, and their dog. Perhaps needless to say, they didn't feel the need to have the dog on a leash. Seems like there are more and more people like that these days. Which is fine--if you have a well-trained dog you can control. Which these people didn't. However, I managed to hold my patience until the third time their dog came running over and getting Rainey worked up in the process. It was then that I observed to them that they really should have their dog on a leash. But did the man do anything about it? Of course not. Then, the dog came running over a fourth time--at which point I was inclined to make the observation that perhaps the man should set an example in responsibility for the girl. But the dog went running right back, so I waited to see what would happen, and that time the man put a leash on the dog. So I held my tongue and went about my way thinking, yup, just another case of what a friend of mine would call obviously The Most Important Person In The City Of Chicago.

Friday, November 14, 2008
1. See Austin City Limits live...you know, in Austin...although, according to the website, they are going to have a new home in 2010, so doesn't look very much like I'll get to see the "famed sound stage"...so who knows, maybe I'll scratch this one...

2. Go to British Columbia.

3.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Sunday, November 09, 2008
It was not so long ago that, on days like the one pictured above, and nights too, I'd say, hmmm, nice day, put on a coat, get some gloves, and take the dog for a walk. Today, however, we're having our first day of the season that you could call actually cold, and it's dark out, and I really don't want to take poor Rainey out, and I doubt that I will. I finally turned on the radiators, and it's pretty nice in here--whereas it is dark and cold outside. So, I filled Rainey's super duper tough kong with peanut butter, assured her she is the best dog ever, and am trying not to feel too guilty about it. Tomorrow, Rainey, tomorrow! I promise!

Tuesday, April 22, 2008 A little over a week ago one of our sons came for a week-end visit. He brought with him his new female, golden retriever puppy. Her name is Clarice. She is about two months old. She is very small. Our son said her vet was even a little worried about her because of her size. I don't think there's anything to worry about. For one thing, she has doubled her weight from five pounds to ten pounds in the short time they've had her. Also, she seems very energetic and feisty. To know her is to love her. She is adorable. Our two dogs, Bear and Sadie, weren't immediately taken in. Bear didn't know what to make of her. She tried to ignore her. She would rather have played with our son like old times. But Clarice is hard to ignore. We were very proud of our Bear. She's pretty feisty and rough herself, but once she decided that this little stinker wasn't going to let her alone until they had some fun, she was very good with Clarice. She batted at her and head butted her, but always just gently enough. Even when Clarice was hanging onto Bear's ears with her teeth, Bear tolerated it. Not so with Sadie. Here's what Sadie thought: "I do not like Clarice. I do not like her at all." Unfortunately Clarice understandably saw big old shaggy Sadie as a mother figure. At one point, when Sadie plopped down against a cupboard, Clarice hopped up on her back for a nice nap. Sadie growled and snapped at her over and over. We all went for a walk on the sunny April Sunday afternoon in our north woods. Our son was showing us some big red maples we hadn't noticed. He thought that we could tap them for sap as we had done on our property in southern Minnesota. While we were looking at maples, Sadie and Clarice disappeared. I was plenty worried. I think our son was too. But just as our stomachs began to rise to our throats, here they came through the trees. Sadie was in the lead, coming not too fast so that Clarice could keep up at her heels. She gave me one of her long, sad baleful looks. I could read her mind again: " I tried to get rid of her. I don't know why she likes me so much. But see, I brought her back."

Wednesday, March 26, 2008 There is more than one blog under the sun named Letters From The North.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008 All is gray and white today. We had a heavy wet spring snow during the night. It has covered our old rotten snow and is balanced precariously on every branch. Suddenly I see a patch of blue and a spot of orange across the pond. When it moves I see it is my husband's blue jacket and orange chain saw. That little patch of pink is his lovely face. The chain saw roars to life and down goes another of our little birches. We bought six cords of tamarack in the fall, but it's been a long, cold winter. There are only about six pieces left. For two weeks we have been debating. Should we let the fire go out for the season and drain the boiler? Rely on our electric heat? Our house is cozier when the wood boiler is going. Our hot water is hotter. But we have to keep the fire going. If the lines freeze underground there can be no circulation to the house. If water freezes in the boiler it would be damaged. Our son Marty told us once, "You're slaves to that thing." There are huge farm fields and Lake of the Woods and Canada to our north. There is nothing but woods for fifty miles to our south. Only a mile or so down our road there's a patch where loggers have been working. The logs are stacked in a neat pile. There's a small mountain of tree tops nearby that will probably be burned and hunks of small wood scattered over the ground. My husband stopped and asked if he could pick some up for our boiler. The loggers said that he needed a permit from the Department of Natural Resources. The DNR said that they can't give one because the County has put on spring road restrictions. They don't want the thawing gravel roads all rutted up by wood hauling. It all proves my husband's contention that if you want to get something done, don't ask too many questions. The day after he queried the DNR, I drove into town. Coming toward me on a restricted road I saw two pick-ups heaped with wood. One was pulling a large, flat trailer with eight big logs on it. No questions asked, I guess. Oh well, we have lots of little birches. We thinned them once before and never missed what was taken. We have birch stumps with four or five new little birches sprouted from them. At our church picnic this summer a friend was watching my husband pitch a softball game. "He's in better shape than most of the young guys at Marvin's," she said. [Employees of Marvin Window's and Doors] I attribute that to all the wood cutting and hauling and heaving that he does. Maybe if we go to an easier kind of heat he'll just go to seed.

Sunday, March 23, 2008 My husband had me come and look out our front windows when I first got up this morning. There under the bird feeders was the Easter bunny, munching on spilled sunflower seeds. He's still all white; no patches of brown yet. We observed Lent almost entirely this year. We only missed one mid-week service, on a night when it was already way below zero at 6:15 p.m. when we were due to leave. We went to church Maundy Thursday evening and Good Friday noon also. Yet still, we both remarked several times that it just hasn't seemed like Easter time. Truth to tell, I think it never seems like Easter since my husband retired. We were so in the center of the preparations then. It's too easy now. The last few services we didn't even bother with supper, just had a little toast or something when we got home. In days of yore my husband had to make up extra batches of sermons. I had to [or thought I had to] make supper, do dishes, and get five children relatively neat and clean. One year on Good Friday, our oldest son was invited to go roller skating at a rink and out to eat with a friend from down the street. He was eight or nine years old. I could see nothing wrong with it, but I must have had an inkling that my husband wouldn't agree. I called him at the church. Absolutely not! Nick was going to church. Our parsonage kitchen was small when all the kids were little. To make more room, my husband fashioned us a kitchen table of sorts from a beautiful old oak altar top. It was no longer in use and had been stuck in storage at the church. He cut a half moon on one side in the center of it. Our high chair sat against the kitchen wall. The altar/table was placed in front of it at the half moon point. Baby Peter sat in the high chair and looked out into the room. The rest of us sat on long benches and looked at either baby Peter or the kitchen wall. In those days I tried to save money on milk by mixing it with some that I made out of powdered milk. I kept the mix in a big glass pitcher. On one Lenten Wednesday morning our second youngest son, who was two, was standing on one of the long benches. He reached for that big glass pitcher. I stood up to keep him from it. He got that devilish look in his eyes that I remember so well. In order to keep away from me, he stepped off the end of the bench with that big pitcher in his hand. The milk spilled. The pitcher broke. Matthew stood up holding just the handle with one very sharp shard of glass still attached. Blood was pouring down the side of his face, soaking his pajamas and mixing with the milk on the floor. I called my husband at the church again. He rushed home. If anyone reading this knows Matt, look along,I think it is the right side of his face. You'll see the long scar there still. He came home from the clinic a little feverish, his face swollen and red and bluish with a long row of right-out-in-the-open stitches. There was no bandage. Do you know where Matthew and I and his sister and his brothers were at seven that evening? At the Lenten service, of course. How did I do that? Why did I do that? I can still see him lying there on my lap, asleep with his poor Frankenstein face pointing up. I don't know where my baby was. Probably his sister had him. She was a good little substitute mother. One of the church members told me later that she could hardly bear to look at Matt that night. It really grossed her out. But I was young and eager and foolish and my husband was no better. Somehow we all got through it. And we get through our quiet Easters too. We have peace now instead of excitement.