And she does dishes.
Monthly Archives: March 2013
Acclimated
Here in Chicago, we are celebrating the First Day of Spring by discussing our wind-chill factor. Guess what? That reminds me of a story!
When I moved to Chicago from more temperate climes, I had not heard of this thing called “wind-chill factor.” I’d certainly never seen it in print. So here’s what I heard, and what ginny-logic computed:
“Windshield factor.”
Because if it can be hot enough to fry an egg on the hood of your car, this cold factor must mean something about the temperature on the windshield of your car.
Go ahead and laugh.
I’m used to it.
Kilty-Caul-Bum
It is called a “Proustian phenomenon,” when a smell brings back distant memories. Look it up — it involves Marcel Proust and some tea biscuits. My current Proustian flashback is because my house smells like corned beef and cabbage right now, and my memory just belly-laughed at the time we went downtown to watch little Ginger walk in the Paddy’s Day parade with her friend Colleen.
Colleen invited Ginger to walk with her family and her grandfather’s Irish Social Club. And Colleen’s mother hatched a plan that would get the girls noticed by the television cameras: Dress them in cute costumes that can be seen from a distance.
So Sheila and I cut giant shamrocks from leftover carpet padding, and spray-painted them green. And that’s what our little second-grade daughters wore in the 1990 Chicago St. Patrick’s Day Parade. And sure and begorra, they were noticed, the dears. By the Chicago Tribune, as well as the television cameras! This is their photo on the front page of the Trib, March 18, 1990.
But that’s not the funny part. This is the funny part…
A ginger-haired young man, still dressed in his kilt, had apparently marched with his pipe and drum corps, and had circled back to walk with his wife, who was pushing a baby stroller. ‘Twas a brisk day in Chicago, ’twas. And me sitting on the curb a-waiting to spy me own chiseller all dressed like a shamrock, so. The little family paused right in front of me. The baby was fussy. So the kilted young daddy bent over to coo at his bitty wee “babby.” A chilly breeze came up, and so did the daddy’s fine tartan. He didn’t even notice my squeal, or the colorful exclamation of the sistah sitting next to me. He just walked on, pleased to be Irish in Chicago.
I can confirm two things.
They wear nothing under their kilts.
And he was a natural redhead.
Strike a Pose
Today, Miss Pixie came to work with me for the second time. The first time was on Tuesday, for a meet and greet. She was very, very well behaved, except that she pocketed a lot of unsuspecting hearts. And it only took three people telling me that she should do a photo shoot, for me to suddenly remember (like the American President and his rose garden) that it turns out we have a photo studio.
I came home at lunchtime, packed a diaper bag tote full of props, toys, treats, newspapers, enzyme “accident” spray, and paper towels. Then tucked the baby puppy into her carrier seat crate, and off we went, for her close-up.
Our staff photographer is a really good egg, and didn’t mind that Pixie “marked” a spot, or ate the masking tape, or chewed the white paper background sweep. He got down on his belly, and got eye to eye with the Divine Miss P, who, incidentally loves the camera. As in, she tried to eat it a few times. I honestly couldn’t imagine that Chris would get anything usable, but…
…you be the judge.
Thief of Hearts
She’s worn out from bouncing in the snow, so I’ll take advantage of the peace and quiet to catch you up.
It started last Saturday night, when LuAnn showed me a photo of a darling corgi pup on her iPhone. Her boss’s dogs–real working cattle-herding corgis–had a single puppy, but they cannot add one more dog to their farm right now. So they were about ready to list the puppy for sale. And LuAnn was perfectly serious, when she said that she thought we ought to take it. This is the photo from LuAnn’s phone.
I spent the next 36 hours playing the yes-no-yes-no-yes-no game in my head. On Sunday night, I couldn’t fall asleep. What if this was meant to be, and there’s a reason LuAnn told me about this puppy? There’d been signs, too. I learned that corgis are descended from schipperkes. And Queen Elizabeth was in the news on Sunday, because she was in the hospital. So I made a deal with myself: If I dreamt about the puppy AND named her in my dream, it would be a sign that I should have her.
At 3:00 in the morning, I woke up, went downstairs, and wrote this note to myself.
I went to work on Monday, all twitterpated. I didn’t know what to do. When Chris asked me how I’d feel if someone else took the puppy, that did it. I called Bill, who called Dave, who called LuAnn, who spoke to her boss. And so the puppy would be mine! To tease me, LuAnn sent this photo of the puppy in her family’s mudroom.
During the week, we had some fun at PetSmart.
We could have saved a few bucks, because these are her toys of choice.
And these, which are now safe in the hall closet.
I took her into my arms on Friday afternoon. Yesterday, she rode home in my lap, from the lake house to Chicago. We are bonding, mostly over my ankles and toes. I say OUCH and she says ROUGH.
We call her Pixie, but her Official Name is Pickpocket, because she stole my heart.
Charlie Brown Was Right
Happiness is a warm puppy.
Please say hello to the newest member of our family. She’s a Pembroke Welsh Corgi (with her tail intact).
I’ll write the story soon.
Because, of course, there is a story.
Indiana Nectar
Welcome to Amateur Photography Hour in my kitchen. I have just back-lit a jar of homemade maple syrup, using a mini LED flashlight, held in place with duct tape. And I think it is fitting, because this particular maple syrup is freshly made by Dave. It was still warm, when he handed it to me on Saturday.
Dave and LuAnn are our friends and saviors down in Indiana. We don’t know what we’d do without them. I think they’d be flattered to be described as MacGyver meets Paula Deen meets Duck Dynasty. Gosh, I know I would.
Want to see how Dave makes his maple syrup? Let’s go. And let’s assume you know about the tree buckets and stuff. Raise your hand, if you don’t.
Dave decants the fresh sap “water” into the big white barrel. And then he uses that swinging spigot to fill the two nearest pots, which are the warming pots.
The sap boils and cooks down in the warming pots, and then is filtered (not shown) and dipped into the two pans farthest from the barrel. Those pans bubble and thicken into syrup, also regularly filtered (again, not shown).
Look at this golden deliciousness. And it still has some cooking-down to go.
Dave’s everyday/everynight fire pit is rigged with wind breaks and extra grates. He pretty much babysits the process 24/4. He and LuAnn sleep in the camper, just yards from the pit, so that in the wee hours they can stumble to stoke the fire and change out the simmering syrup.
And I have to say that seeing the smoke and sweat that went into my maple syrup just makes it all the sweeter.
Murmuration
Yesterday morning, I looked out the kitchen window of the lake house and saw something I’d never seen before, in the stripped-down winter forest. I called for Bill to come look. Actually, I think I might have screamed, because I actually have seen it before. And it looked like THIS.
Bill and I stood out on the kitchen porch, and experienced a massive starling migration. A murmuration of starlings. Waves upon waves upon waves of black starlings swarmed up from the lake and over the house and into the forest. Landing in the dry leaves, then taking off again, landing in the branches, then taking off, swirling and calling. The sound was just terrifying. Bill kept trying to hand his iPhone to me to take a picture. I absolutely could not. I am about to cry right now, just writing about it. Thank you very much, Mr. Hitchcock.
Here is a photo from the internet, to give you an idea of what it looked like. I don’t take credit for this photo, but I have no idea to whom I should give it. Probably to someone who never saw pretty, young Suzanne Pleshette get pecked to death by birds.
And yes, I did have nightmares last night.
ginnygram 