Pre-Ramble:  I almost want to hide under my bed for a couple of days until this all blows over, or at least until a third event happens to take the curse off.  I’m talking about crashes. 

First there was the “give-us-a-reality-show-couple” who crashed the state dinner at the White House last Tuesday night.  And then there was the curious case of Tiger Woods crashing his SUV into a tree at 2:30 in the morning … (… and his wife Elin broke into the vehicle with a golf club? … Really??)

I know what you’re thinking here. If history serves, the third crash should be coming any minute now, and it’s more than likely to be my computer. As you may recall, I have had the unfortunate distinction of having my computer crash twice in a two year period. (Surely, you could hear the kvetching and screaming from there … )

First, it was a faulty “reader arm” (!) … The second time, … I forget what the reason was (more like, I am blocking the trauma from conscious memory) … But I clearly remember that it wasn’t pretty, and I still have the dead hard drive right here on my desk to remind me to count my blessings (and back up my data) every day. 

The Take-Away: Just a gentle holiday reminder to back up your data, … and while you’re at it, buckle up your seat belt, eat all your vegetables, and don’t forget to floss. 

Post-Note: I’m not really superstitious, but if you don’t hear from me for the next 6 months, you’ll know what happened.  … ( … You don’t suppose that keeping the fried hard drive court-side brings bad Karma to my chi, do you?)

Pre-Ramble:  Hi everybody — it’s me Daisy!  As is our Thanksgiving tradition, I will be your guest-blogger today. Mom is in the kitchen mincing meat or something, and I have been assigned the task of providing color commentary on the parade and sounding the alert when the Snoopy balloon comes up Broadway. Personally, I’m kind of partial to the Energizer Bunny, Mr. Potato Head and the new Pillsbury Doughboy (shown right), but since I’m a white dog with contrasting ear coloring, people just assume that I’m a Snoopy fan.

If you want to know the truth, I can really take or leave the whole balloon thing – and the parade, for that matter (… if you’ve seen one lip-synched show tune, you’ve seen ‘em all …  And while we’re grousing, what the heck is Cyndi Lauper doing on the Barbie Dream Castle float?!?)

But, so, if we’re talking about Thanksgiving – I’m all about pies.

Sure, turkey is the mainstay, … divine smells wafting through the house. And, the stuffing!  The great thing about stuffing is that it’s all chunky and loose and lots of it usually ends up on the floor. Same goes for gravy … especially during the concoction phase.  Invariably, puffy oven mitts clumsily grasp the edges of unwieldy roasting pans and before you can say, “Over here, Daisy!” the pan drippings are running down the side of the counter into the splash zone.  Toss in a little Chex-mix and some cranberry sauce (the real deal, NOT the vacu-form can-shaped kind) and you’ve got a real treat. 

But, so, yeah … pie … preferably pumpkin pie, is the most excellent part of the Thanksgiving feast.  As always, my array of pies will be stellar again this year. I will be making the traditional recipe and a couple of variations that involve zested citrus rind and a walnut-gingersnap crust. I thought about trying the apple-and-dried-fruit spice pie , but the lattice topper is tough to do without opposable thumbs … (And really, the fruit and nut stuff is pretty similar to the type of fare that I can scare up in the backyard). 

Well, no discourse on the Thanksgiving holiday would be complete without a nod to the real reason we celebrate this tradition. Like you, and the early colonists at Plymouth Plantation, I know that I have a lot to be thankful for — a bottomless bowl of kibble, lots of room to roam, a patch of carpet that gets the afternoon sun, and a family that scratches me behind the ears and tells me I’m cute. Love, family, and all the creature comforts of hearth and home – what more could a dog ever ask for?

The Take-Away:  That, plus a nice warm piece of pie, and the rest is gravy.

Pre-Ramble: So, I was standing in line at Target, and the person in front of me (a Gen-Xer) was buying some kind of cartoon-covered fleece blanket thing. I wasn’t really studying the items in this person’s cart; I was mostly minding my own business waiting in line, but I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation.

So, the cashier (also a Gen-Xer) made an offhand comment to the blanket person about the cartoon – something like, “What is that cartoon?” … and the person said, “I don’t know – I think it is something from before … something about a moose and a squirrel.“ 

Before?!? … 

Something about a moose and a squirrel ?!? …

Ok – I am more than willing to let that “Before” part go, but, … I’m sorry, … these are artifacts from my childhood we’re talking about here!  Never mind that the actual animations were pedantic and drab, and that the plot lines were beyond stupid … No one is going to disparage MY Rocky and Bullwinkle with this kind of blaze’, dismissive tone!

Wait a minute … You remember “The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show,” don’t you? … Circa 1960-something? … Rocket “Rocky” J. Squirrel and his dopey side-kick Bullwinkle? … The Moose? … Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale??  Fractured Fairy Tales? Dudley Do-Right? Somebody was always getting hit on the head by the gnarly little fairy-in-drag who randomly lowered into the frame on a rope … ?  Boris and Natasha were always getting in and out of a low-slung black town-car, or running aimlessly toward or away from some horrific threat … ?  Gosh, I miss the Cold War.  Conflict was so simple back then; things were either black or white ( … or red).

Actually, it was all really stupid. Back then, before our parents knew what a corrosive force the miracle of television was on our suggestible young minds, we would sit for hours, watching whatever came onto the screen.  Back then, I’m pretty sure I just tolerated Rocky and Bullwinkle as a means to an end … It was on just before some other show that I really liked.  Now, in the peachfuzzy distance of hindsight, the program seems so much more endearing and amusing. 

The Take-Away:  What can I say? Memories are memories, and the older you get, presumably, the more you’ll have.  I haven’t thought about Rocky and Bullwinkle in 20 years a bunch of years.  Funny how a simple reference can spur so much recollection.  Maybe it’s one of those things that improves over time (like us!) … 

Nope.  The reason why the Baby Boom generation is such a categorically dysfunctional bunch is clear.

Pre-Ramble: “Late one Christmas Eve, after the town as gone to sleep, a young boy boards the mysterious train that waits for him: the Polar Express bound for the North Pole.”

Pack your trunk, … All aboard, … the train is ready to leave the station.  Yep, the illustrious train room (as discussed in my previous post and shown below), is finally ready to be unveiled in the upcoming Holiday Home Tour benefit for Children’s Hospital.  Hour upon hour of blood, sweat and plaster have come to an end as every last train, track and timber is poised for action.

The Take-Away:  Here, after thirteen years, like “The Little Engine that Could,” a fantastical vision is realized – and shared. It’s never too late to act on the ideas that you have in your mind.

Post-Note (with all punsterism acknowledged): In a departure from the warm fuzzy, carpe-diem message above, I came across this highly amusing little bit of magic — a breakfast cereal put out by none other than Post … a Limited Edition Cereal called the Polar Express.  An elementary school teacher apparently unearthed this at her local Giant Eagle grocery store and describes it thusly:

It’s like chocolate Lucky Charms with marshmallows in the shapes of bells, trains, mountains, snowflakes and reindeer. Being the teacher that I am and a HUGE Polar Express fan, I am sure many heard me shout when I saw this in the cereal aisle … Wouldn’t this be fun to eat after reading the book to your class? You could pass out a baggie to each student and have them sort the marshmallow bits and then make a graph of the marshmallow bits they have!  I have created a sorting and graphing sheet for you to use.”

If you want a real treat, sharpen your pencils and take a ride over to the “teaching heart” website.

Pre-Ramble:  I have been side-tracked for the past several days and have not had time to pound out my usual pithy and insightful blog-fare. 

Well, since you asked, I have been helping my friend with a neat little project that he has going in his basement. It sounds like he’s making whiskey (at a couple of points in the project I’m sure he wished that that was actually the case), but the fact is, this guy has been collecting antique trains for the past 20 years and has recently incorporated his collection into an incredible display that runs throughout the lower level of his house (work in progress at right).

Naturally, his wife is thrilled. What woman wouldn’t embrace the hours and hours and undoubtedly thousands of dollars that this quirky hobby has consumed? While I would ordinarily take this opportunity to sling judgment all over the silly, indulgent whims of men (you’ve heard me rail against my own beloved husband for the countless hours he spends stalking ebay for golf rule books and clubbing a tiny white ball into a hole in the ground), I must say that this train project has captured my fancy.

It’s not really about the trains, although they are amazing.  The six to eight miniature replicas of real trains are controlled by a computer software program and run on multi-level tracks including one constructed out of Lucite and copper piping that is suspended from the ceiling and disappears into walls through tiny pebble covered “tunnels” between rooms. The model trains carry passengers, coal and other traditional train cargo, they are lit both inside and out, and they have their own sound effects including steam, chugging, clicking, clacking, clanging and conductors yelling – effects that echo through the basement spaces via the built-in surround sound system.

There is a small village, roads, bridges, depots, mountains, ski slopes, a skating rink, moving gondolas, a baseball field, a jetty into a harbor, trees, oil rigs, cars, people and a mini Mount Rushmore. This is basically a giant dollhouse with bells and whistles.

For me, the best part of all this is that, by some quirk of fate, I got roped into was assigned the delicate task of painting the miniature mountainscape.

!!

While it’s true that I have a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, a quick scan of my resume will tell you that “paints miniature mountainscapes” is not one of my skill sets. The last time I painted something even remotely similar was back in the mid-80’s when a photographer asked if I would paint an 15 ft. background gradating from “day blue” to “night blue” that he could use for a cold remedy shot. Though I had never held a paint brush in my life, I said, “Sure,” and spent the next several days mixing, tweaking and slapping various shades of white, blue and black paint onto a canvas taped to the studio floor. Lucky for me (and for the photographer), the backdrop turned out great, the cough drop shot was awesome, and I came away from the experience with a newfound passion for painting.

The Take-Away: Painting my friend’s miniature mountainscape and being a small part of his ambitious vision has been challenging and fun.  Anyone who has ever mixed paint knows about the mind shift that takes place as you search for just the right tones and hues among the dabs and swirls of pigment at the end of your brush … Figuring out what color a winter mountain should be, … finding just the right shades of grey to bring out the stones around the tunnel archway, … scouring the north metro for the kind of clear glitter that gives snowcaps just the right amount of sparkle … all of this definitely pulled me out of my comfort zone and gave new parts of my right brain a whirl. 

The bottom line is, you never know what opportunities are going to cross your path, and you never really know what you can do until you do it. Sometimes you’ve just got to throw on an old sweatshirt and mix it up a little.

Pre-Ramble: In theory, “spring forward“ seems way better than the annual Daylight Savings “fall back” event.  Who wants to go backwards, let alone fall there?  (I would rather slam my hand in a car door than re-live junior high.)  Besides, I am definitely a “spring forward” kind of gal.  I am all about leaping into the future full of vim and vigor to wring the most out of the exciting possibilities that lie ahead.  

Upon closer observation, however, I’ve discovered that the “fall back” is really the desirable option here.  As twisty and turny as Alice’s trip through Wonderland, the discrepancy between the “spring forward/fall back” language and meaning is actually quite deceptive. 

Turns out the clumsy and degenerative terms “fall” and “back“ actually represent the bonus extra hour opportunity, while the energetic and progressive ”spring” and “forward“ are all about the lose-an-hour-of-sleep-and-be-late-for-everything scenario.  !!

How many times have you said to yourself, “Oh, if I only had an extra hour in a day” … ?  Well, quit your whining!  Here’s your opportunity to tack on the extra hour and live it up!  The following are some suggestions to get you started:

1. Play the Minute Waltz 60 times
2. Boil a 5 minute egg 12 times
3. Run 6.6 miles (or 1.6 miles if you’re really slow)
4. Play 4 holes of golf (or 2 holes of golf if you take twice as many shots as a normal golfer)
5. Paint your fingernails and toenails, and the nails of 4 of your friends, with Sally Hansen’s Dries in One-Minute polish
6. Bake a pan of brownies (includes, opening box, adding ingredients, mixing it up, baking time and cooling)
7. Eat a pan of warm brownies
8. Read “Goodnight Moon” to a 5-year-old (includes sounding out words and the random Q&A)
9. Do whatever it is you do when you say “Just a minute … ” (Note: this always takes longer than 1 minute.)
10. Well, it is going to take me at least 20 minutes to set all the clocks back an hour … (except the one in my car which is conveniently set at Daylight Savings Time on a permanent basis)

The Take-Away:  Time is ticking! … What fabulous things are you going to do with your extra hour?