Wordless Wednesday: Up in the Air.

5:00 Fridays

Today's 5:00 Fridays is a guest post from one of my favorite bloggers. We haven't met (yet) in person, but I think I might squee and pee when I get to belly up to a bar with this fellow mama of boys. I imagine it will pan out a lot like when I met my lovely Caroline for the first time.

Meet Melissa, sweet Melissa. Green Girl in Wisconsin. Click over on that thar link and read some of her stuff. Then sign up for the RSS feed. She's a whole lot of awesomeness and smack talk.


When Ilina (and many, many other East Coast bloggers) wrote about their Snowmeggedon, I totally sympathized. After all, I live in Wisconsin, land of the Nanook, the Frozen Tundra, the legendary Ice Bowl. Ten inches of fluffy stuff to us is commonplace where everyone owns a parka, snow boots and tire chains. Between snowmobiles, skis, sleds and snow shoes, we make the most of winter here.

The time of year we hate here is early spring, when the temperatures warm up to 36 degrees--enough to turn pure white bountiful flakes into a slushy, dirty, sloppy mess. It coats our cars, it tracks into our houses and leaves charcoal-colored puddles on the floors. Children are resigned to playing around the puddles in their driveways. Snowmobile trails close, ski hills shut down, and while the rest of the country enjoys mild weather, we curse the ice floes clogging up our rivers and the mountains of gritty slush stubbornly blocking the storm sewers along the roads. We wait impatiently--staring out the windows at the gray landscape. Whether farmer, baseball player, teacher or fisherman, early spring is a cruel time.

Regardless of the calendar, whether it's a hot summer night, a blizzard or the slow thaw of spring, one cocktail brings a smile to the faces of people living in Northeast Wisconsin. The Dirty Snowball. A recipe developed and perfected at Cleo's Brown Beam Tavern, Dirty Snowballs are as potent as Long Island Iced Tea and more delicious than fudge brownies.

I told Theresa she needs this legendary recipe because soon all that snow will start to melt, leaving behind snowdrifts pockmarked by auto exhaust and gravel. When her two boys are outside chucking dirty snowballs at each other, she can stand at the window and watch--while tossing back her own Dirty Snowballs.

Dirty Snowball (the real recipe from Cleo's Brown Beam Tavern*)

1 shot vodka
1 shot dark creme de cacao
1 shot coffee liqueur
1 shot cream
ice

Blend to the consistency of slush.

*I searched the internet to find this recipe to no avail. Many other "Dirty Snowball" drinks exist, but they call for Bailey's and Mint Schnapps--NOT the same drink we toast and get toasted on in Northeast Wisconsin! I knew that Cleo's used vodka in this cocktail, so I went straight to the source and asked one of their bartenders. This, Ilina, is the real deal!

And further cause for celebration...

This year Cleo's Brown Beam Tavern turns 40 years old. Named both for the original owner and for the beams that stretch across the ceiling, Cleo's is known also for its crazy decor. The first Christmas after it opened, Cleo never took down the decorations. Since then, decorations from EVERY holiday have been added by patrons, making the interior truly unique and memorable. Name the holiday and tacky decor and you will find it somewhere inside Cleo's!

5:00 Fridays

Photo courtesy of Laurie White:
Photo courtesy of Laurie White:

Photo courtesy of Brenda Bartella Peterson:



I hear that some people in my viewing area have been hit with just a tish of snow.

Prepare yourself for a sidebar here:

When I was in about third grade I recall writing a story about where snow comes from. This was a creative writing assignment, not a science paper. I mean, really, I might have fared better in science class had there been more writing and less calculating. I didn't even know that snowflakes have six sides until Bird (who's 6) told me. All I knew is that each snowflake is unique and that that fact makes for a tired metaphor. Nothing like digressing in a sidebar that is already a digression of sorts. Anyway, I wrote a rather in-depth folkloric tale, replete with glitter in my illustrations, about snow. My story was that every time the angels combed their hair it snowed. My teacher hated it. She visibly shuddered. Back then we didn't need to pad self-esteem to the Nth degree and pat kids on the back for every gosh darn pea they ate and pee they tinkled. My teacher even took me into the hall for a good old fashioned talking-to.

You see, I equated snow with angel dandruff. Apparently angels are holy creatures not to be taken snidely. And apparently that little itch was totally telling my teacher something. I was too young to be irreverent; I was just being creative. So I thought. Lesson learned: Some people are very touchy about their dandruff.

Here in Raleigh we got some snow too. All of four inches. We missed three days of school. I'm not mathy but I think that figure to an average of about a day or so for every inch. I donated almost three times that much hair and didn't get a day off. When it snows here it's equal parts glorious novelty and pain in the arse. The novelty wears off as quickly as the white stuff melts. The pain in the arse lingers since the yard is pretty much a sodden mush pit now. From mosh pit to much pit in the course of a few years. Such is the plight of those of us who grow up.

Since our snow left us as quickly as you can blow dandruff off your shoulder, I'm honoring my friends just over the state line and beyond with today's drink. My pal Colin was serving these the first night it snowed here. I hear the plows aren't making much headway so you must have some untouched snow to use. Word to the wise, leave the yellow snow alone.

This cocktail is Head & Shoulders above the rest.


Snow Cream

Fresh snow
Bourbon
Vanilla
Maple syrup (The real deal only, folks!)
Cream

Fill a tumbler with fresh snow. Add a shot or two of bourbon, dash of vanilla, tablespoon or so of maple syrup, and a healthy pour of cream. Stir ever so slightly. Keep this one pure and don't add garnish.


Remember, the more you drink, the more quickly the snow will go away. Be your own plow.

When life gives you snow, make snow creams.

When life gives you dandruff, make a trip to CVS for Head & Shoulders.

Wordless Wednesday: Defiance.

My Glass is Half Full. Of Ice.

I haven't seen the teens in about 10 years. I was finishing graduate school in Chicago then. That was my teensy skooch back to the East after eight year stints in Minneapolis and Madison. By teens I mean temps, natch. My own teen years were over two decades ago, and that's the tail end of the rotten pubescent, lemming, un self-aware, unconfident, dorky stuff that make one's teen years so memorable, despite how hard we try to forget.

The temperatures here in Raleigh are taking after stock market line graphs of late and taking a steep dive southward. I didn't move here for this. I remember many a winter not even needing a coat in these parts. It was a welcome change from the mummyesque layering I endured waiting for the bus on 44th Street in Minneapolis or the whip of lake wind chilling me inside out in Chicago. I never did acclimate, despite 10 years out there. Things weren't so bad in Madison because we lived in our own little version of Melrose Place so we rarely had to leave home. That, and we often indulged in Wisconsin's most notable export.

In light of all this frigid weather, folks in North Carolina remind me a lot of the good people of Minnesota. All they talk about is the weather. Instead of the usual "Happy New Year" store clerks remark this time of year (I'll give a week more before I start calling people on the importance of message timeliness.), they call out, "Stay warm!" as they bid you farewell. The neighborhood is quiet, eerily peaceful. No kids. No dogs. Um, why does it seem I'm the only one out walking my dog in these tundra temps?

I'm trying to see some silver lining here. Ice is silvery, right? I'm generally a glass-half-full kind of girl. If you find yourself whooping it up and need to be knocked down a few notches, gimme a call. My alter ego is Debbie Downer. I can make you cringe, cry, or croak in a matter of minutes. Mac Daddy is my optimistic counterpart. He sees the good in everything, which is highly annoying and makes me irritable as hell. I sure hope our sons don't inherit this trait and make their future wives ornery. Sometimes a girl just wants to look into her soap spotted empty wine glass and bitch.

It being 2010, a new year and a new decade and all, I've decided to try on Mac Daddy's disposition. I'm afraid it won't suit me at all but I'm going to give the old college try (Wherever does that term come from?! I surely don't want my boys to try half the stuff I tried in college!). Here's my first, if not feeble, attempt to see the glass half full.

Reasons to not hate the cold weather:

1. No snakes in my yard.
2. Ignored dog poop freezes and is easier to clean up. Granted, Mac Daddy is the often the one faced with this since I jet back inside as soon as Lark has done his business.
3. Children chat less when they are cold because the are busy experiencing chattering teeth.
4. It's perfectly acceptable to have dead leaves, grass, plants and such in one's yard.
5. Snuggling.
6. The Snuggie (never mind that I wear Deal's kid sized one that he got for Christmas).
7. No mosquitoes.
8. I don't have to shave.
9. Jeans and sweaters hide more dietary sins than tank tops and shorts.
10. Boots. Way better than flip flops.
11. Oysters are in season.
12. Beer gets cold quickly if you put it in a cooler on the patio.
13. It's cold and flu season, giving me a fine excuse not to shake hands with people.
14. Conversation common denominator makes it easy to talk to anyone.
15. Scarves hide hickeys (I mean, for those trashy girls who get those kissy bruises. Blech.)
16. Knee socks. (I know Denise at Eat Play Love has my back on this one.)
17. Hot Buttered Rum, Hot Toddies, , Hot Sake, Hot Cider, Hot Chocolate
18. Comfort food.
19. I get wear to that cute chenille hat and scarf set I bought ages ago. Be sure to compliment me profusely if you see me sporting it.
20. An excuse to chill out (pardon the expression) with a good read or a must-see flick.

So tell me, what makes the snot freezing temps more palatable for you?

5:00 Fridays

It seems that longitude and latitude have gone a bit haywire. How is it that Raleigh, North Carolina has swapped places with soggy Seattle. Or perhaps my fair city is doing a do-si-do with drizzly London. As I sit here writing the rain is thrashing against the windows, Mother Nature's drumbeat beckoning the sprouts from the red earth. Rain can be poetic, indeed it was the perfect backdrop for the end of Breakfast at Tiffany's. But enough with the water logging, Mother Nature. I.Can't.Take.It.Anymore.

Perhaps a couple swigs of this will assuage my soaked, and decidedly crabby, disposition of late. Thanks to the fine folks at Rain Organics Vodka for this delightful cocktail concoction.

Sidebar: The glass bottle of Rain is so fantastic that I have saved an empty one to turn into a kicky little one-of-a-kind lamp. So who can help me craft such a lamp? I'm just an ideas girl here, I'm not handy or crafty.


Rain-Tea-Ni

2 shots of Rain vodka (organic vodka!)
mint iced tea (I like my just a tish sweetened. I am in the South, after all.)

Grab your chilled martini glass (You do still keep them chilled, right?). Add the vodka, top it off with mint iced tea. Garnish with a lemon wedge and sprig of mint.

Now get out there and a Stop-the-Rain dance. The more Rain-Tea-Nis you drink, the more effective your dancing becomes.

5:00 Fridays

There's been a chill in my bones ever since Mac Daddy and I stood out in the teen temps in DC for inauguration. I just can't seem to shake the cold, my body seemingly covered in goosebumps for the long haul to spring. I'm so hotly clad in fleece, fluffy shearling slippers, and a scarf at any given time of day. A sexy sight to behold, I'm telling you. I'm considering getting some of those fingerless gloves to wear around the house too. And for you readers from the tundra states, I could use a pair of ear muffs. Perhaps it was a mistake to whack off 11 inches of hair in the dead of winter. Brrr.....

So in an effort to warm up, I'm making a Hot Toddy today. And for those of who know me, you are well aware that I have my very own personal Hot Toddy with me every night. hubba hubba


Hot Toddy
1 oz light rum (Mac Daddy prefers to use whiskey, but that stuff gets all up in my nostrils and makes me shudder.)
1 teaspooon honey (I use a heaping teaspoon.)
1 slice of lemon studded with a few whole cloves
1/4 teaspoon of grated ginger (Do not, I repeat, do not, use the powdered stuff that's been sitting on a grocery shelf for months. Freshly grated ginger only. Omit this if you don't have any on hand.)

Combine the rum, honey, lemon slice, and ginger in a big ole mug. Add hot water to fill. Stir with a cinnamon stick, which does double duty as garnish.

I feel the chill vanishing already.

A Hurricane's Toxic Aftermath

What would you expect if your old uninvited pals Ike, Katrina, Hugo, and Andrew crashed your party? I suppose banshee wild winds, thrashing rains, upturned tree roots, toppled garbage cans, soggy sofas, tangled utility poles, and muckity mud would accompany them. The din of nature arching her overworked back and bellowing her tribal chant would make plugging your ears fruitless.

Reporters would show up in throngs doing man-on-the-street interviews. We'd all watch Headline News in passing at the gym and ooh and aah over the downed magnolia trees and dangling power lines. We might hear about some Red Cross aid hotline and sheltering of ASPCA animals, but after 48 hours something novel from Hollywood would capture our short attention spans. All eyes off those uninvited pals. All eyes off their innocent victims who didn't even want to attend the blow out.

The health and safety issues go unnoticed. Their overall scope completely neglected, misunderstood, nullified. The truth is, the aftermath of Ike has had long-term, devastating effects that go beyond traffic lights that swing with empty sockets. Have you considered what happens to the sewage, industrial pollutants, refineries, and such? We take our infrastructure for granted, expecting to see clear water run through our faucets as we mix formula for our babies and sip to quell out thirst in the raw heat. No fear of chemicals and waste crosses our minds. Clean water is an inalienable right, right?

So why don't we hear about the victims of Ike and their struggles with the most basic of needs? Read this to get some firsthand perspective. Put yourself in the shoes of those moms and dads who are tirelessly and fiercely protecting their families. And then ask why the media only tells us half the story.

When will it Spring?

This time of year makes me antsy. The way I feel about spring is the way Bird and Deal feel for the weeks, no months, thanks to marketing, leading up to Christmas. I'm not anxious to open the wrapped loot under the tree. I just want to free my feet. Spring marks pedicure season, which means sandal season. I don't need an excuse to buy shoes, but the turn to warmer days is a pretty damn good one.

I'm just itching to rip off my socks and boots and sport some cute little wedge sandals with a flirty sundress or don flip flops with madras shorts and a tank top. Sweaters, coats, tights and the whole ilk of winter wear are so confining. I hate layers. I hate coats. I hate shivering. Chattering teeth is so unbecoming. I left 10 years of frozen snot and icy eyelashes behind when we moved from the midwest 6 years ago. I miss the novelty of snow but not enough to ever go back.

I remember waiting and waiting and waiting for spring in Minneapolis. March would march right by in a whirl of snow. April showered us with cold rain and ice. May flirted with spring, but winter kept her gloved grasp tightly on the thermometer. June brought a glimpse of spring so brief that it really just melded into summer like two colors of Playdoh squished together. I felt like Margot in the Ray Bradbury story "All Summer in a Day," just waiting to feel the warm rays of sun on my toes. That story still wrenches my heart. I will read it to my boys one day to illustrate the utter cruelty that bullies can inflict. It is a sunny, albeit chilly, day as I write this. I shudder even now to think of Margot.

Spring fashion brings out the best in us (see me jockeying for another excuse to shop?). No more hiding that spare tire under a puffy vest and Irish knit sweater. Show off those gams you've been working on all winter! Be proud of the shoulders you've sculpted! Shed those constricting clothes! Exfoliate! Wear blue eyeliner! Paint your toenails! I don't know about you, but my toes are ready for a brush of I'm Not Really a Waitress. Red toenails simply make me happy. Let me clarify, my own red toenails make me happy. I'm not much into other people's feet. But you know as well as I do, that like well groomed brows, polished toenails look waaaaayyy better than the colorless mess they are unadorned.

Spring colors rejuvenate us all, adding a kick in our step. And I'm not just talkin' fashion hues. I am stockpiling recipes to try with the new bounty of vegetables our farmers' market brings. Strawberries! Swiss chard! Lettuces and greens galore! The drab colors of winter's root vegetables give way to produce's version of the Crayola box of 64.

Bring on spring. Its glorious food and fashion are beckoning.