Scout Moves

My friend Joan celebrated her 50th birthday over the weekend, and we all threw a big party for her. As is her style, she made the party about all of us and not just about her, with a toast to us all as remarkable friends in her life. Some mutual friends, Steve and Sallie, decided she shouldn't have to host the thing herself, so they opened up their house to the mob, and I pitched in with some of the food and a few chairs. Two of our nieces and the husband of one of them happened to be visiting from out of town that same evening, and they joined us for a fun evening. Joan chose the menu—appetizers, filet mignon on the grill, potatoes, asparagus, plenty of wine and beer. My job was to provide the vegetables and the appetizer, and I chose to make an antipasti platter. Because we were to be 27 people in all, I made two. I think I've only done this once before, but it appealed to me because there is no cooking, and you can buy all the elements ahead of time. The trick is to make it

Here is today's column in Small Town Newspaper—you can read the entire 75-point mindset list here. ••• Every August, in anticipation of a new batch of wide-eyed freshmen, Beloit College in Wisconsin releases what it calls the Mindset List, a list of characteristics peculiar to the incoming class. Faculty started compiling this list over a decade ago to help professors tailor their references to fit a 21st-century mindset, and to help them better understand a digital generation. This year’s class members rarely wear wristwatches because they use cell phones as clocks, so pointing to your wrist doesn’t register as a gesture for asking the time. They have never seen a Kodachrome slide show, they have always had access to hundreds of television channels and most have never learned to write in cursive. It seems these cultural details have shaped their worldview and made them a unique generation. I realize that technology and society have advanced exponentially in recent years so that th

Sounds like the title of a sappy song you just have to mock, doesn't it? Like moon dust and unicorns, cuddle bears and sugar muffins. Butterfly kisses, spread your wings and fly. Blech. It's actually what came to mind yesterday when my cats were exploring the patio. I don't let them out often because they don't have claws on their front paws, and I'm afraid they'll be run over by a car. They aren't street wise cats, I'm pretty sure. My patio is fenced in, so with my supervision, they can sniff at the dirt on the cobble stones, eat the ornamental grass to vomit up later and relax in the shade. They can also chase butterflies. We have an unusual number of butterflies this year, which is nice. I've always wanted a butterfly garden, and one of my favorite things to do is wander through butterfly sanctuaries—there is one on Kelley's Island in Lake Erie, I think. Yesterday, Tiger, who is looking cute and innocent in this photo, was outside with Husband

I flipped through the latest Bon Appetit magazine and checked off nearly every recipe inside, and by that, I mean I checked them off as a "no" because one or both of the people living in this house doesn't like one ingredient or the other. I hate when an entire magazine goes to waste, and I was about to chuck it in the recycle bin when I finally found a recipe near the end. It's for cookies—World Peace Cookies. I have no idea why they are called that, but I don't care. Every single ingredient sounds good. And the best part is there are no eggs, so you can eat the raw dough without concern. The recipe follows an article about how Dorie Greenspan and her son, Josh, spent six days selling their cookies inside a friend's salon in New York City as an experiment. She said in her pop-up business test that she learned something important about people—"They like cookies. A lot!" Good lesson, especially for a cookie baker. Here is Greenspan's recipe (I hop

I haven't been given many assignments by Small Town Newspaper lately, but over the weekend, I got a good one. South of here, there is an old train depot that was a stop for soldier trains during World War II. A Salvation Army Canteen staffed with volunteer women was there to give soldiers sandwiches and coffee, and the place was nicknamed Dreamsville. You can read more about it here . I love the way the volunteer is eying the soldier in this photo—"Why, hello. Cookie, my dear? Some chewing gum, perhaps?" Every year, the Depot hosts an appreciation event for veterans of all wars, and it starts with a "ticker tape" parade down Main Street. My assignment was to go to the parade and talk to veterans to get their stories, so I showed up early in the morning on Saturday to catch them while they were lining up. Most of them were escorted in classic convertibles, and it took time to match them with their drivers. Usually when I cover an event like this with the job of &

Here is my column as it appears in today's edition of Small Town Newspaper : August is What Will Be Your Legacy month, a time when we’re supposed to put some thought into the mark we’ll leave on the world after we’re gone. Will we leave the place better than we found it, or will we leave it in tatters? Will we leave something to remember us by, or will we be completely forgotten as if we had never cast a shadow? When I think of the legacy I might bestow, I see it in terms of something left by an anonymous donor. It seems to me that a truly meaningful legacy is about the thing left more so than the person leaving it, so our contributions are the focus instead of our identities. Having a memorable name isn’t as significant as our contribution, I say, so when someone goes out of his way to make a name for himself, particularly an odd one, I don’t see the point beyond vanity. I don’t see the legacy. Gary Guy Mathews from Pennsylvania has a perfectly fine name, I think. It’s solid, the

No. 1 is a knitter, but not just any knitter. She's an extraordinary knitter and makes beautiful things. She's also learning to spin and dye fiber and design her own patterns. She just started her own blog you can read here— knitosaurus.blogspot.com —although she says people mostly want to look at pictures when they "read" blogs, so she'll be posting lots of those. Go say "hi" to No. 1 and make her feel welcome. And be amazed at what she knits.

We live in an allotment, the sort with restrictions that keep you from having things like clothes lines and shabby storage buildings and rusty old car parts in the yard. As you turn onto our street, you see that our house is the first one technically inside the boundaries of this allotment even though there is no sign. The people right next door to our house don't have the same restrictions on their property, but their yard is free of clothes lines and shabby storage buildings and rusty piles of debris. The people across the street, however— katty -corner, actually—have most of those things. Along with the shabby sheds and piles of rusty crap, they've got barking dogs kept behind a sort of privacy fence so the dogs can't see passing neighbors or deer that tend to rile them up; they've got an old trampoline and old bicycles and a portable basketball hoop with a fraction of a net; there are weeds where there is grass, and there is dirt where the grass has been worn away b

Small Town has seen some great demonstrations of generosity lately, particularly people giving generously to strangers in need. A homeless family of seven has been showered with gifts, allowing them to move out of the homeless shelter and into a rental home of their own. And a twelve-year-old girl with cystic fibrosis who wanted to raise $10,000 for Cystic Fibrosis Foundation brought in three times that amount just with local events. With those stories in mind, here is my opinion column in today's edition—you can learn more about The Giving Pledge here . ••• Some of America’s wealthiest people have made a pledge, The Giving Pledge, and they have written letters stating they intend to give the majority of their net worth to charity during their lifetime or after death. The signers are free to give to any causes of their choosing, their pledge is not legally binding and no one with any authority will hold them accountable if they fall short of the mark. Some of the names on the list

Here is today's column in Small Town Newspaper : This coming Friday morning, in the hours between midnight and dawn, the Perseid meteor shower will reach its peak, and I intend to be a witness if I have to turn the sky inside out to do it. The Perseid may not be the most spectacular meteor shower of the year, but it’s one of the most regular, and it offers us a chance to be amazed by nature. NASA experts predict we may see as many as 40 to 60 meteors per hour. And they suggest choosing a viewing spot with few ground lights—if you can see the Little Dipper, you’ll be able to see meteors, they say. The Perseid shower is so named because it appears to emanate from the constellation Perseus, but it’s actually debris from Comet Swift-Tuttle’s dust cloud. Every year about this time, Earth passes through this cloud, and our gravity sucks out tiny particles. The bits of debris hurtle toward the Earth at thousands of miles per hour, smash into our atmosphere and burst into flames, shooting

Just Sayin' is feeling nappish, I'm afraid. This coming Sunday, it will turn four, and well, it's a little tired. I'm thinking about letting it rest it's weary head for a while, although I may still post opinion columns and the occasional photo or recipe. We'll see. While I mull this over, here are some more photos from Romania. The Young Ones, those other volunteers I worked with, are home now, all except one who will still be there for another week or so, and they are starting to post pictures. I've borrowed some to fill in the blanks, although I'm afraid I can't credit the photographer because I didn't keep track of who posted what. First, I've described how our food was prepared in one location by a few hard-working women, and it was our responsibility to fetch our meals from this kitchen every lunch and dinner. Here is where the women cooked in kettles over open flames. By American standards, this may not look too sanitary, but I was nev

Small Town Newspaper allows for commenting on most of their opinion pieces, including what they call 30 Seconds, and the name-calling that goes back and forth between my loving townfolk makes my head spin. And in all of it, these people clickety clacking on their computers can't seem to discuss topics without resorting to petty insults. It isn't just Small Town that does it—it seems to be a nation-wide pastime. So, I wrote this for today's column. I can't wait to see if there will be any comments later today when when this appears at the paper's website. I Know You Are, But What Am I As a nation, we’ve got some heavy issues to sort out, don’t we? We need all hands on deck to solve our problems, all minds sharp and focused on the real issues. Immigration reform, banking reform, a forward-thinking energy plan, fluctuating tax codes, a high rate of unemployment and two wars draining the coffers are the main concerns that come to mind. There are states with gay rights a