Scout Moves

So, I have this sinus thing going on, or something. It's not quite a sinus infection, and it's not the flu, so maybe it's just a cold. I don't know, but I resorted to taking an over-the-counter pill for it. I never take medicine—hardly ever get a headache, never go to the doctor, don't take useless things for a cold. But this sinus thing seemed like it needed a pill. So, I bought a box of Sinutab, half day-time and half night-time, and I took a night-time pill a couple of days ago right before my weary head hit the pillow. I slept all night long without interruption, which is rare, and when I woke up yesterday morning, I thought that was a good sign. I thought that until I got past the quietness of morning and tried to communicate, and I discovered I was unable to string two words together or even think of single words. I was fumbling through my blog post and would get stuck on the simplest word. I would snap my fingers and say, "What's that word...what'

Am I going to have to make my own ravioli, or what? Since we're staying home for New Year's Eve, we're planning our traditional Plan B. That's where we go to the lake house, eat a staggered meal with Champagne and watch movies. It's what we do when we don't take a winter trip. In previous years, I have made stuffed lobster tail, but we're tired of that, so this year, we've got a new menu that goes like this: • Goat cheese crostini with orange marmalade • Dried cranberry salad on endive leaves • Individual brie en croute • Roasted duck with butternut squash ravioli and broccoli rabe • Espresso-chocolate cheesecake I made a grocery list from the recipes and hit the local stores yesterday, and would you know it, I came up empty on three key ingredients. Not one store in this town has endive, the squash or the broccoli rabe. Not one! Well, actually, I didn't check Wal-Mart, but that's because I have an issue with the place. It's a complicated one

The whole family is here this week—No. 1 is home from Berkeley, and Eustacia is home from Clevelandish, and it feels good. Every one is getting along, the cats are getting lots of attention, and so far, no one is complaining about being bored, much. Because she's busy in grad school, No. 1 doesn't often have time to just sit and knit, if that's what she wants to do, and she doesn't play computer games (what did people do before the Sims?), so she's been indulging in those things this week while the rest of us catch up on past episodes of Dexter. We just finished season 2 last night, and I suspect it won't be long before we've got season 3 downloading on Apple TV for another round of serial-killer marathons. Beyond all of this laziness, we (meaning me) are trying to come up with evening meals everyone will eat. One person won't eat anything from the sea, another won't eat anything with certain spices or certain vegetables or with chicken, and another

We're home, back from a few days near Atlanta with my extended family. Christmas was observed almost exactly as I described it last week—the traditional meal (next year, I think I'll suggest adding a green salad to the buffet), carol singing, gift giving, Rook. We played Apples to Apples and watched Up, this year, and we laughed a lot. My sister has a lovely armoire in her family room with drawers on the bottom and doors on the top. I'm not sure what she keeps behind those doors during the rest of the year, but at Christmas she keeps candy and nuts like you wouldn't believe. It's one of our first stops when we all show up for Christmas brunch—we can't wait to see what treats are in all the tins and boxes. So we don't spend a fortune buying gifts for everyone, we draw names, and this year I drew the name of one of my sisters. We decided to make our gifts, so I made a scarf out of yarn made from local sheep, and I painted something sort of similar to the pastu

We're packing today and getting ready for a quick trip to Atlanta. It's our tradition to spend Christmas with my mother and sisters and their families, and I can't wait to get there. We'll spend most of Thursday catching up with everyone and getting ready for the big meal. Then we'll have dinner—I think we're up to 18 people now, but I lose count when it comes to setting the tables. We'll pull out the best China from my grandmother's cabinet, and we'll use the silver service from the wooden boxes tucked away in the buffet. There will be crystal glasses that ring when you run your finger around the rim, cloth napkins at each place setting and nostalgic music playing on the record player. Someone will putz around on the piano a little, and someone will remark that my mother really needs to get rid of those nasty felt elves with the plastic heads, the ones she lines up on the mantel every year. I'll probably be that someone. After dinner and after t

Over the last several days, I've done two new things to celebrate the Christmas season. Actually, these two things are very old, but they were a first for me. Yesterday, I went with two neighbor friends to see my orchestra's performance of the Messiah. I have seen and heard the Messiah before but not as performed by this orchestra. There are no horn parts in this music, and one thing or other has always kept me from seeing it. Husband's company was the sponsor for yesterday's event, so I thought it would be nice to go—Husband and Eustacia went Christmas shopping. This event is held in a local church instead of a the usual auditorium, which makes it more intimate. The church, a large Methodist one on the north side of town, is simply but beautifully designed with a pipe organ that makes the front of the sanctuary look classic and traditional. It was a cozy afternoon in the pews with other neighbors sitting in front of us, my vet and his family to the left, and our ki

Yesterday, the English class had a little party. It seems we are always having a little party for one occasion or another, but yesterday was specifically about Christmas. We played a party game, the kind you play at miserable baby showers, that left everyone with a small gift of homemade bread, and we played Uno. One of the women at my table wasn't sure of the colors in English, so we went back and forth in English and Spanish to help keep her straight. Just as a fresher: yellow=amarillo; red=rojo; blue=azul; green=verde. I didn't win, but then I never win, so I wasn't disappointed. I gave each student a bag of cookies, and they gave me a pretty Christmas mug filled with chocolate and a card they had each signed. Then we ate, which is always the highlight because the students bring in the food. We had chicken and rice, flautas filled with potatoes, and tostadas, which are called enchiladas in Guatemala. You can make them with almost anything apparently, because at each meal

I feel like I've been baking for days. Wait, I have been. The English class for immigrants is having its Christmas party today, and the teachers and aides bring home-made gifts for all the students. I went empty-handed last year because no one told me about that little thing, so this year, I'm prepared. I have been baking hazelnut shortbread cookies. The students tell me they don't care for sweets the way Americans do. I'm not sure if that's true, or if it's like pretending you can't eat another thing and then finishing off the M&Ms while no one is looking, or maybe they mean it. I have witnessed them scraping off the icing when the teacher gives them cupcakes. So, I decided to give shortbread cookies, which are sweet but not sickeningly so. Since the recipe makes only 4 dozen, and I wanted to give at least 8 cookies to each of the 15 student, I have had to make three batches. Fortunately, I now have more than I need for gift giving. It's a shame I

In fact, they're better than OK. They're just fine, which is a step up. Over the last few months, we have had issues, and not cheap ones. First, Mike's blood-sugar levels seemed unstable with two units of insulin a day. He was drinking bucket-loads of water and peeing just as much—I was emptying the litter box practically once a day. So, I upped the units to three, and that seemed to do the trick. Then, I found a lump under Tiger's front leg, and the vet confirmed it was a mass cell tumor. We had it removed and biopsied—it was benign—but within weeks, I found another one in the same general area. So, over Thanksgiving, I boarded the cats with the vet while we were away. They tested Mike's blood and gave him an antibiotic injection for a urinary track infection. And they removed Tiger's second tumor. We're all going to assume it was benign as well because it was just like the first. Total bill for those few days: $1,100. But let's go back to Mike's in

Ancora imparo . Still, I learn. I first learned the phrase when No. 1 found it engraved on a bracelet she put on her Christmas list last year. She explained that Michelangelo had said it quite often, even when he was 87 years old. The phrase came to mind again last week when I read about a study involving mice at the University of California, Santa Cruz. So, I put the two elements together for my Monday column. Here is a link to it , printed yesterday in Small Town Newspaper.

I baked my first batch of Christmas cookies over a week ago, and most of the shopping is done because we don't exchange a lot of gifts, but it was this past weekend that really kicked off the holiday. My back is better behaved—I still walk like your great-aunt Marge when I first get up out of a chair, but beyond that, I'm fine—so I made the rehearsals for the orchestra's Christmas concert. The first one was Friday evening. While I was there, Husband and Eustacia bought a tree for the family room, a real tree to replace the fake one we usually use. When I got home at the end of the evening, the entire house smelled of pine, and it was a welcomed greeting. Saturday morning, I strung the tree with lights, beaded garland, red ribbon and the anchor ornaments—you know, the plain gold balls that fill in the gaps between the more interesting ornaments. Eustacia wanted to help finish it, so I had to wait until she woke up, and that girl sleeps until noon. Saturday afternoon, I went

The little live tree in the foyer that makes up for the bigger fake tree that will eventually be in the family room. I did a stupid thing yesterday. I was sitting in my office chair when Big Mike the Cat walked in. He hates being held, but you can pick him up and set him in your lap, and he'll tolerate you for about 30 seconds. So, I bent forward and picked him up, and that's when my back went out. Sciatica or something like that. I dropped the cat half-way through the lifting and fell to the floor, saying "no, no, no, no" over and over again. I did the stretching exercises I learned from a chiropractor, but that didn't help. I was sunk. Or stuck, more like it. I managed to hobble my way up the stairs to the kitchen and then into the carpeted family room. I tried the stretching again, but still nothing. The pain radiated through my legs, and it was something else, let me tell you. I winced and I moaned and I yelled to no one but myself, "not now!!" It

What is it about the first snow of the season that makes people happy? I realize it doesn't have the same effect on everyone and that some people find it depressing, but I love seeing the first snow. And friends on Facebook are saying things like "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," and they are expressing disappointment in the mere dusting that fell on middle Ohio overnight. Those people want a full dumping of snow so they can ski or at least not see the grass underneath. I have seen 47 first snows, but still each one is a treat. It's like the first day you notice the crocuses in spring or the first day the pool is open in the summer or the first day when the trees show off their fall colors. You know it happens every year, but a whole year has gone by since you last saw the thing. I usually find the passage of time pretty depressing. As it ticks on, it's too easy to dwell on what you haven't got or given and what you haven't done and what l

I just told Lynn I would not be posting today, but then I remembered I haven't told you about the concert we attended Sunday evening. I was hibernating on Sunday with Christmas cookies and Christmas movies and laundry and vacuuming—an inside kind of day, as if any of my days are outside days. Anyway, my good friend and neighbor Jane called to invite Husband and I to attend a Canton Symphony Orchestra concert. So, we went. We live approximately 25 minutes from where this orchestra performs, yet we have never been. It's a shame. The orchestra is very good, staffed mostly with graduate students from the Cleveland Institute of Music, from what I understand, and conducted by a bull. Conductor Gerhardt Zimmermann is as broad as a Peterbilt, and despite his lack of height, he appears an imposing figure on the conductor's platform. We were waiting for the concert to begin and watching the acting concertmaster lead the group in tuning when whispers came over the PA system. We heard

Yep, it's Pearl Harbor Day. I don't know how important this is to most people, but it's an official day in America. As far as I know, no offices will be closed today, but maybe a few people will take a minute to think about what happened today in history. I'll admit this day isn't very significant to me as far as the details of what my day will look like—I'll probably go to the Y, I have some research to do for a story, and I have to superimpose somebody's logo on a Christmas ornament—but when I think about my parents and their entire generation, Pearl Harbor Day carries a lot of weight. I called my mother to ask what she remembered about December 7, 1941, and she recalled it very clearly. I must say, though, that she answered my call using a cheap phone, and the beginning of the conversation went like this: Me: What do you remember about Pearl Harbor? Mother: I liked him a lot. Me: What? Mother: I really liked him. Me: No, Mama. Listen. I said, &q

It's that time of year to break out the Christmas music—The Chieftains, Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Judy Garland, Vince Guaraldi, James Taylor. I've even got some Michael McDonald and Leona Boyd. My sister Melanie and I used to close all the curtains in July to try to fake a wintery atmosphere and stack up the Christmas albums on my parents' stereo console. It was a huge piece of furniture with a record player, a tape player, and an 8-track player—those three elements, and it needed its own massive cabinet. My mother still has the albums we played, like Carol of the Bells, a Firestone Christmas album, and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. One of my favorite things to do when we visit her for Christmas in Georgia is to stack up those old records on her little record player as background for our traditional dinner of cornbread dressing, fried corn and Coke jello. The sound of the needle fighting its way through the dust and decades of use makes it rich with nostalgia, something m

Call me a food snob (I'll take it as a compliment), but I am appalled at the new Kraft American cheese commercial—America's cheese. Bah! We can do better, which leads me to this recipe I found the other day. I'm working through the CIA's Gourmet Meals in Minutes cookbook this week, and goat cheese and red onion quesadillas from pages 242 are on the menu. I forgot to take a photo of the finished dish, but quesadillas all look the same on the outside, I think. Here's how it goes: (serves 8) 2 red onions, thinly sliced 5 tablespoons olive oil 1 teaspoon salt Freshly ground pepper 1 1/2 cups Jack cheese, grated 16 flour tortillas, 6-inch 1/2 cup goat cheese 1 cup cilantro leaves 1/2 cup sour cream Sauté the onion in 1 tablespoon of the olive oil until soft and translucent, about 7 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. For each quesadilla, sprinkle 3 tablespoons of the Jack cheese on a flour tortilla. Crumble 1 tablespoon of the goat cheese over the jack cheese. Spoon 2

At yesterday's English class for Latin immigrants, I was listening to a Guatemalan woman reading from her study book. That's how it works—they read aloud, and you correct them when they make a mistake and explain words and phrases that are unfamiliar or confusing. For example, in one exercise, the word "figure" was used twice, once to mean numbers and once to mean working out a problem. "The figures don't add up" and "I figured out the solution," or something along those lines. So, in the story we were reading, a man had lost his car keys and was tearing up his house looking for them. While he was searching, a census worker was sitting in his living room and asking him the questions a census worker might ask. The frustrated man with the lost keys became so "disgusted" and "anxious" that his visitor became "nervous" and "squirmed in his seat," all words and phrases we discussed. Then the frustrated man yel

Cities for Life Day was actually yesterday, but yesterday I was thinking about Thanksgiving more than I was thinking about the death penalty. So, a day late, here is Monday's opinion piece in Small Town Newspaper. Even to those who stop by regularly but don't normally comment, please answer the poll question in the side bar. ••• Today, more than 1,000 cities around the world will be lighting monuments and holding ceremonies as a way to participate in Cities for Life Day. It’s a day set aside to commemorate November 30, 1786 when Grand Duke Leopold II banned the use of capital punishment in Tuscany. His was the first region in Europe to adopt the policy, and since then, most developed nations have followed suit with the United States standing as a glaring exception. Ironically, of the cities participating in the commemoration, 25 of them are in the U.S., including a dozen in Texas, which leads the nation in executions. We have executed 48 prisoners in 2009 so far with over 3,00