Thursday, December 22 (A Meatball Disaster)

Tuesday night I prepared spaghetti and meatballs for supper. As I’ve done dozens of times, I used Romaine Stanton’s recipe for meatballs from the St. Paul’s Lutheran Church cookbook. Perfect results every time.

Until this week.

“These meatballs taste different,” JoAnna observed after taking a first bite of one.

I had noticed the same thing. Not only was there an odd, impossible-to-specify flavor, the texture was off-putting, like a cross between a dense sponge and small, soft rubber ball.

Undeterred, JoAnna ate all three meatballs that I’d served up for her, but I couldn’t finish the first one.

“I’ve completely lost my appetite,” I sighed, putting down my fork and pushing my plate toward the center of the table. “What could have caused this disaster?” I continued. “I’m sure I didn’t forget any ingredients.”

I even double-checked the recipe to verify. A cup of cracker crumbs, ½ cup of grated Parmesan cheese, 2 eggs (beaten), 1 cup milk, and the rest of it. I retrieved the milk container from the refrigerator, took off the cap, and sniffed the contents. No sour odor. I had just purchased the cheese that morning – along with the pound of ground chuck. While mixing all the ingredients, however, I had noticed that the meat had seemed a little uncooperative, as though unwilling to mingle and tingle.

Romaine's page

“It’s gotta be the meat,” I said. “After all, it’s the main ingredient. It’s not the cracker crumbs that give them flavor.”

I purposely prepared the full recipe, which makes 24 meatballs, so we’d have leftovers – I was particularly looking forward to a sub sandwich on a French baguette – to get us through today as far as meal planning was concerned. So much for that idea.

As Tuesday evening progressed, JoAnna and I monitored our bodies for menacing rumblings, fearful that two cases of food poisoning might be on the horizon. Fortunately, everything remained calm.

Until yesterday afternoon. For JoAnna, anyway, when she found herself having to make frequent trips to the rest room at work. Once she returned home, she spent another 15 minutes in the bathroom, followed by an evening on the family room couch with a afghan wrapped around her.

Maybe it was a delayed reaction to the meatballs. Maybe it was just the slightest touch of the flu. Whatever the case, JoAnna felt 100% when she left the house this morning. Now, of course, three days before we leave for Paris, is NOT the time to get sick.

From now on, I think I’ll purchase all of our meat from Knoche’s Food Center and Butcher Shop, a still-surviving version of Foreman’s “little store”, just a 5-minute drive from our house. Its prices for meats – nothing is pre-packaged -- are very competitive, and they always have three or four specials going on simultaneously. As for everything else they have in stock, it’s best to shop elsewhere.

Related post:
(Not Swedish) Meatballs. (5/14/2009)

December 16, 1979 (Movies @ the Library)

During the month of December, on consecutive Mondays, the Oshkosh Public Library has been sponsoring a Marx Brothers film festival: Animals Crackers, Horsefeathers, Duck Soup, and Monkey Business. Some extra money was left over in the programming budget so I decided to extend our usual Monday night movies another month with this miniseries. The attendance has been good but not as outstanding as I would have originally predicted. Oshkosh is not much of a movie town. It's even rubbed off on me. I haven't been to a recent theatrical release in over a year. Of course, much of that has to do with the poor quality of movies lately and the high cost of tickets. The Midwest has yet to hear of bargain matinees or of dollar movie theaters for second-and third-run features.

Yesterday's Marx Brothers offering was Duck Soup, my personal favorite of their ten or so films. Last week the audience roared its way through Horsefeathers; this week, although the audience appeared to enjoy the movie, the reaction was surprisingly subdued. Marx Brothers comedy relies heavily on the verbal interplay among the actors, especially in the scenes with Groucho. (The presence of Harpo allows the films to incorporate some inventive sight gags.) Perhaps the crowd was more in the mood for slapstick.

December 14, 1999

We have an infestation – although that’s probably overstating the actual conditions -- of little moths. About a month ago, we’d see these critters flitting around the kitchen. When JoAnna checked the cupboard where we store our cereals, Bisquick, and flour, she found most of these items to be contaminated. We threw out every open package, emptied the cupboard, and cleaned it thoroughly. Since then we’ve found the moths all over the house – in the bedrooms, the living room, the family room. They are always single sightings. Fortunately, they don’t travel in packs. The worst day was the Friday of our card party, which the moths blessedly decided not to show up for, saving us the embarrassment of having to give an explanation to our guests. Since then, we haven’t seen too many of them. I asked the Orkin guy this morning during his monthly visit. (We’ve stuck with an indoor and outdoor spraying program ever since a major ant infestation a couple years ago, which quickly eliminated the problem. The one time I considered dropping the service, the ants started to show up again. I’d swear they were on the Orkin payroll.)

In fact, there was even a moth attached to the ceiling of the hallway, which I pointed out to him, having refrained from killing this evidence when I first spotted it a half hour before his arrival.

“You’ve got Indian meal moths,” he quickly diagnosed.

I told him how we had addressed this problem.

“You did the right thing,” he said.

He suggested we monitor things for a month and, if conditions don’t improve by then, said we might want to consider a spraying of the interior of the cupboards. I hope we can avoid doing that.

At the library today, I found a book entitled Pest Control for Home and Garden that had four pages of information under the topic of “Pantry Pests”, where the Indian meal moth was featured. What I read here confirmed what the Orkin guy told me: dumping and cleaning first, chemicals as a last resort.

Now you’ll never want to visit us, thinking we live in a roach motel! I would like to know how these moths got into the house in the first place.

December 10, 2004 (The Mosaic Stained-Glass Jesus, Part 2)

The Mosaic Stained Glass Jesus, Part 2.

On Wednesday, I received a phone call from the person who had previously complained to another staff member about the “Christian iconography” in the library.

“You mean the stained glass Jesus,” I clarified, trying not to sound smart-alecky.

The caller, who identified himself by name – Ken Green – right up front, prefaced his concern with a glowing and detailed assessment of all aspects of the library: the staff, the collection, the level of service, the furnishings, the adjacent parking lot, and both the interior and exterior design of the building itself.

“Your facility doesn’t even have the feel of a library,” he noted somewhat cryptically, without offering any further explanation.

He sounded like a movie critic reviewing his all-time favorite film.

Hearing such fulsome praise about the library, though, made me prepare myself for the other shoe to drop, as the saying goes. Most people are content to say, “You have a wonderful library,” and leave it at that.

Mr. Green then offered what I considered to be a fallacious analogy: the placement of the Ten Commandments in Alabama state judicial building by Chief Justice Roy Moore.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see any comparison at all,” I countered. “That was one item on display that the judge had tried to make a permanent exhibit. The piece of art in question here is part of a larger exhibit that includes a variety of themes. There are pictures of a tiger, 2 German shepherds, a Mexican scene, and even something abstract – although it looks like it might be the rays of the sun. And by the end of the month, all of these items will be gone. It’s just a temporary exhibit. In fact, all of our exhibits are up for no more than a month or two.”
Mr. Green wasn’t buying my explanation.

“But you’re promoting a particular religion,” he insisted during his voluble response.

“Just because there’s a picture of Jesus in the library doesn’t mean we’re promoting Christianity,” I replied. “We’re not promoting tigers or German shepherds or Mexican landscapes. We work with the Madison Art Guild and other group to allow artists the opportunity to display their work at the library. It has no direct bearing on library service.”

I’ve encountered this argument before. Some people – a very small minority, fortunately, most of whom live outside of Middleton’s service area – feel that libraries are promoting abortion or witchcraft or teenage sexuality when books on these and other hot-button topics are found on the shelves. Ideally, library collections are developed to contain all points of view on a particular topic, not by the personal views of the librarians, though I’m sure that’s not always the case. As a colleague of mine often states, “Libraries should have something to offend everyone.”

Our phone discussion continued for another ten minutes, with Mr. Green becoming increasingly exercised by my unwillingness to embrace his rather extreme points of view. He launched into a spirited defense of the separation of church and state as set forth in the U.S. Constitution – at least as he interpreted it. The more revved up he become, the more difficult it became for me to hold up my end of the dialogue. Our conversation had turned into a one-sided diatribe. Whenever I managed to express my opinion, he would recklessly paraphrase the words I had just spoken.

“So you’re saying…..,” he would assert.

Time for me to bring this phone call to a close, I told myself after he did this a third time.

I quickly came up with what I thought would be a good exit strategy.

“I think what I should do is call the city attorney and get his take on this issue,” I told Mr. Green.

“What’s his name?” he quickly shot back.

Reluctantly, I gave it to him, as well as the phone number at which he could reach him.

Not surprisingly, Mr. Green seemed eager to continue our debate. I was on the opposite end of that spectrum. Using great restraint, I managed to break our connection without having to hang up on him, though I’m sure I left him in a ranting mood.

As I replayed this phone call in my mind, I had the distressing feeling that he wasn’t done with us yet.

I received an unexpected phone call on Thursday afternoon, a few minutes before the start of my reference desk shift.

The woman identified herself and the organization she represented: the Anti-Defamation League in Chicago.

I immediately discerned the reason for her call. Mr. Green had obviously lodged a complaint with them.

“We were informed that a statue of Jesus has been put up in the lobby of the library,” she explained tentatively, as if embarrassed by the absurdity of this report, but feeling a need to check it out anyway.

“Let me assure you. It’s nothing like that,” I responded with a chuckle in my voice.
I then gave her my measured version of events, which she received with an audible sigh of relief. The woman, whose name I’ve forgotten, mentioned that she is from the Madison area and is familiar with the Middleton library.

“It sounds as though you’re well within your rights,” she summarized.

I’m sure nothing will convince Mr. Green that this is the case. At this point, I’m almost eager for him to call me again, just so I can gloat. Rest assured, though, that I’ll refrain from expressing that emotion and conduct any further business on a professional level.
I found some interesting information on the Anti-Defamation League’s website. Recently, there has been a discussion on a library listserv to which I subscribe about the appropriateness of Christmas trees in libraries. One librarian asserted that Christmas trees are “overt displays of particular religious significance.” Not so, according to the information provided by the ADL, in a series of guidelines entitled “The December Dilemma”.

In the context of displays on public property, the Supreme Court has ruled that a Christmas crèche standing alone is impermissible, but a Christmas tree is permissible because it has become such a secular symbol of the winter holiday season. It also has found that a Chanukah menorah is a symbol with both secular and religious meanings, and its display on public property within a predominantly secular display is permissible.

Each year, the City of Middleton has a Christmas tree lighting ceremony on the first Sunday of December, an event that the more politically correct City of Madison studiously avoids. We’ve never had a tree in the library, though. In fact, we don’t make any effort to decorate for the season. It seemed to be an unwritten rule that was already in place when I started to work here in 1986, and I’ve never had any reason or inclination to challenge it. When I lived in Oshkosh, the Friends of the Library purchased a huge tree and placed in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the front entrance. One year we even had carolers as part of the “unveiling” program.

December 8, 1999

Jerry Bancroft                Tim Albaugh

I found three connections to the class of 1968 in recent issues of the Times-Observer. Tim Albaugh was arrested for a DUI offense. It sounded like he might have fallen asleep with the motor running outside of where he lives on the south side. For some odd reason, when I try to remember what he looked like the last time I saw him, which was probably at graduation, Jerry Bancroft comes to mind.

Rodney Seymour’s mother died. I had forgotten that they were members of St. Paul’s.  I can’t picture Rodney ever attending church; neither can I remember his presence in confirmation class. In fact, I can’t remember much about him – who he hung out with, who he dated, where he might have worked after school – except for his slightly rotund appearance. I don’t remember him participating in any high school activities, not even attending any of the many dances that took place in the exhibition hall.

Mel Jacobson’s son got engaged. The announcement referred to Mel as “Skip”, a nickname he never had in high school. Back then he was known as “Punky”, the origin of which is a complete mystery to me. It’s funny, the husband of a former library board president is named Melvin, “Mel” for short, and he looks just like I imagine Mel Jacobson might look today.

December 4, 1999

I got into an organizing mood on Saturday morning, starting out with Andy’s closet – or, the closet I share with Andy is the more accurate way of stating it. Before he was able to use his Playstation game on Friday afternoon, I told him he had to clean up his room. His main method of cleaning: He had transferred most of the clothes that had been strewn on the floor to the various levels of the shelving unit JoAnna and I had installed in this closet years ago. Once I had his sweats and jeans and shorts and sweatshirts in neat piled, I showed him my handiwork and asked that it stay in that condition. Aren’t I a dreamer!

Then I tackled the closet in the hallway between the kitchen and garage, where I keep a lot of my “junk” and where all our board games are stored. I rearranged, moved to other areas of the house, or simply tossed out various items, and, in the process, freed up quite a bit of space for more “junk” – or more board games, in case we decide to go that route.

The boys and I went to the St. Nick’s breakfast around 10:00. I was in the mood for scrambled eggs, but the menu included ham, french toast sticks, and applesauce. A children’s choir sang, and then a girl about Andy’s age played Christmas carols on her clarinet. She did a very good job. There were various activities for children, but the only thing that the boys participated in was the cookie decorating. We stayed about a half hour. JoAnna worked until 11:30.

The afternoon was lowkey. Rex was over for awhile, and then Andy went over to his house. JoAnna napped. I did some laundry, wrapped JoAnna’s birthday presents, read, watched a little TV. Nothing strenuous. Later in the afternoon, JoAnna and Eddie and I went to Border’s to buy some books, one of which was a gift for the guest of honor of a party we were attending that evening.

Weekend Update

Andy made a special, not entirely unanticipated request early yesterday afternoon.

“Do you think you could drive me back to Milwaukee today?”

He had dropped a hint the previous day with a casual mention that Jack was “having dinner with his parents on Sunday”. Rather than drive his own car, Andy caught a ride with Jack, his former roommate for three years running who graduated from UW-Milwaukee last spring. Jack now works full time for Manpower in Milwaukee.

“I have a paper I need to work on at the library,” he explained. “We have a group project in my management class that’s due at the end of the end of next week and I need to finish writing my section
of it.”

Now out of college, Jack doesn’t have to worry about unfinished assignments or exams to study for, which is why he was content to return to his Milwaukee apartment late Sunday night in order to extend the visit with his parents. All he has to do is show up for work Monday morning.

“We’ll need to leave now instead of after the Badger game,” I responded. “I’d rather now have to drive back home when it’s dark. Especially since it’s going to be raining all day.”

“That’s fine,” Andy agreed.

JoAnna gave me an aggrieved look, telegraphing her dismay that a quiet, relaxing afternoon at home had just been derailed.

However, since Andy had already planted a seed, his little sprout of a request didn’t take me by surprise.

“Do you have a book to listen to?” JoAnna asked, “But then you can listen to the football game on the radio,” she quickly added.

[Sidebar. I’m on a Joyce Carol Oates kick right now – nearing the end of Black Girl White Girl, the fourth book I’ve “read” by her in the past two months. Oates is a prolific and very accomplished writer of novels, short stories, and poetry. I particularly admire the style and structure of her novels.]

“Actually, I’ll probably listen to an audiobook,” I said, “and check on the score of the game with my iPhone.”

On the second half of the rain-soaked drive to Milwaukee, Andy and I listened to the game, which didn’t get off to a particularly promising start after a bonehead Wisconsin penalty led to a Penn State touchdown. Fortunately, it was the only points the Badgers allowed their opponents to score.

Andy and I talked throughout the 90-minute drive – about sports (of course), his final year at UW-Milwaukee, preparing for job interviews, family reminiscences. I have to confess I felt somewhat conflicted about his decision to return to Milwaukee a day early. On the one hand, I was looking forward to another full day of family activity, even if we just hung out at home and watched TV, though JoAnna had suggested we go to a movie Saturday evening. Conversely, I’m heartened by his growing sense of independence. It wasn’t that long ago when he talked about returning home after graduating from college and finding a job in the Madison area, a not uncommon occurrence in today’s tough job market for new graduates. Not to mention most everyone else, for that matter. I think Jack’s example has helped Andy visualize his other options.

Eddie returned to his apartment this afternoon, but not before we went grocery shopping. Instead of going to a movie last night – after more than three hours of driving in less than ideal conditions, I preferred to stay put once I returned home – JoAnna and Eddie went shopping for shoes and miscellaneous items of clothing. No suits, though! Eddie’s “dress for success” period is at least another year away, although it’s very possible he will graduate from UW-Madison in May 2012. Unlike his brother, Eddie has graduate school in his plans.

November 26, 2004

After Alice, Larry, and Albert left at 8:30 on Friday morning, JoAnna and I spent most of the rest of the day staying put, for the most part. We didn’t join the throngs at West Towne Mall or any other shopping center. It’s not as if the stores aren’t going to have any more sales for the rest of the year. With only the boys and each other left to shop for, we can take care of this section of our Christmas gift list when the aisles aren’t clogged with bug-eyed, drooling berserkos. Monday evenings are nice; it’s almost as if you have whatever store you’re in all to yourself.

I walked to the library at 9:00, having two reasons in mind for getting out of the house for awhile. First of all, I just wanted to get some exercise after Thanksgiving’s gluttony and lethargy. Secondly, I hoped to be able to make arrangements to take day off. I was scheduled for work at the reference desk for only three hours, from 3:00 to 6:00, which hardly seemed worth the effort. Fortunately, Liz and Pat were agreeable to splitting the 9 hours of coverage.

Except for a midafternoon excursion to buy groceries for our dinner party the following day, JoAnna and I spent the day reading, watching TV, and eating leftovers. JoAnna suggested I try an “easy-as-pie” recipe that had been demonstrated on The Today Show. Mix together turkey, stuffing, vegetables, and gravy. Press into a baking pan. Cover with a layer of mashed potatoes. Bake until the crust is a light golden brown. Even Eddie served himself a healthy portion for lunch. We had so much leftover food that I was able to make a second casserole on Sunday. JoAnna made a large pot of turkey soup with homemade noodles and, at Eddie’s request, a turkey pot pie. This last item was placed in the freezer so that we wouldn’t experience a severe case of turkey overload.

Andy was the only family member to have anything approaching an active day. He had a basketball practice from 10:00 until 12:00 and then played a “neighborhood” football game, a light rain falling the entire time, until the midafternoon. The lousy weather, with rain continuing well into the evening, is why JoAnna and I took a pass on a 45-minute walk through the Pheasant Branch nature preserve, one of our favorite exercise routes. As an alternative late-afternoon activity, I was unable to convince JoAnna to see a movie – Sideways, the artsy new movie by the director of About Schmidt. Some friends from out of town had planned to drop by during the evening, but they ended up attending a later showing of The Polar Express with their 2 young children and, as a result, rescheduled for Saturday morning.

The Day After Thanksgiving 2006

Without any prompting, Andy was up at 4 o’clock Friday morning. In fact, he was showered, dressed, and ready to leave the house by the time we got out of bed, just long enough to see him off. No Black Friday crowds for us, thank you.

(Headline on the front page of today’s New York Times. Attention, Holiday Shoppers: We Have Fisticuffs in Aisle 2.)

Here’s a description of what took place when the Fashion Place Mall in Murray, Utah, opened its doors at midnight. Once inside, shoppers ransacked stores, overturning piles of clothes as they looked for bargains. A retailer’s dream – too many customers! – quickly turned into a nightmare, forcing store clerks to shut their doors, and only let people in after others left. The mall even briefly closed its outside doors to avoid a fire hazard.)

JoAnna and I did go shopping later in the day. By the late afternoon, the crowds had thinned out nicely. Except for the plethora of Christmas sale signs and merchandise, it really did seem like an ordinary shopping day at the stores we visited: Circuit City, Pier 1, Kohl’s, Williams Sonoma, Penney’s, and Target. We didn’t accomplish a whole lot, however. JoAnna bought Packer and Badger clothes for little Joseph, her nephew (and godson), and we found the perfect tablecloth and dish towels for our newly accented kitchen.

Eddie was disappointed to learn that leftovers were the extent of our supper menu.

“But it’s Friday,” he protested. “It’s supposed to be a take-out night.”

“Not on the day after Thanksgiving,” I noted.

In spite of working a 13-hour day, Andy remained energized through most of the evening. He went out to dinner with Gretchen and her family. I suppose with 31 people at their house for Thanksgiving, they had no leftovers. He went to bed at 10:00, needing to be refreshed for his 8:00 to 5:00 shift today. He should have a fairly substantial paycheck to cash next week. Hopefully, Mr. Hey Big Spender will remember to put a good chunk of it in his savings account.

Thanksgiving Day 2004

JoAnna and I always give up our bedroom when her parents visit. With Uncle Albert assigned to Eddie’s room, and Eddie moved in with his brother, that left the two of us with the family room, where we slept on an inflatable mattress with a built-in, battery-operated pump. It beats sleeping directly on the floor, though after the first tossing-and-turning night, I wasn’t sure by how much. (Last night was a big improvement.) Eddie joined us on the couch, probably because his sprawling brother refused to share his bed, demanding that he sleep on the floor instead.

Thanksgiving morning, it took some careful maneuvering on my part to attain a fully upright, standing position. I feared that the pain in my lower back might incapacitate me, an unpleasant circumstance that I’ve been able to avoid for quite some time now. (Thursday night I took a Bayer back and body pain capsule and experienced an almost unbroken night’s sleep.)
JoAnna blocked my way and raised her face up to mine as I walked through the kitchen on my way to the bathroom.

“You don’t want to kiss me now,” I warned. “I have the worst taste in my mouth. I really need to brush my teeth.”

“Romantic” is definitely not one of the first adjectives that my wife would use to describe herself in the morning.

After JoAnna and her dad returned from 9 o’clock mass, the Thanksgiving dinner preparations began in earnest, though I had very little to do with them. I took a lazy approach to the holiday, stretching out on the couch in the family room, where Eddie and I did our father-son Bond-ing with Thunderball. To me – and Eddie heartily agrees – Sean Connery is the only true 007.

The adults played cards during the first half of the afternoon. Our game of choice has a variety of names – “Down and Up the River”, the most cumbersome, is the only one that comes to mind. During the first hand, everyone is dealt 10 cards. Trump is designated by turning over the top card of what’s left of the deck. Each player then bids on how many tricks he or she will take. A total of 20 hands are played in the following sequence: 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. As often as I’ve played this game, I’ve never understand how to keep score.
Wednesday’s cnn.com online poll asked the following question: What is your favorite part of Thanksgiving? Three choices were offered: food, parades, football.

And the percentages? 82%, 5%, and 13%.

No surprises there.

During the morning, the kitchen TV was tuned to the Macy’s parade, but nobody paid it much attention. From the bits and pieces I caught, the broadcast appeared to be a moveable stage of lip-synching acts with major-league kid appeal.

During our card game, we flipped back and forth between Bond and football, but nobody was much interested in watching the Colts embarrass the hapless Lions on their home field.

All of us would have voted for “food” as being our favorite part of the day.

Considering our menu, I don’t see how it could have been otherwise.

Roast Turkey

Whipped Potatoes

Oven-Baked Dressing

Gravy

Baby Carrots

String Beans

Pureed Yams Served in Orange Cups

Rolls

Relish Tray

Pumpkin Pie

Apple Pie

Pecan Pie

With so much food, the relish tray remained untouched for the most part. I concentrated on the turkey, potatoes, and dressing, with gravy drizzled over all three hefty portions.

Larry ate three helping of dressing and then was ready to go straight to dessert. No wonder his stomach protrudes so far beyond the waist of his pants.

Everyone was in an extremely lethargic mood after dinner, so much so that we didn’t even play cards. In fact, Alice went to bed at 9:00, followed shortly thereafter by Larry and Albert.

The Day Before Thanksgiving 2009

We made near-record time completing the trip from Middleton to Warren: 11 hours and 15 minutes. Although we spotted numerous state police cruisers along the way – most of them with their lights flashing, the officer having pulled someone over – their presence had no deterring effect on drivers’ determination to exceed the speed limit. The flow of traffic in Ohio average 80 miles per hour. In fact, along a stretch along I-90 between Cleveland and Erie. I let the speedometer needle approach 90 miles per hour and didn’t gain any ground on the vehicles ahead of us.

Weather conditions improved during this portion of the trip. After a day of on-and-off rain, the sky turned clear by the time we reached Erie, and the temperature topped out at 53°. Wisconsin isn’t the only state to experience an unusually mild winter.

Both Dale’s and Mom’s faces were visible through the kitchen window once we reached the end of the driveway at 5:45 p.m. (EST). Mom appeared to do a double-take, as though she couldn’t believe what her eyes were seeing. That was probably due to my telling her to expect us between 6:00 and 7:00.

The eight of us – Larry and Kim joined us shortly after our arrival – sat around the dining room table for the meal that Mom prepared. At 89, she’s as competent as ever in the kitchen. And she never requests nor requires any assistance, though we do volunteer to help with the clean-up.