Today Passing The Pharmacy ...

I'm sick ... and when I don't feel well I turn into a total baby. All I want is to be comforted like when I was a little kid. I blame my adult behaviors on my idyllic childhood. Growing up, I had several "luxuries" like the fact that I was the "baby" of four children so I did get special treatment ... there world, I admit it! Hah!! Also, my mother worked a part-time job that was more for her personal development than financial necessity so if I or one of my siblings took ill, she was able to be there with soothing words and a hot bowl of "chicken and stars."

But that was then ... and today I am considering drastic measures. I can't decide if what I am experiencing is my temperamental sinuses combating the wacky Ohio weather ... temperatures fluctuating from 45 degrees one day to 70 degrees the next with accompanying changes in air pressure ... or the more serious "flu" that seems to be hitting many of my friends and co-workers with body aches and semi-debilitating ennui.

But I'm considering buying one of those "neti pot" things I've seen on TV. They look like little teapots made from glass or clay, but I've also seen other designs that look more like an Aladdin's lamp or a powder horn for arming a muzzleloader. Hell, there are even more aggressive models resembling enlarged plastic syringes with bulbs that apply added pressure. Regardless of the shape, a neti pot uses a saline solution (sometimes with added sodium bicarbonate for extra gentleness) to flush the nasal passages. This type of treatment has proven very effective when combating hay fever, common environmental allergies to dust and mold, and sinusitis.

Yogis have been using similar nasal irrigation techniques for thousands of years. And more and more, people are turning to this rather than becoming dependent on costly antibiotics and steroid-infused nasal decongestant sprays.

And the process seems easy enough: prepare a solution of 8 ounces of warm water and 1/4 teaspoon iodized salt (or purchase pre-mixed nasal "rinse"), tilt your head to the side, insert the nozzle into the "upper" nostril, and let gravity do its job while you relax and breath through your mouth slowly and evenly. The rinse flushes away any accumulated mucus, as well as pollen and other debris that can aggravate the sinuses or even provide a breeding ground for bacteria.

I've now passed one Rite-Aid and two CVS establishments and the foot on my brake pedal has not even wobbled. Two things have stopped me. The first is an episode of ABC's Cougar Town, where simplistic golf pro and "Penny Can" creator Bobby Cobb (portrayed brilliantly by Brian Van Holt) nearly drowned from attempting a neti pot dousing. The second is the damn Internet itself. I looked up neti pots ... sometimes called "netty kettles" and "nettie reservoirs" ... and made the mistake of reading an article that utilized the term "nasal douche." Nothing ... and I mean NOTHING ... called a douche is going up my nose!!

POINT OF RANT: Nasal spray ain't so bad! And Kleenex boxes are kind of pretty these days ... like modern art!!

Today At The Park ...

I don't wear a cape or tights (God forbid anyone is forced to witness something heinous like that!) or leap tall buildings ... short ones, for that matter ... but I do possess the super power of sensing when any type of bread or rolls or package of buns is just minutes away from molding. And then I buy them!

I swear, I could buy a loaf of rich, buttery wheat bread or that dark and zesty rye from my favorite deli as it's coming out of the oven and it will be green and fuzzy and a HAZ-MAT situation by the time I get the damn stuff out of the shopping bag and onto my ugly kitchen counter.

In the past, I felt like I might as well just take a portion of my grocery money and set it on fire. But, like a true hero, I have figured out a way to turn a bad situation into something positive and beneficial for less fortunate citizens. Well, not people actually ... ducks ... or geese ... maybe both, I'm not really sure how to tell the difference.

A few blocks from my apartment is a tremendously cool community park. The place is huge with walking and bike paths, pavilion areas, fields for softball and soccer, a well-maintained swimming pool, some lighted tennis courts, and one of those gigantic playground structures that looks like something out of a sci-fi show ... all bright colors, weird angles, and ropes and slides ... and bridges and little play "bubbles" everywhere. And like any park worth its "salt," this community oasis has several lakes, ponds, and streams to add to the natural splendor. And where you have water, you have ducks ... or geese. I'm going to use the collective term gucks for the remainder of this post.

This time of year, Ohio is rapidly cooling down ... trees are mostly bare and the air is definitely chilled like a fine wine. Colors are taking on that thinner, more stark quality. And, of course, all the down jackets are moving to the front of people's closets. Better then any calendar, I am reminded of the general season every morning as I drift closer to consciousness waiting for the blare of my alarm clock. As I wrestle to keep a chokehold on my slumber, I am treated to a symphony of honks and squawks as formations of gucks fly over my building to land and "refuel" somewhere on the park's still lush grounds.

Both ducks and geese belong to the bird family Anatidae. Sometimes the name is applied to other similar-looking birds called shelducks. Regardless, scientists estimate that ducks and geese have been around in one form or another for close to 10 million years. These avians are monogamous, living as "married couples." They are very territorial during their nesting time but otherwise migrate wildly in pursuit of food and warmer temperatures. And they apparently love their starchy carbohydrates.

I have become the self-imposed champion of the local guck population. Each week or so I allot about $6 or $7 and visit a "second hand" bakery to purchase as many loaves of inexpensive bread as my funds will allow. I then strut onto the park grounds with confidence, hoping my feathered friends will welcome my altruistic persona. But alas ... in a fashion painfully similar to the video I've attached, they mock my efforts and display only the minimal amount of manners as they wolf down the proffered victuals.

But while I dislike their disdain, I must admit I do enjoy watching a "herd" of cantankerous gucks going after a small child while their nearby parent of guardian just reads from a tattered paperback or texts furiously on their cell phone, completely unaware of the impending doom. Or I can't help but chuckle a little when a couple out for a leisurely stroll is ambushed by a small army of plumed plunderers.

POINT OF RANT: If gucks can find web-footed wedded bliss, why is it so hard for the rest of us?!

Today On A Placemat ...

Usually, Fridays are the day at work where a few of us "splurge" and go out for lunch. But today, myself and three other co-workers were lamenting over particularly rough weekends ... some physical, some emotional ... and we decided to treat ourselves to lunch at the Golden Phoenix, my favorite Chinese restaurant in the whole metropolitan area.

It's not much to look at ... a brick storefront among other brick storefronts. And the only parking is down a side street two blocks away. But they make a garlic shrimp with snowpeas and carrots that must be on the menu in Heaven!

Anyway, we were seated and each of us was telling our weekend war stories. My mind drifted a bit and I perused the paper placemat under my plate. I'd read the little paragraphs about the various Chinese zodiac characters dozens of time ... I eat here A LOT!! But this time I looked with a bit of skepticism because I had recently learned a bit more about the nature of the Eastern philosophy behind it.

In a nutshell ... and apologies to any readers who think I am oversimplifying things ... Buddha, or the "awakened one," lived around 560 BC to 480 BC in India. He was a very serious man and often concerned with the nature of the human condition. So Buddha set out on various quests to learn and experience life firsthand. His teachings eventually became the foundation of several Eastern religions and predominant schools of thought.

Anyway, the story goes that Buddha was preparing to leave the earthly plane and he invited all the animals to attend a banquet. One interpretation says that out of all the creatures on the planet only 12 showed up. Another version explains that Buddha's domain was separated by the surrounding countryside by a mighty river and only 12 animals had the strength or courage or ingenuity to successfully cross the rapid current. In their honor, Buddha named a year for each of their spirits and incorporated their attributes into the population.

Thus ... in order of their arrival ... the Chinese name a year for the Rat, the Ox, the Tiger, the Hare (or Rabbit), the Dragon, the Snake, the Horse, the Sheep (or Ram), the Monkey, the Rooster (or Cock), the Dog, and the Pig. When a person is born, their time of birth brings them under the influence of certain animal spirits. The lunar animal is associated with the actual birth year ... not the "solar" or calendar year we're familiar with, but the Chinese lunar year which runs basically early February to late January. That's why those placemat predictions are so sketchy ... many people born in January like myself have a misguided idea of their over-riding spirit. Anyway, our lunar animal affects us most as we grow up and shapes how we present ourselves to the world at large. This spirit is also how many people perceive us in general terms.

Each individual also has an inner animal which corresponds to a set number of days within the year. The attributes we gain from this animal spirit are believed by the majority of Eastern philosophers and astrologers to be our true defining nature. The inner animal manifests when we are adults and is very difficult to be altered or swayed.

And then there is a primary secret animal linked to us by the hours of the day in which we were born. Secret animals give us subtle characteristics that most people only recognize once they've known us for a while. But these forces play a key role in how we develop friendships and deeper attachments.

Each animal also brings with it a focal point of yin yang (or masculinity vs femininity), the earthly elements for which we feel an affinity toward (fire, water, metal, earth, etc.), and membership in groupings called trines that further strengthen our personalities.

I myself, dear readers, was birthed in the Year of the Monkey. My lunar spirit ... Shenshi ... helps me be inventive, artistic, quick-witted, and sociable at the best of times. Monkeys thirst for knowledge and ask loads of questions. Monkeys set goals and make lists. They have keen memories and thrive in environments where things change quickly.

But Monkeys walk a fine line most of their adult lives. They enjoy being the center of attention and often seek the spotlight. In some cultures, the Monkey is also called "the Prankster," using his own humor and cleverness to gain favor with others. But Monkeys often go overboard and offend those around them or unintentionally hurt the feelings of friends, family, and co-workers.

Monkeys also have a unique "handicap" of being creatures with tons of ideas but not the best verbal skills. They often can't articulate the things in their heads and end up looking confused or unprepared. Individuals born in the Year of the Monkey often have trouble shutting down their creativity and enjoying a good night's sleep.

At their lowest, Monkeys are selfish, suspicious of others motives, and often immature.

I couldn't be any more of a Monkey if I was swinging from a vine and throwing around my fecal matter!!

My inner animal spirit ... Youshi the Rooster ... grants me superior problemsolving skills and the drive to stay organized. But the Rooster is a prideful spirit ... sometimes overconfident. He takes on lots of tasks but doesn't always have the resources to complete them adequately. And that turns the Rooster into a cuckoo!! The Rooster can easily become critical of himself and others, presenting a very abrasive facade. Roosters are truthful but blunt ... seldom a crowd pleaser. And when a Rooster sees the accomplishments of others ... things that appear to have been completed with relative ease ... he is instantly colored with jealousy.

Personally, the Monkey/Rooster double whammy is trouble. Both spirits seek the limelight ... in actions and ideas. This can cause extreme behaviors and even a sort of "spiritual war" within.

Now comes my secret animal lumbering in ... Choushi the Ox. Dependable and determined are two of this spirits greatest gifts. Oxen are very logical. We have a strong work ethic but sometimes view those who don't rather harshly. We Oxen can be stubborn and sometimes overlook good alternatives because we feel our own ideas are always best. Oxen seek several long-term friends over lots of casual acquaintances.

For me, the Monkey and the Ox wage constant battle ... social vs. loner, flirting and "getting around" vs. wanting to find a perfect, dependable mate. But interestingly enough, the Ox and the Rooster make great friends ... sharing tendencies toward materialism and jealousy ... so at least those two spirits can stop by my liver and have a beer of three while they bitch about missed opportunities in their lives!

Of my three significant spirits ... some philosophers believe there are dozens linked to certain aspects of our lives ... two (Rooster and Ox) are ruled by yin, or a more feminine, maternal, and nurturing side. Two of the three (Monkey and Rooster) have an affinity toward metal which adds an element of stability to their influence.

I mentioned trines earlier ... umbrella groupings of animal spirits. My Monkey resides within the First Trine, the most powerful and intense grouping of the Chinese zodiac pantheon. Residents share strong leadership skills as well as a tendency to get frustrated when faced with too many rules or limitations. My remaining guides (Rooster and Ox) both hang out in the Second Trine. These spirits share a fondness for being judgmental and rigid about their opinions.

Anyone who knows me well can verify that all three beasts are alive and kicking!

POINT OF RANT: We should have ordered more egg rolls ... the Ox is a real Pig!!

Today In My Bedroom ...

In other posts, I've used the motto "Be Prepared" adopted by the Boy Scouts of America, but no amount of physical or mental preparation (even Preparation H, for that matter) can override the annoyance I find with time changes associated with Daylight Saving Time (DST).

I just want to punch someone ... usually it's the perky morning talk-radio personality who for the last two weeks has been doing a little "Spring forward, Fall back" promo. I get it!! In this great country, we set clocks one hour ahead on the second Sunday each March and reduce the time by an hour on the first Sunday in November.

But why? The claims are that DST saves energy because we don't have to light our homes and businesses as much. Also, there is a belief that DST provides more hours for leisure which benefits various sports and leisure industries. I've heard that their are safety issues too ... like putting school children on buses and avoiding fog and other inclement ground weather conditions that plague much of the U.S. in the wee hours of the morning. I've even heard PSAs ... public service announcements ... that encourage people to use this twice-a-year time change as a "reminder" to do things like replace batteries in smoke detectors, check tire pressures in automobiles and bicycles, have their blood pressures taken, and even update things like address books and medical records.

For me, Daylight Saving Time means I get to be reminded that I need an engineering degree to adjust the time on my VCR/DVD player. It's also a guaranteed way for me to be late or early for Sunday morning appointments, and a surefire method for leaving me so disoriented the entire day it occurs that the following Monday is always a special little slice of Hell!

And although my computer and cell phone and alarm clock seem to update themselves just fine, I have to personally adjust the timekeeping devices in my car, microwave, and stove ... not to mention the various clocks in my house and watches on my bureau. It's just a pain in the ass!!

DST was introduced in the U.S. during WWI to save energy that was needed for the war-time production of various goods. In 1966, U.S. Congress standardized the process with the Uniform Time Act. This was adjusted in 2007 with the Energy Policy Act which added four weeks to the DST period. Economists predicted that this added time to DST would result in a savings of 10,000 barrels of oil each day in the U.S. ... a premonitory statement that has yet to be proven.

Much of the world has observed similar time-adjusting schemes for decades. Europe standardized their European Summer Time in 1996. Countries in the Southern Hemisphere observe DST from October to March since there summer begins in December. And nations in the lower latitudes don't even bother with DST because they have very little fluctuation in the number of sunny hours during any season.

Besides the chatty, upbeat morning radio lady, three other gentlemen deserve a smack in the chops for their involvement in the creation of DST. The first is dear old Benjamin Franklin. This well-known statesman was serving as an American envoy in France during the late 1700s. While already being known for his famous proverb "early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise," Franklin supposedly authored several suggestions for improving the French economy ... including rising earlier to make use of morning light instead of candles. The germ of an idea was planted -Strike 1.

Next came the man who is actually credited with creating the concept of DST ... George Vernon Hudson. Hudson was a bug guy ... an entomologist ... Gil Grissom in funnier clothes. Anyway, Hudson saw the merits of additional after-hours daylight for bug collecting so he presented a paper in 1895 proposing a two-hour daylight-saving time shift. His ideas were met with considerable interest. The seed was sprouting - Strike 2.

A bit later ... 1905 ... an English builder and outdoorsman named William Willett independently conceived of advancing the clock during summertime basically because he wanted people to make better use of their leisure time and he hated that dusk sometimes cut into his golf game. Well, Willett was lucky enough to have influential friends and in 1908 the first Daylight Saving Bill was introduced to England's House of Commons. The plant had flowered - Strike 3.

I do have two positive things to say about DST: 1) the initial proponents of the measure were smart enough to plan the changes to occur on weekends to affect businesses with shift changes as little as possible. And 2) it is extremely cool to be in a bar in November when "last call" isn't really last call because at 1:59:59:9 AM the "clock" jumps back to 1.

POINT OF RANT: Isn't life annoying enough without DST!!

Today In My Pocket ...

When I was picking up my loose change from the kitchen counter, I spotted a "buffalo" nickel. It was one of the common ones minted in 2005 ... not the cool ones pressed in the 1930s. For a moment, I eyed it as a few tender memories flooded over me. Carefully, I set the coin aside, wishing I could think of a cool way to pay tribute to it ... maybe figure a way to make it into a necklace or a tie tack so I could keep it close at hand. I guess a blog post will have to do for now.

The American bison (or buffalo) is part of an ancient breed of herd animal that crossed the Bering Strait some 10,000 years ago. For centuries, millions of these shaggy beasts roamed across Canada, the U.S., and Mexico. It is believed that the sheer magnitude of the early bison populations and their grazing patterns actually shaped and altered the very ecology of the entire Great Plains area of the country.

The numbers of American bison have experienced huge peaks and troughs. For centuries, many Native American tribes have hunted buffalo for their meat and hides on a regular basis, but these hunters also utilized competent population management practices, even developing unique butchering techniques to minimize waste.

In the late 1600s and early 1700s, diseases brought to this continent by European settlers began devastating Native American tribes. With fewer hunters and a reduced need for food, the buffalo herds grew like crazy. Several oral and recorded legends claim that, for several decades, herds of bison literally stretched from one horizon to the other.

But of course, modern man could not leave well enough alone. A wave of expansion westward during the 1880s brought the American bison to the brink of extinction. Hundreds of thousands of animals were reduced to only a few hundred. Settlers not only killed buffalo for food, but also to "remove the competition" for grasslands they needed to feed their own cattle and other livestock. Western influences also put firearms into the hands of Native American hunters for the first time ever, and more than 300,000 buffalo were being slaughtered annually. The railroads, too, stuck their noses into the bison "problem." It seems buffalo herds were holding up the laying or new tracks. And the migration of a large herd could actually trap a train and force it to remain motionless for days. So the rail companies hired profesional hunters to kill as many of the "nuisance beasts" as possible.

And possibly the most bizarre influence on the decline of the American buffalo population was the growth of the industrial age. With more and more factories being built in the U.S. as well as Europe, buffalo hide ... with its unique thickness and strength ... became a critical commodity because it was ideal for making the "transfer belts" that enabled manufacturers to harness the power produced by steam engines. This was all pre-electricity, mind you,

Today, through conservation methods and the dedication of animal scientists and enthusiasts, the plight of the American bison has been reversed. Depending on who you ask, buffalo number anywhere from 500,000 to 30,000. The range is so great because many naturalists discount buffalo that are raised on ranches for the specific purpose of being used as a food source.

Most buffalo ... wild or domestic ... live in states like Montana, Colorado, Utah, and the Dakotas. Very strict guidelines for breeding and hunting help maintain a strong population. However, with interbreeding with cattle ... remember the "beefalo" craze of the late '80s? ... and even buffalo from Europe and Asia, many zoologists and animal geneticists believe that there are less than 12,000 pure American bison in existence today.

My life has had several odd intersections with the modern-day bison. When I was a kid, the Columbus Zoo opened a new exhibit within the "North America" section that featured some buffalo and other Great Plains denizens. I was so excited because they were so massive looking in the books I read and I just knew that there would be "Indians" with the zoo exhibit too ... it just made sense. What I saw on that warm and smelly Saturday were several "shaggy cows" that were tired looking, extremely dusty, and appeared to have their own excrement matted all over themselves. Not really "the look" I was expecting.

During my undergrad college years, I found a local bar that was not only lax on carding its "regulars" in regards to beer guzzling, but they also had a "buffalo" pizza made with bison meat and mozzarella cheese made from buffalo milk. For those of you that have never tasted buffalo cheese, it is wonderful. Apparently, bison have different digestive systems than traditional cows ... the milk is higher in proteins and fats and retains a number of minerals that create a richer taste and denser, more creamy texture. But while I couldn't get enough of the pizza, I also could not stomach to watch any of the bartender's make their trademark "Buffalo Shot," which combined Bailey's, small amounts of several flavored liquors, bourbon ... a brand called "Buffalo Trace" naturally ... and a splash of buffalo milk. It looked like a science experiment gone horribly wrong.

But I think my most fond "brush" with the burly bovid was the Christmas before my father died. He had been sick for a while and had not been able to enjoy one of his favorite passions ... hunting. In his hay day, my Dad had bagged many species of game ... deer, antelope, pheasant, quail, duck, rabbit, squirrel, and more. About 45 minutes north of Ohio is Dundee, Michigan, home to one of the Cabela mega sports outfitter centers. This place is roughly 225,000 square feet of everything you could possible need for hunting, camping, fishing, hiking, and boating ... even accessories for your RV and pricey furniture for your rustic cabin or summer home. It's such an overwhelming experience. There are exhibits and to-scale dioramas of all types of outdoor environments and wildlife. There's a 40-foot mountain dominating the middle of the store and a 65,000 gallon walk-through aquarium with indigenous fish.

I ended of getting my Dad a bunch of stuff ... a hat and fishing lures and gloves with replaceable chemical hand-warmers. And I got him eight different kinds of jerky ... venison, turkey, elk, and, of course, buffalo. I think I got an extra pound of it for me but it was gone before I had driven halfway home. That day I spent a fortune ... but mostly on lunch. Cabela's has a cafe. Luckily, I had talked two of my buddies into going with me and we overindulged and split several sandwiches and entrees ... like elk bratwurst, buffalo burgers, an ostrich club, and even an open-faced wild boar sandwich. My one friend needed to stop a few times on the way home ... to answer nature's harsh call ... and to purchase antacids. I just kept eating my jerky!

POINT OF RANT: Most days, I really miss ny Dad!

Today In The Bathtub ...

Each year it gets harder and harder to come up with a clever or original costume idea for Halloween. Luckily, in a way, my burden for originality has been lessened over the past nearly three years because my current employer does not embrace Hallow's Eve "tomfoolery" ... we're fortunate that we were able to sway the human resources people to let us have a potluck luncheon. And not surprisingly, a number of dishes are themed around the strange and haunted ... last year, one guy brought in a huge peach jello mold in the shape of a brain accented with chunks of celery and shredded carrot. It was disgustingly neat!

But then there's my buddy, Trevor. He has a big Halloween blow-out every year and if you don't make every effort to attend in full regalia, he will make your life a living hell the next 364 days until your shot at costume redemption.

I've done all the traditional get-ups ... pirate, alien, cowboy, and warlock. When I was a kid, my Mom made this really elaborate clown costume for my oldest brother. She made it really big out of these loud fabric remnants and cleverly incorporated a series of ties so that it could be adjusted to almost any sized person. All four of us kids, an uncle, and even a few family friends wore that costume at one time or another. It had its own special garment bag large enough to hold the foam rubber feet, red wig, nose, hat, and assorted "accents" that we collected over the years. I wore it years ago to Trevor's first bash and everyone loved it. In actuality, wearing it for the party made me miss my Mom and I didn't have a very good time. Anyway, the real surprise was that after being in storage for years, the costume was in great shape. I think the thing is indestructible. It has now been passed down to my nieces and nephews.

Just a few years ago, I attended Trevor's soiree as "Waldo" of the "Where's Waldo?" franchise ... a pretty simple and comfortable ensemble. And NO make-up needed! Everyone wanted to know if I was hot in the hat and scarf. Not really well received. Another year, I went as Pete Rose ... full baseball gear and betting slips to hand out ... Trevor looked at me and just rolled his eyes.

The year after that I was Steve Irwin ... khaki "safari" clothes, a goofy longish blond wig, and a stuffed "stingray" carefully stitched to my clothes so it sort of wound around me. It had only been about two months since the zoologist's untimely death ... comments like "too soon!" seemed to follow me at the party and Trevor didn't talk to me for two weeks after that shindig.

October 2007 was the year I sat down, dug deep into my creative soul, and decided to go "conceptual artist" with my first of many esoteric outfits. When Trevor opened his door that year, I greeted him in black jeans, a black turtle neck, and black Chucks. I had went to a craft store and found two bags of stuffed chickens ... 36 in all ... and I basted them to my ebon garments in a way where they could be simply removed by snipping off a few threads. Then I used balsa wood and a plastic head-hugging headband I "borrowed" from my niece to fashion a large letter "U" that I could paint red and dark gray. The swoopy letter sat atop my head like antlers on a mid-century modern stag. "What the hell are you supposed to be?" my buddy asked, a drink in his hand and the beginnings of a look of shame on his face. "A chick magnet," I responded with pride. That particular Halloween, I was anything but!!

The next year I bought some inexpensive board shorts and the ugliest Hawaiian shirt ever manufactured. To this I adhered keys I had pulled from an old computer keyboard. I used Gorilla Glue because that shirt was going in the trash as soon as I got home from the party. At a party outlet store I bought a pack of plastic leis (for around my neck) and one bag of fiberglass "cobwebs" (which I spread all over my body). I put bright blue sunblock on my nose and borrowed the boogie board that my nephew purchased on his family's last trip to Hilton Head. Snazzy flip-flops completed the look. When anyone asked what I was supposed to be, I replied with a trace of irritation "I'm a Web Surfer." One girl who had definitely been imbibing for a good amount of time asked if I had considered giving rehab a shot. I drank heavily in response.

So last year, I thought and thought but nothing coalesced in my brain. I gave up and went on a hunting expedition to the fabric store and bought several yards of discounted pink fur. I had my sister help me build a kind of wide serape or "pocket" that covered me from neck to knees. Tapping into my feminine side, I purchased the largest pink tights I could find and forced them over my legs ... they fit terribly but I just needed the look from the knees down. The night before Trevor's party, I got out the hot glue gun and attached a huge assortment of toy food items I found with the toy kitchens at a department store. Pork chops ... loaves of bread ... little skillets with fried eggs ... bacon strips ... a chicken leg ... a carton of ice cream ... a can labeled "PEAS." The costume got heavier the more things I added ... a miniature ketchup bottle ... some chocolate chip cookies ... a tiny birthday cake ... so I finally had to stop. I must have looked like an idiot shrugging into the furry thing out on the street beside Trevor's apartment building. A stranger answered the door when I knocked and just looked at me with a bit of a challenge. I gave "heys" and "hellos" to a few people I knew but said nothing more. And no one questioned me. Finally I couldn't take the pressure anymore. "I'm an upset stomach," I bellowed. "Get it! GET IT!!" Of course, they didn't.

So Trevor's 2010 bash was last night. I had a good time and everyone liked my costume. It was comfortable and easy to assemble. Unfortunately, the "easy to rinse out" hair dye was proving to be problematic. I have now washed my hair four times and it's still pitch black and a combination of oily- and scary-looking. Luckily it's Sunday, but my littlest nephew wants his wiffleball bat ... my "club" ... back today so he can play with his friends. But I think it's safe to say that "Fred Flintstone" was a hit at the party!!

POINT OF RANT: Yabba ... Dabba ... Never Again!

Today At The Amish Store ...

Here in Ohio, fall came on like a prowling lynx. The temperature dropped a little. The air took on a crisp quality. The trees just seemed to subtly burst into golds and oranges and cardinals and crimsons and now ... POOF!! ... two thirds of the leaves are laying on the ground brittle and melancholy. To some, fall means that summer is gone and the bitter cold of winter is on its way. But for me, autumn represents many positive things including a few trips to a local Amish store about 30 minutes away.

It's not easy to find, nestled deep between back roads and generational family farms ... but it's soooo worth the effort.

The store's hours are odd ... very late a few evenings and closed Thursdays (many Amish weddings and meetings are held on this day) and Sundays. The lane off the rural road to get there is pitted and almost impassable when it's raining heavily; the ruts from repeated buggy tracks are genuine impact tests for most shock absorbers.

But DAMN! ... the bounty of treasures and low prices makes me almost swoon with gluttony! When I go I have a list and a set amount I want to spend ... cash only because they don't take checks or credit cards ... but I always overspend ... and over indulge! And my family and friends benefit from my lack of fiscal discipline because I bring them a jar of pear butter or a half-dozen sinful cinnamon rolls.

Every day, fresh batches of bread, dinner rolls, muffins, and pies are carefully cooled and wrapped by a bevy of plain-but-wholesome-looking young Amish women. Baskets of locally-grown items are placed in small bins ... potatoes, green beans, summer squash, cantaloupe, onions and leeks, peas, sweet corn, cabbage, rhubarb, strawberries, and peaches. This time of year, in particular, apples and pumpkins and decorative gourds and Indian corn are in abundance. Shelves are stocked with unusual pastas, beans, homemade jams and jellies, jars of thick and savory bread and butter pickles, and powdered ingredients for a wide variety of homespun cooking. This little shop is the only place where I've found tomato-basil lasagna noodles and a unique type of white bean that makes for incredible "white" chili. It's like the Old World met The Food Network, fell in love, and had a baby ... "The Amish Iron Chef."

And the spices ... this little cinder-block building is my restock "depot" for cilantro, capaprika, ginger, dried mustard, anise, caraway seed, nutmeg, and thyme, as well as the only place where I've found interesting things like "sweet cumin," a sun-dried tomato/green pepper/red pepper combo that is a must-have for omelets and spaghetti sauce, lime curd for pork roast, and a garlic lemon pepper that makes anything taste better. I'm half tempted to put it on my morning oatmeal ... it's that good!!

There are also some truly unusual items that attract kitchen "dabblers" like me. They have blocks of chocolate the size of newborn babies. And every few weeks they feature hand-churned herb butter ... heavy with garlic, sage, and rosemary. And on occasion, usually around major holidays, they sell large batches of butter cream and cream cheese icing that a local non-Amish lady whips ... what a timesaver for Christmas cookies and the occasional fancy and festive Easter dessert. And there is a whole candy aisle of tiny samples ... sour balls, fruit slices, peppermints, old-fashioned butterscotch, toffee bark, and more. I always start my hunt for "stocking stuffers" at this establishment.

In fact, the one concession to the traditional Amish "stereotype" is a set of freezer cases run by a generator ... no permanent hook up to electric utilities. Anyway, this allows for a wide selection of cheeses and trail bologna and summer sausage made regionally. Buttery farmer's cheese ... Swiss with fennel seeds ... cheddar with pepperoni ... "chocolate" cheese ... the variety switches with the seasons, but there's always something new and unique to try. And I can't stress how inexpensive some of these items are ... like about 30 percent of what I'd usually pay at the grocery or specialty deli store. But it's the soda in the chillers that amazes me ... the Amish must really enjoy carbonated beverages because I've found brands and unique sizes of cola that I never knew existed.

So I used the word "stereotype" earlier. I realize that not everyone is familiar with Amish culture, or just thinks of them as backward folk in plain clothes living without electricity, riding around in horse-pulled buggies, and speaking an odd combination of Dutch and Germanic languages. But like so many of our ancestors, the Amish came to the U.S. in search or religious freedom. In 16th century Europe, many people adopted a faith that did not baptize infants like the predominant Catholic faith, but instead embraced baptism as more knowledgeable adults. These same people also often came into conflict with the Swiss Protestant Reformation movement because they wanted more structure within their churches. These people, closely associated with Mennonites, became known as the Amish, or "the plain people" because of their disdain for many of the worldly possessions coveted by others.

A simple Amish tenet comes from I John 2:15 --

Do not love the world or the things in the world.

If any one loves the world,

love for the Father is not in him.

In the 1700s, a small number of Amish families ... less than 100 ... came to America and settled in Pennsylvania. Many more families followed, and over time a large number of Amish "orders" spread into Ohio and Indiana. Primarily farmers, the Amish have also become well known for their carpentry and repair skills. Additionally, traditional Amish artisans have kept alive many crafts and metal arts disciplines such as blacksmithing, weaving, quilting, and more.

I had an aunt whose farm was adjacent to a small-but-thriving Amish farm. As a kid, I remember spending time at her house and playing with the Amish children. We all loved tag and hide 'n' seek and climbing this big, gnarled tree that sat in the middle of a field. We also got put to work picking raspberries and blackberries, and this slightly older Amish girl showed me how to pick them without getting nicked so much by the briars. But one thing I will never forget is how my aunt would have us all come in for about an hour and draw or play board games. She said it was because she didn't want to send the Amish kids home to their parents all excited or sunburned. I think she just liked having 60 minutes where we weren't all screaming and screeching like maniacs. Here, during the inside time, I noticed the intrinsic differences between "them" and me. The clothes never bothered me, but most of the kids wanted to play checkers or work puzzles. They had no real interest in Candyland or Clue Jr. And when we drew pictures, mine were spaceships and castles where theirs were always horses and pigs and cats and family picnics and trees ... ALWAYS!! And my aunt would usually fix microwave popcorn for a snack and the mood in the house would instantly change. Every Amish child in the room ... usually about five ... would drop what they were doing to watch the "magic" occurring in the "silver box." I never gave it a second thought.

POINT OF RANT: I should have got more trail bologna this trip ... damn it's good!