Feb. 8 -- Lisa's Musings (on color) and Every Day Life

If you really want to look bad, I highly recommend taking photos of yourself before 8:30 a.m. on a Monday morning.

And, of course, take them from a really bad angle so your neck looks like it belongs on an the long-horned cow from last night's Budweiser commercial, which was MY favorite, by the day.

As you can see.

But the point of these horrible photos is the color of the pullover shirt I'm wearing. It's yellow. Well, kind of a green yellow. Or maybe a mustard color, but not really.

And it changes colors before my very eyes.

I bought it from a catalog and it's NOT the color I expected, but it's bright and everyone who knows me, knows I love bright colors.

The problem is, this color doesn't belong in nature. It doesn't go with ANYTHING in my closet and I have lots of bright colors hanging in my closet.

I've had it since December, and I've tried to wear it a number of times but the color mystifies (and horrifies) me.

If I put it with white underneath, it still doesn't go with anything, unless, of course I wore white pants and that's not going to happen.

If I wear it with black, it looks like well, I wore black and added this shirt to be bright and cheerful. It still doesn't work.

Ditto brown or navy blue or green or any base color I've tried.

Nothing works.

Not even these photos which fail to show this yellow in its true shade.

Until today.

As I scanned the closet trying to decide what to wear this morning, there was this shirt. It called to me ... again.

I tried to ignore it, I have assignments to cover today.

But it kept calling.

So I looked AGAIN for something to wear with it.

And there, hiding on the top shelf of the closet was this bright wool scarf.

It has greens and purples and reds and oranges and yellows.

And when I pulled it down off the shelf, I knew.

See Tim Gunn, I DID made it work!

Feb. 7 - Lisa's Musings From Every Day Life

It's Super Bowl Sunday, I think it's No. 44, and I'm not ashamed to say I don't care who wins tonight.

This, coming from someone who's covered two Super Bowls in my former life as a sportswriter.

Truth be told, I didn't much care who won those games, either, because I wasn't being paid to be a fan, I was being paid to cover stuff surrounding "The Game."

And I didn't have any money on the winner.

I wrote about the parties and the player's wives and hoopla surrounding "The Game." Yeah, I did a few color stories about "The Game," but I was one of the secondary reporters, not the main one, so I got to cover "the other stuff," which was fine by me.

It was cool covering the Super Bowl, but it's a media circus, or at least it used to be -- in the old days, when there were lots of newspapers and media outlets sending lots of reporters and photographers and cameramen to cover "The Game."

What I remember most was the parade on the streets below my hotel room for the San Francisco 49ers and the energy of the fans who were so excited that their team had won, beating the Dolphins that year, by the way.

I also remember how mad I was when I got back from said parade to find that someone had swiped a large cross-stitch piece that I'd JUST finished before heading down to cover that parade.

It had a winter scene on it, with all sorts of birds and snow and tree branches and I'd spent months and months working on it. Somehow the $100 they refunded from my hotel bill didn't cover all the time I'd spent working on it.

But I digress.

It's Super Bowl Sunday and I'm sure there are U of M players on both teams so, it doesn't much matter to me who wins.

However, the same can't be said for next weekend when the Winter Olympics begins.

Next weekend, I become a super sports fan -- rooting for every athlete wearing the red, white and blue of the U-S-A.

Next Sunday is also the Daytona 500, but that's a topic for a future blog.

So here's to Super Bowl Sunday, and all those fun, extremely expensive commercials -- something I didn't get to watch when I was actually covering "The Game."

Feb. 6 - Lisa's Musings From (the kitchen) and Every Day Life

I'm not sure if it was operator error or what, but the two dishes we made today in the third and fourth of the Lisa and Betty project were kinda disappointing.

The main dish was a cheesy barbecue beef casserole (page 147) using local beef and cheese.

It looked gorgeous when it came out of the oven and it smelled just as good.

I guess looks (and smells)can be deceiving.

I thought the combo of all the ingredients would be tasty. Ground beef, ziti, onion, BBQ sauce, mozzarella and cheddar cheeses along with local milk and fresh parsley ... how bad could it be?

It was kinda bland, so perhaps I should blame the BBQ sauce.

Or the cooks. But we sure had a lot of fun concocting it.

And while it cooked, we moved to dessert ... my first attempt at making butterscotch pudding. (page 210)

Or pudding of any kind.

I stirred and I stirred and Nancy stirred and she stirred.

We used local egg yolks and butter and milk. It bubbled and we transferred half of the hot mixture into the slightly beaten egg yolks and we timed the boiling and it got thick.

Into the little cups it went and into the frig covered as directed.

I tasted the mixture in the pot before I washed it and thought it was pretty good.

But after it was cooled and we tried it for real, the consistency was slightly off.

It was kinda grainy.

Pudding is supposed to be smooth -- at least pudding other than the rice variety.

This wasn't, which kinda ruined the taste for me.

So today's dishes were, well, not so good, but I don't blame the recipes -- I blame the cooks, who have lots to learn and many dishes to go in this Lisa and Betty (Crocker) project.

Next Saturday's menu is still up in the air, but I can promise it will be something new to me, made with as many local ingredients as possible.

Feb. 5 - Lisa's Musings (on a first birthday and) From Every Day Life

Today is my puppy's first birthday.

I put it up on Facebook and got several comments, he got a birthday phone call from a human friend and his breeder wished him a happy day, too.

So, what did my Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever puppy, Driver, aka Redwyn's Hard Drive, do on his birthday? Pretty much the same thing he does every day.

He barked at squirrels in the birdfeeder.

He romped and leaped (tolled) in the fenced-in dog yard. Bouncing like Tigger through what's left of the snow, tossing a toy in the air and catching it.

He harassed his older brother, enticing him to play tag.

He watched at the window when I left to cover stories today, and was there, feet on the windowsill, when I returned.

He yarped at the door when I took too long gathering my purse and notebook and camera (and mail) before heading inside.

He watched me eat a salad, ever hopeful that I'd either drop some on the floor or that I'd give him some.(Both happened, but that's nothing birthday related.)

And when I'm done with this post, he'll get his gift. I big raw meaty lamb bone from a local sheep breeder I bought at the Ann Arbor Farmer's Market a few weeks ago.

I got two bones, actually, because even though it's Driver's birthday, big brother Ryan doesn't know that, and he'd feel left out if he didn't get anything.

Or, he'd probably take it away from Driver, because that's what big dog brother's do. Especially when it comes to food.

Ryan's third birthday is in April, so there will be more special bones then, too.

And neither dog will be the wiser as to the reason for the bones.

To a dog, a birthday is just another day.

But raw meaty bones are a cause for celebration.

Feb. 4 - Lisa's Musings From Every Day Life

My dogs decided that today was a perfect morning to get me up early.

I’m hoping it was because they didn’t want me to miss the glorious sunrise this morning.

Did you happen to see it – or were your pets and plans kind enough to let you sleep through it?

When my pupper danced on my head at 7-something this morning, I was greeted with a face full of Toller fur and a wet dog tongue slurping my face … and when I was able to open my eyes -- a view of the sky that included brilliant oranges and pinks and purples.

Amazing vibrant and bright colors danced across the sky like a flat rainbow rising above the tree line.

I don’t know, maybe this is the way it is every morning … I’m not usually up early
enough to witness it … but it sure was beautiful.

And during the winter, there don’t seem to be enough sunny days to chirp about so I guess I’m glad that I was up early to enjoy all of its hours.

Or not.

Have you ever noticed that also during these sunny winter days that every clump of dog hair and cobweb, every dusty surface and smudge on the window cries out for attention like a neon sign?

Unlike waking up with a dog tromping all over you, I can ignore the dog dust bunnies and nose window prints on the windows; at least until the next sunny day.

But about this getting up before 8 a.m. thing?

The dogs and I – or at least the younger of the two and I – will have a little discussion tonight about the regularity of this behavior.

Once in a while – when there’s a really cool sunrise, I suppose it’s OK; other times, I’ll remind him who fills his dog bowl with an expensive raw diet.

Did I mention that the birds were happily chirping at that hour as well?

When I headed to the end of the driveway to pick up my two newspapers this morning, the sun was fully up but a smudged version of the colors remained.

I guess I can’t get too mad about being up that early to experience it.

Feb. 3 - Lisa's Musings from (the farm) and Every Day Life

I live in a really neat place.

It's not like I wasn't aware of this already, but today, it became glaringly apparent.

Here's what happened to make me realize how lucky I am to have found a home in a great location.

To recap, I live in rural Sylvan Township, which is in close proximity to Chelsea, not far from lots and lots of farms, yet close enough to Ann Arbor to do stuff there, too.

As I headed out for a story at a farm in Manchester today, I thought I knew where I was going. Only, of course, I didn’t, and got lost.

This happens a lot, actually.

But I refuse to spend the money for GPS. This blog is written by someone who after 10 years of opening and closing the garage door by hand, just bought an opener that does it for me.

It’s still a novelty and was a big step.

For me, at least; because in my book, the more electric gadgets one has, the more chances there are that they’ll break. I know, I sound like my father, but at just about the time these new gizmos become part of my daily routine, they quit working.

Like the stupid cell phone today.

I was lost in an area where my cell phone didn’t have service, and it turns out, even if it had, it wouldn't have helped me much, anyway. Farmer John was on the Internet so his phone didn’t work.

I'd written down directions to Farmer John's house, but failed to write down his exact street address or his phone number. I had it on another piece of paper and meant to bring it with me, but I forgot.

So without telecommunications, I got back on M-52 and stopped at the first place that had a gas station. And sold seed.

I took a chance that perhaps the nice people would know Father John.

No known address.

No last name.

No phone number.

So I asked, and after a few minutes of suggesting last names of farmers, none of which sounded familiar, someone asked to look at my directions.

There were three turns written down and somehow, I’d missed the second one, but it served as a clue to the nice people who immediately figured out not only who Farmer John was but also exactly where he lived.

Only in a small town could something like this happen.

I was an hour late arriving, but Farmer John and his wife still had time for me, fed me just-out-of-the-oven cupcakes. And freshly brewed cup of coffee.

So as I said, I live in a very cool place, where everyone knows, or can figure out how to know, everyone else.

It’s comforting somehow.

And comes in really, really handy when you get lost in small towns as many times as I do.

Feb. 2, Lisa's Musings (About Groundhog Day) and Every Day Life

Call me what you will, but I like Groundhog Day.

Not so much for the outcome of Punxsutawney Phil’s prediction; but because where else could a silly looking critter like a groundhog get his (or her) own day?

And, it’s not a Hallmark Holiday. Or, at least I don’t think so.

And, where else but in Pennsylvania would there be The Inner Circle of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club?

Ya just gotta love it.

Besides, I have my own resident groundhogs. They live under the shed that houses all of my agility equipment.

And, despite what people say about their destructive nature, I think they’re kinda cute.

I don’t feed them or anything. It’s up to them to figure out how to survive. But every now and then I see them cavorting across the back of my property and I smile.

They don’t so much run, rather lumber. Kinda. Sorta.

It’s an odd gait, actually. And the little guys and gals are too cute for words.

And I do see them along the side of the road a lot out here, too. Usually in live, living breathing form.

Groundhogs, I think, must be smarter than other critters of their ilk – at least when it comes to playing tag with motorized vehicles.

Although I did see one take on a bicyclist in Lodi Township. The bicyclist never had a chance.

Score one for groundhogs everywhere.

I rarely see a squished groundhog on the road. Maybe because there aren’t as many of them around as say possum or raccoon or rabbit squirrel or chipmunk.

But when you have a day named after you, perhaps there’s a genetic royalty link involved in your heritage.

So, for all of you that missed seeing the film clips of the big ceremony at Gobbler’s Knob, six more weeks of winter, here we come.

I wonder if my groundhogs know this.

My groundhogs seem to be smart enough to continue hibernating at least until it gets a little warmer.