However.  Today before breakfast I was taking the dogs out for our routine morning walk, when a poem suddenly started forming itself in my mind – just as they had done several years ago when I was living so closely with poesy.  I was pleasantly surprised at how lovely the familiar sensations felt – it was like visiting a dear friend after several years of separation.  Poetry and I picked up right where we left off – no awkward silences or hard feelings.

It was a sweet moment.

I wrote down the poem as soon as I got back to the house.  While it may/may not be any ‘good’ (poetry is so wildly subjective – I dare say that all poems are simultaneously wonderful/horrible, depending on the mind state of the reader/listener), it felt good to create it.  And *that* is the important part.  :)

Stef

nudges

stepping into the pre-dawn light
crisp winter air freshening my lungs like a breath mint
and coloring my cheeks a ruddy blush

two furry boys at my side
their feet clicking in rhythm with mine
the three of us forming a single unit

allied in our purpose
resolute in our mission
focused, yet joyful

delighting in witnessing the sun gently wake the earth
just as i tenderly rouse them as the stars begin to fade
just as they gently stir my heart to open wider, deeper

exposing it to some frigid winter days, yes
but also discovering the wonders found
in the transition from darkness to light…

I participate in a variety of groups as my schedule allows.  Yesterday a dog-lover’s group met and held a ‘treat exchange’: Pet owners came to a conference room armed with a bag of their pet’s favorite treats, and gave a sample to each person in the room.  [Think cookie exchange, but for animal snacks instead of people ones.]  :)  I had a previous commitment at the same time as the treat exchange, so I couldn’t attend in person.  However, I thought it was a fantastic idea and I really did want to support it, so I gave a bag of treats to the organizer in advance of the meet-up, and asked that he distribute the snacks to anyone who wanted them.

The event came and went, and the people that attended had a fun time.  As I returned to my desk later in the afternoon, I found a small sack full to the rim of various dog treats.  The organizer had assembled a bag for me in my absence and personally delivered it to my office – how kind is that?!

Many of the treats are hand-made; I particularly appreciate the one shaped like a heart. :)

Of course the puppies are thrilled with all of the new delicacies; so I get to delight in this colleague’s kindness for several weeks.  So wonderful.

Stef

I was absolutely not expecting that response.  I was prepared to hear, “Hey, do you have a dollar?”, or “Hey, you lookin’ good baby!”, or “Hey, [insert insult here].”  So when I heard a sincere greeting of holiday friendliness, my lips reflexively broke into a very wide grin.  “You, too!” I replied, almost involuntarily.  Seeing my new demeanor, the homeless man returned my big smile with a full-grin of his own.  His eyes lit up, and in a louder and clearer voice, he offered, “Hey, you have a good day now.”  Again, my response was nearly reflexive: “You, too!” with a big grin.

I continued walking towards the office, but with more of a bounce in my step, my smile still lingering on my lips.  Four simple words, offered with a spirit of genuine kindness, made a big difference in my morning.  That man may not have many things to give to others, but he can certainly offer friendliness.  The fact that he did helped me more deeply appreciate the intention of Valentine’s Day.  I hope he – and all of you – had a very lovely holiday.

Stef

P.S.  And if you happened to not have the best holiday (this can be a tough one for folks, sometimes even more challenging than Thanksgiving or Christmas), below are pictures of childish valentine’s cards that I shared with a few colleagues.  As a young kid, I remember Valentine’s Day as a day when everyone was equal: Everyone in the class received the same number and types of cards, the same amount and style of candy or trinkets, the same innocent wishes of simple friendship and silly jokes.  Today, I’m choosing to channel the memories and spirit of that second-grade girl, and enjoy this holiday of love in the biggest, broadest sense of the word.  Happy Valentine’s Day!

Stay cool.  ;)

Stef

Yesterday I had to run an errand across town. While I was out and about, I decided to go ahead and take care of some other tasks, too. As a result, I went to a grocery store where I don’t usually shop. After picking up a basket and turning the corner leading to the produce section, I saw this:

I had heard of ugli fruit before, but didn’t think they were actually real; I thought they were a made-up fruit. Yet here was a full display of huge, round, bumpy, bright green items, with the label “ugli” plastered all over them… So apparently ugli fruit really does exist. Interesting!

I walked over to the display, reached for a fruit – and then paused. I realized I had no idea how to select a “good” fruit. Should a ripe ugli fruit be heavy or light? Should it be uniform in color, or mottled? Should the skin be as bumpy as possible, or only slightly so? It was strange for me to have literally no idea what ‘good’ was…. After visually skimming all of the options, I selected a fruit that looked like an “average” specimen of all the ones available.

When I returned home, I put the ugli fruit on the kitchen counter; I reasoned that since the fruit was displayed in the grocery store at room temperature, it should probably remain there (versus being stored in the refrigerator). A few hours later I began thinking about what to make for dinner, and thought I might as well sample the ugli fruit to see what I was dealing with – at which point, I had another interesting awareness: I had no idea how to prepare or consume the fruit. I suspected it had to be peeled in some way – but then what? Eat it as-is (like a banana)? Does it have seeds that need to removed (like an apple)? Or does it have a bunch of seeds inside that are the primary thing that should be eaten (like a pomegranate)? I had no clue. Time to do some research.

I popped onto the internet, and quickly found an entire website dedicated to ugli fruit (predictably, www.ugli.com).  [Who knew?]  After a few clicks around the simple site, I was informed that the ugli fruit is “an exotic tangelo from Jamaica”. I didn’t know what a ‘tangelo’ was (yet another word I have never seen before), so I looked it up – and learned that a tangelo is a hybrid citrus fruit, a cross between a tangerine and a grapefruit. “Ugli” is a branding name (kind of like how little clementines are sold as “cuties”, or cotton swabs are sold as “Q-tips”). When I read this, I admit that I felt duped; an ugli fruit was just a glorified grapefruit??  Aw, man…

Still. A tangelo/ugli fruit is not the exact same thing as a grapefruit, so I guess trying this fruit still “counts” towards my fulfillment of #74. I’ll continue with the “ugli” exploration…

Returning to the ugli website, I also learned that the average fruit contains two servings, and that each serving is around 45 calories. Uglis do contain seeds, and the seeds are not intended to be eaten. As far as consuming the actual fruit, two main preparation options exist: an ugli can either be peeled like an orange, or sectioned like a grapefruit. I’m a fan of peeling (as I think it is less work overall), so that’s the approach I took:

Don't let 'em getcha down, kid... you don't look that bad...

The outer peel came off the fruit very easily. The peel was rather thick, and felt a bit like very soft alligator skin. Cool.

Beneath the outer peel was a pretty hefty white membrane that clung to the interior fruit. Removing the membrane wasn’t too much of a hassle; once the membrane was removed I sensed a faint, mild citrus smell coming from the fruit.

Having gotten to the flesh of the ugli, I separated the fruit into two halves, then broke apart one half of the fruit into its natural sections. Holy cats, the sections were HUGE!

A sizable section. (I don't have small hands...)

I bit into the first third of one section of fruit – and juice exploded inside my mouth (and a few dribbles escaped past my lips, too). But I successfully severed the first bite of ugli from the rest of the section, and started chewing. And chewing. And chewing. After 20 seconds of chewing, I realized that I was probably not going to be able to actually consume the inner membrane of the fruit – there was just too much of it. Out of curiosity, I chewed that small segment of ugli until I could swallow it – and it took 53 seconds. No lie. Yikes.

From that point on, I chewed each segment of ugli until I had extracted all of the juice and most of the pulp, then spat out the remaining membrane. And even after I gave each piece of membrane a thorough chomping, each one left my mouth still pretty much in tact. Wowzers. This experience kind of reminded me of consuming small wax soda-bottle candy as a kid; sure, technically you could chew on the wax after you drank the sweet syrup – but no one really ever did.

So while the good people at ugli.com advocate two different methods to eat a tangelo, I think I would have been better off if I had followed the cut-like-a-grapefruit method to consume this fruit.

Still, I got to the interior of the fruit, and tasted both the juice and the pulp, and found it all to be very… mild. It wasn’t super-citrusy like an orange, and it wasn’t overly bitter like a grapefruit. It was just… average. Un-offensive. Middle-of-the-road. If an ugli fruit could talk, it would probably say, “Ah, whatever.”

I imagine uglis would be good for juicing (you could probably get a glass of juice out of a single fruit with minimal effort), but I can’t imagine eating them as a fruit very often (unless they were consumed like a sectioned grapefruit – but as I said earlier, sectioning is annoying to me. In fact, I’m so irritated by sectioning that I haven’t had a grapefruit in over 20 years). So, I probably won’t buy an ugli again, but it was fun to try it once!  :)  At least I now know what I’m not missing.

Stef

I began the session with the student by asking him how yesterday’s field trip went (the class visited a science museum) – and immediately received a beaming grin as he told me all about the various interactive, hands-on displays he explored.  After a minute of trading stories, the student and I got to work, and he began reading down the list of second-grade sight words.  “Gain, science, early, empty…” and so on, until we arrived at the word “whole”.  This student pronounced the word as it looks (i.e., “wuh-o-el”), and I gently corrected him with “hohl”.  He stopped, then looked at me, a bit irritated.  “That ain’t right, that word starts with a ‘w’, and you didn’t say it.”  He paused, then continued a bit more gently, “You missed the ‘wuh’ part of the word,” he tried to explain.  I smiled gently at him, and responded, “Actually, this word is kind of strange – you don’t say the ‘w’ for this one.  The ‘w’ is silent.”  The student looked at me incredulously.  “Silent?” he asked, completely unconvinced.  I nodded.  He furrowed his brow, did a slight head shake “no”, but continued reading down the list.

“Father, America, wait, certain…”, and pronounced ‘certain’ as “ker-t-ai-n”.  Again, I gently corrected with the proper pronunciation (‘sur-tn’), and again the student looked at me, thoroughly irritated.  “That word begin with a ‘c’, not a ‘s’,” he protested.  “You can’t say it sound like ‘ssss’ when it start with ‘c’!”  He was ticked that I was trying to change the rules on him.  Though he never spoke these words, his voice and body cried out, “Unfair!”

I know buddy, this language is a tough one.  I tried to assuage him.  “You’re doing really good, J.  Some of these words are tricky, and they don’t always do exactly what we expect.  Remember how the ‘s’ in “island” is silent?”  He nodded.  “Well, this is another word that isn’t quite what we expect it to be.  But it really is pronounced ‘sur-tn’.”  He looked at me, clearly struggling to remember all of these exceptions he was being confronted with, while still wanting to hold on to the rules that he thought were reliable.  He looked down at the page, and again resumed reading.

Near the end of the list, the word ‘certain’ appeared a second time.  Upon seeing this nemesis the student paused, then carefully said, “Well, you say it sound like ‘sur-tn’, so I guess that what it be today…”  When I praised him heartily for both his recognition and remembrance of this tough word, he half-smiled at me in a placating kind of manner, but at the same time gently shook his head ‘no’ – as if to say, “I know you think you right, but lady, you still wrong; that word be ‘ker-t-ai-n’”.

Rules are great – until they don’t work.  This student was confident that he was right; but during our time together, he tried his very best not to upset me.  He tried to explain to me that I was wrong – but in a gentle, caring kind of way.  His pairing of tenacity and empathy warmed my heart.  Even if he never becomes a great reader, he’s going to grow up to be an outstanding man.

Stef

The blue ‘S’ should have been a tip off…(Superman, anyone?)

…but when I twisted the lid, popped the safety seal, and removed the cover to take a drink, I discovered that the seemingly ho-hum cap actually contained one of the treasures I value most: knowledge.

Who knew?

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a sucker for delightful surprises in unexpected places.  This little nugget of info hidden underneath a bottle cap, as small and insignificant as it may seem, really did add some joy to my day.  Thank you to the clever production and marketing folks at this beverage company for taking the time and making the effort to do something just a little bit more than the expected.

Stef

I really appreciate that people want to include me in their activities (truly, I do!); and while I’m content to spend a lovely spring day or summer evening every so often watching a (quasi) great American past time, watching a broomball game is another situation entirely. For one, to me broomball seems to be kind of a made-up game. I didn’t grow up in this northern US state which I now call home, but it is one of the few places in the nation where the slightly random game called “broomball” seems to be not only accepted as normal, but rather respected. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the game of broomball, here’s a quick run down of how it’s played: Picture an ice hockey rink. Now imagine 12 hockey players on the rink (six players per team). Imagine all of their gear (padding, helmets, ice skates), and their hockey sticks, and the little black puck…. Get a really clear image in your mind.

Got it? Make sure you do before you keep reading. I’ll wait.

[Stef sipping tea, waiting patiently.]

Ready to keep going? Okay, now, change the ice skates for boots. (Seriously.) And replace the hockey sticks with plastic brooms. (Again, seriously.) And remove the small black puck, and insert an orange ball about half the size of a soccer ball. (No joke.) Make the helmets optional (yikes), and remove much of the other protective gear. Now you have broomball.

Instead of skating, broomball players run (literally run {and slide}) across the ice. Instead of driving a puck with a stick, they bat at this crazy small soccer ball with what looks like a child’s toy broom. (Honest to goodness.) I suspect if a person grew up around this sport, it all seems completely normal. But for the uninitiated like myself, broomball just appears, well, odd.

So that is Reason #1 why I haven’t ever really made a serious effort to get to a broomball game. But, there is a second, larger reason why I have avoided attending past games, and why I have not yet observed my sweetie play broomball. And that is because broomball is played in the cold. Indeed, as ice is a required element of the sport, the game is guaranteed to be played in conditions that are at freezing temperatures – or below.

I’m a small person, and the cold and I just don’t get along. I tolerate winter as best I can (usually through ample supplies of screamin’ hot coffee and tea, bulky sweatpants, temperature-rated outerwear, space heaters scattered throughout the house, and an electric heating pad on my side of the bed), but I don’t voluntarily subject myself to its brutality. (And the use of the term ‘brutal’ is not an exaggeration when it comes to describing the biting cold and punishing snow that can descend on this city.) However, I really do want to support my sweetie in a variety of ways… and as I am a naturally curious person, I really did want to see how this whole broomball thing is actually played… so I decided to go ahead and include “Watch one of my sweetie’s broomball games” on my 101 list, knowing that if I actually committed to attending a game, I would do so (versus continue to locate [or manufacture] reasons why I was too busy to make it to a game).

So last Sunday I found myself spending the early afternoon at the side of an outdoor ice rink (bundled from head to toe in as much winter gear I could put my hands on: hat, scarf, gloves with additional hand warmers inside them, coat that went down to my calves, boots, and fleece/thermal clothing underneath it all) watching my sweetie (and eleven other adults) running and sliding on ice, batting at/nudging/coaxing a small orange ball near (or attempting to keep it away from) a hockey net.

This coat (indeed, this whole ensemble) is wildly obnoxious, but I really don't care. It's wonderfully warm - and that is my primary concern. :)

I will say that I could not have picked a better winter day to observe the game. While the outdoor air temp was only 19 degrees (F), the sun shined brightly, so the day felt a bit warmer than it actually was. And as it was a Sunday (versus a week night), all of the players seemed to be a bit more relaxed and in good spirits (versus feeling moody and trying to release residual stresses that can manifest at the end of a long work day) – so the game play itself was cordial and friendly versus competitive and fierce (which, unfortunately, I have witnessed on more than one occasion). My sweetie’s teammates were pleased that they had a fan in the crowd (the other team had several supporters on the sidelines), and everyone was genuinely kind to me. (Not that anyone would be unkind or anything like that; I just thought the players might be more indifferent to me because of being more focused on the game.) While I did pay attention to everyone on the ice, and cheered/offered encouragement at appropriate times, what I enjoyed most was seeing my sweetie in action.

My husband played some sports as a boy/adolescent/young adult. While he was never a varsity athlete in his youth (at least, not that I’m aware of), he now absolutely possesses solid sporting skills (ball control, passing ability, knowledge of how to play both offensively and defensively) that translate into most any game. As I watched my sweetie on the ice, I saw his eyes constantly scanning the entire field of play, attempting to predict the actions of the other team, and assessing what his next move should be as a result. I observed him confidently challenge other men, and hold his ground when the game got a little physical. I witnessed him expending strong, determined energy, yet quickly return to his more relaxed, easy going self as soon as he came off the ice and onto the sideline. I got to see a side of him that I don’t often view, and I must admit I was impressed. I’m married to a jock! Who would have predicted that?! ;)

In the end, my husband’s team lost the game 3-2 (though, to be fair, they played three-quarters of the game short one person – so I think they did a fantastic job, all things considered), but the official score is just a bunch of numbers. The final quantity of goals doesn’t tell the story of the real heart exhibited during the game – and the qualitative experience is what I will remember when I think back on the bright, beautiful January day when I got to witness my sweetie as a strong athlete: playing smart, playing hard, and loving every minute of it.

Stef

I still remember the day I had my first bite of tiramisu.  I was 24 years old, and was at a business dinner with a group of coworkers.  We were dining at a semi-decent Italian restaurant, and when it came time for dessert, our boss placed an order for one of everything.  I had never heard of tiramisu before, so when a huge bowl of what appeared to be cocoa powder came to the table, I was confused.  As the ingredients were explained to me, I was unimpressed (and dare I say even a bit turned off.  Cheese in a dessert?  And what the heck is a ladyfinger?  And the whole mess is soaked in coffee?  Yuck.).  But I was encouraged to at least try a bite, so I grudgingly complied – and my eyes perked up as the smooth, sweet, creamy goodness hit my tongue.  Oh, wow.  The dessert was fantastic.

I now order/consume tiramisu whenever the opportunity presents itself; but the opportunities are rare.  So when I saw the gelato today, I wondered how it might fare compared to the real deal.  I was doubtful; but since I was also not overly satisfied with my first foray into a new ice cream venture (i.e., the original #77 on my 101 list), I thought, well, what the heck.  Maybe I’d get lucky and enjoy the new flavor; but if not, at least I can say I really did give #77 my very best effort.

This evening, I extracted a bit of the gelato from its container, and placed it into a bowl.  I was impressed by the texture straight away; it was the perfect ice cream consistency (firm, yet soft enough that it melted on the tongue instantly; cold, but not deep-freeze frigid).  I also noted the generous helping of cocoa powder dusted over the top of the entire tub of gelato – and was impressed by the authentic approach to the classic dish.  I gingerly consumed the first bite of the sweet treat… and was amazed (and very pleased) that it tasted exactly like the dessert I first noshed over a decade ago.  Y. U. M.

I’m delighted that I can now have a (quasi) tiramisu experience any time I want!  And once again, tiramisu surprises me.  I like the way this version of #77 turned out much better than the original.  :)

Stef

Last week a sizable chunk of these folks attended a week-long training that was conducted in a different building.  I noticed their absence, certainly, but didn’t think too much of it. (I can sometimes be a bit oblivious, and just go with whatever is in front of me.)  However, when I returned to the office yesterday, I saw a very large note waiting for these peers who were away last Monday through Friday:

The note reads, “Welcome Back Team.  It was so quiet that…

• I could hear my clock ticking on my desk.
• My footsteps created an echo.
• I had to talk to myself.
• There was no one to tease.
• I could hear myself blink.
• There were no conversations to dip into.
• I wasn’t even hungry.
• I could hear the trainer [who was at the offsite location {about 5 miles away from our office}] from here!
• Whispering over cubes worked just fine.”

Now, a few of these items are ‘inside jokes’, and may not translate well to people not familiar with these work individuals.  However, I laughed out loud at a few of the comments.  (Especially the “I could hear myself blink”, and “I wasn’t even hungry”.)  Admittedly, I’m easily entertained; still, I thought this entry-way greeting was pretty clever – and quite kind.  It’s nice to be missed; and it’s nice to be welcomed back – especially with good-natured humor.

Stef

Since getting the new puppies, however, I have been watching a little more TV. Every evening after walks and dinner, the puppies and I sit on a chair in the living room and have ‘cuddle time’. This is the one time in the day they are allowed on the human furniture (they have furniture all their own – and ample quantities of it!), and we all sit and snuggle for 20 minutes or so; it’s their reward for being good boys the other 23 hours of the day, and is also a lovely way for all of us to bond. During cuddle time, there isn’t much I can do apart from petting them and watching TV. (Two dogs on my lap doesn’t leave much room for a book, puzzle, or craft; and two dogs means I need two hands available for petting, anyway.) So for the past month, my daily TV consumption has increased by nearly 100%; and I’m learning some interesting things as a result.

A few of the shows I watch during cuddle time include Modern Marvels and How It’s Made. Ever since watching the crayon factory episode of Sesame Street as a wee tot, I have been hooked on seeing production in action. (I think this also helped fuel my fascination with construction gear – but I digress.) On a recent viewing of How It’s Made, the camera crew went to the Dippin’ Dots factory – and I got to see how the teeny tiny pellets of ice cream came to be.

I had seen Dippin’ Dots before as a consumer – at carnivals, amusement parks, fairs – but I never felt compelled to try them. In all honesty, they seemed kind of gross to me. (The unnaturally fluorescent colors alone were enough to turn me off…) But when I saw the behind-the-scenes of how this concoction is produced, I admit that I was intrigued. Hmm…

Interestingly, for the past several months I have been trying to locate a crazy ice cream flavor to try. Something like corn, or wasabi, or avocado… (And yes, all of these flavors really do exist.) But the closest I came to finding something “outlandish” was Jimmy Fallon’s ‘Late Night Snack‘ – a vanilla ice cream base with salty caramel and fudge-covered potato chips mixed in. Kind of interesting, and probably tasty – but just not quite enough of a ‘wow’ factor for me.

In my latest trip wandering the frozen case at the grocery, I did spy a display of “Ittibitz” – a facsimile of Dippin’ Dots. In lieu of locating an exotic flavor of ice cream, perhaps I should try a crazy style of the treat? Eh, why not.

So I purchased the Neapolitan flavor of the pellet ice cream, mostly because I know how real Neapolitan ice cream should taste; so I could do an accurate comparison of traditional treat to crazy confection.

After dinner last night, I decided to crack open the small tub of creamy pellets and complete #77 on the 101 list. But just before I peeled back the lid, I noticed an instruction: “Shake well before opening.”

(Look at the top of the container.)

Hm, curious. (And a wee bit unsettling.) Okay…. So I rattled the tub around a few times, and some of the stuck-together balls dislodged slightly from each other. I guess that’s all that needs to be done…

I removed the cover and examined the brown, white, and obnoxiously pink frozen BBs. They looked so processed and artificial, it’s not even funny.

Hello, artificial everything.

I tentatively dipped my spoon into the pile, and extracted a small mound of the balls. I slowly raised the spoon to my lips. I can’t believe I’m about to eat this.

Here goes…

I couldn’t help but chew the first bite of granules – my reflexes just took over. Solid food equals chewing in my mind; and at first contact, the little balls do feel pretty solid. However, after 3-4 gentle bites (I have super-sensitive teeth), the pellets kind of melted down a bit and smushed together in my mouth, and formed one solid-yet-soft mass. Definitely interesting.

The overall taste of this ice cream (if I dare call this ‘ice cream’) is pretty poor. It’s quite bland, and has a very ‘waxy’ note (reminiscent of those wax lip thingys that children play with at Halloween…)  I can tell that the ingredients used to make this product are super-cheap; the company’s budget must go into processing equipment and marketing instead of sugar and cream…

Still, this little venture was kind of fun. I actually did enjoy the whole textural experience of feeling the cold individual pellets congeal into one cool mass of what could pass for a frozen treat… But now that I’ve tried it once, I don’t think I’ll consume this type of ice cream again. Good enough to say that I went, I saw, I ate – and now I’m done. :)

Stef