What's the Date?

Yep, my old school alarm clock talks. 

Happy Halloween!

Here in the Des Moines area the kids trick or treat a day early, and it's called "Beggar's Night". I'm still not sure how I feel about that. It's a little anticlimactic to have nothing happen on All Hallows Eve, but I'll live. In fact, after we get Char to bed tonight, I will not venture out into the garage. Instead, I'm going to turn out the lights in my movie room and fire up my favorite scary movie, Halloween.

Here, you can watch it with me if you want (warning, it's rated R): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_cPwONsKu8

When the movie's over, I'll go downstairs and also turn off the lights on our Halloween display for another year.

October's almost gone, but that's alright with me. It's only the first of my three favorite months. Besides, I don't care for October's tenuous grip on fall. There's too many backward slips into September's weather. I don't want to rake dead leaves in 80 degrees. Days like that play tricks on you, but then again, what you would expect from October?

What a week. We start with Halloween candy, and we end with an extra hour to sleep...  does it get better than that? 

Well, yeah, it does. 

The Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Eve celebrations are still around the corner. Right now there is nothing but good coming our way. It's almost November, and November may hit you in the face with a snowball, but it won't brand you with a sunburn.


"Your turn in the chair next time," said October.
"I know," said November. He was pale and thin-lipped. He helped October out of the wooden chair. "I like your stories. Mine are always too dark."
"I don't think so," said October. "It's just that your nights are longer. And you aren't so warm."
"Put it like that," said November, "and I feel better. I suppose we can't help who we are."
"That's the spirit," said his brother. And they touched hands as they walked away from the fire's orange embers, taking their stories with them back into the dark."
        
   Neil Gaiman, "October in the Chair"

"Ding!" Round Four of Trick and Treating

We felt a bit like Halloween Scrooges, but this year we skipped handing out candy at our house, and we took Charlotte to Valley West Mall for their October Family Night. Almost every store on the lower level had an employee dressed in a costume and handing out candy. The crowd was bigger than we expected, and Char preferred to be carried by Mom for the first 15 minutes.

I took a few shots of the crowd, but my hastily taken pictures don't really do its size justice (I always feel weird taking pictures of strangers). Considering all the animal costumes, the place was a zoo.

In an effort to escape the throng of tiny monsters and zombie princesses, Char ducked into the games store where she played with the display toys for awhile.

And what did she find in the Melissa & Doug "Victorian Dollhouse" (priced at a meager $180)?

A Female Fire Fighter!

Yea! (She still didn't get the dollhouse, though.)

Buckets of Fun: Halloween 2012

Photo Essay

Charlotte had a lot of costumes to chose from this year, and we helped her narrow her choices down to two. She had to decide if she wanted to be a "Pirate Princess" or a "Fire Fighter". You can see which costume won.

 I suppose some people would balk at dressing a girl in an allegedly male costume, but it didn't bother us in the least. When Daphne asked Charlotte if she was sure that she didn't want to be a pirate, Char replied, " No. I will rescue people." Moments like that make me swell with pride.

But I was surprised how many people gave Char a "thumbs up" when they saw her.

Knowing Iowa Octobers, Daphne also knew this was a great costume. The uniform is heavy with layers, and its already equipped with reflective strips. Saturday's high temperature was hovering around the upper 40's, but we added some leggings and a hat, and we were off to the Blank Park Zoo's "Night Eyes".

You can't see it, and Char doesn't care, but I think it's pretty cool that my daughter is wearing a vintage stocking hat from the 1980 winter Olympics.

It's a good thing Char chose the fire fighter outfit; she would have been a pirate anyway.

She got to hang out with the Peanuts' Gang.

And she led Mom out of another hay bale maze. 

We spent an hour at the zoo, and then we headed over to McDonald's for dinner. It was Char's first Happy Meal, and she was very pleased with the french fry container, "That is Charlotte sized!"

After dinner, Mom added a hoodie beneath Char's costume, and we ventured out into the night, under its Harvest Moon.

Next was a visit to the Living History Farms' Annual Family Halloween: "Horse-drawn wagon rides, marshmallow roasts, storytellers, scarecrow and jack-o-lantern displays delight all during this non-scary family event. Children aged 12 and under can trick or treat through town, and we'll have free pop and popcorn for all! Costumes are welcome and encouraged!"

Char met some real fire fighters at the entrance. The guys were more than willing to pose with Charlotte, but she was having none of it. As soon as the guys took a knee, she bolted. The fireman closest to her remarked, "Stranger danger. Smart girl."

We tried to roast some marshmallows, but someone was too impatient for any of the actual roasting. Oh well, it was getting late anyway. We skipped the wagon ride, grabbed two small bags of popcorn, and headed for home.

On Sunday afternoon we headed over to the Historic Valley Junction's Pumpkin Walk for round three of trick or treating. It was brisk, but we left the stocking hat at home. 

By the end of the weekend, Char had taken in quite a haul. Her bucket is over six inches tall, and it's full to the brim.

This is also a bucket full of temptation. "According to a poll by the National Confectioner's Association, ninety percent of parents admitted to sneaking candy from their kid's bags," J is for Jack-O'-Lantern. Man, I'd love to reach in there and snag that Kit Kat bar, or dig around until I'd unearth a Snickers (the champion of all candy bars), but I don't dare. Sooner or later, Charlotte would notice. She's got her mom's knack of knowing when I've been up to something. 

Remember those bags of popcorn? By the time we got home from the haunted history farm, oil stains had crept across the surface of the white paper. I knew that the popcorn would soon be stale, so after Charlotte went to bed, I ate it while watching TV.

Of course, the first thing Char asked about on Sunday morning was those bags of popcorn. She could see that her candy bucket was untouched, but the bags were gone.

It's my mantra: "Don't Even Try, Brent. The Girls Will Catch You."

Tales from Community Cookbooks: "I'd Omit It All" Edition

I haven't eaten liverwurst. Maybe it's the name? There's nothing appealing about either of those two root words.

Or maybe it's this recipe.

If I had any photoshop skills, I'd shop this notation next to the liverwurst recipe.

Two hours later...

Turns out you don't need photoshop skills when you have a good friend named Katherine. Awesome!

This is now one of my favorite recipes, but I still won't make it.

Tales from Community Cookbooks: "Boozy" Edition

Note to all other cookbooks, this is how you begin a cookbook.

Shirley, you had me at "beer meat".

Then on page 4

That addition probably works in a lot of other recipes, too.

Yep, I guess so

"Why Not? Anther can't hurth."

Actually, this dessert does have a name, but by this time, no one can remember it.

These recipes can be found in the Welcome Wagon of Greater Des Moines's cookbook, "Good Cooking: 1972".

I couldn't find the chapter on hangover cures.

Tales from Community Cookbooks

I could make "Tales From Community Cookbooks" a blog by itself, but I don't need another self-imposed time consumer. I'll just leave it as a continuing series here at Charlotte's Pocket.

In Honor of Melissa and Her Grandma

I like old cook book pages with folded corners; you know the fold marks a favored recipe. What's even cooler is finding handwritten notes on those pages. 

In a disposable culture where most written communication is electronic, a cursive note written in pencil somehow carries more weight than it probably should.

Pre-parent Brent wouldn't give this notation a second glance. Now I tear up a bit.

Don't Try This at Home

Out of curiosity I Googled "popcorn turkey dressing":
http://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=popcorn+turkey+dressing&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8

Apparently, this is a funny joke with the recipe crowd... But I can see why Gary didn't submit his whole name.

PS. Excessive exclamation point use really bugs me, Gary.

How 'bout Them Apples?

Photo Essay

On Sunday we made a trip to the Cedar Grove Orchard. The place is a bit like an agricultural Adventureland.  http://www.centergroveorchard.com/index2.php

It was a little brisk when we got there, but Char was still willing to go out and do some plowing.

Then we went over to the "Three Little Pigs" play area. Unless you are used to reading to small children, you probably don't remember how weird most of the nursery rhymes are.

Here's a "framed picture" inside one of the Pig's houses. It made me laugh, anyway.

After visiting the pigs, turkeys, ducks, and goats, we cleaned off in the Corn Pool.

Although it's not much different from a large sand box, the corn pool is fascinating to sit in. For one thing, the corn is really cold. Last year we visited on a hot day, and the pool was curiously refreshing. This year it was just plain fun.

FYI: Corn in Pool = Corn in Diaper

Next we transitioned from jumping into corn to bouncing on the "Jumping Pillow". Both Mom and Char were skeptical at first, but Charlotte quickly warmed up to the attraction.  Char kept repeating,

           (bounce)                                (bounce)
"This!"              "Is!"                "So!"                "Much!"                "Fun!"
                                (bounce)                                       (bounce)

After all that jumping, Char was ready to lose her coat and take a spin with Dad on the "biiiiggg" tractors.

Then came the train ride.

The train was for children only, and I wasn't sure how Char would do by herself, but she was willing to go solo. So, off they went.

Honestly, this is probably the farthest Charlotte has even been away from family supervision:

I know emotions override rational thinking. She's probably no more than 100 yards away in this picture, but it seemed like a half mile to me. And I don't care how overprotective I would have looked. If Char had started screaming, I'm sure I would have sprinted over there to get her. Luckily, she just kept waving happily from her rail car, and I continued pretending that I wasn't uncomfortable at all.

Charlotte also got trapped in the bale maze and the spider's web.

Whew. We were too busy watching a live juggling act for me to take pictures of lunch at the Feed Bunk. And we didn't get to do the hay ride or the big slide. There just wasn't enough time. Charlotte takes her nap around 1:00, and it was already 1:30.

We did manage to squeeze in a stop at the Hay Cafe for an apple cider doughnut and some apple pie ice cream.

Life is short enough; there's no need to skip treat time.

My New Normal

Lately, when Char and I drive to daycare In the morning, we sing Clifford songs together.

As I was driving home from work yesterday, I found myself three songs deep into this CD before I realized I was all by myself. I was even singing along. I quickly turned the stereo to a radio station, but it was too late. The damage was done.

Later, while mulching fallen leaves with my mower, I kept singing, "Clifford the dog has five bones. Clifford the dog has five bones. Clifford the dog has five bones. Smile, Clifford, smile. Boom Boom."

I tried to switch my metal soundtrack to a song by the Black Keys, but I couldn't. Thirty seconds later, I was back chewing bones with Clifford.

I use to Rock and Roll.

Now I Rocky and Bullwinkle.

I've Seen This Before

Paste magazine recently reported, "A poster was made featuring the cast of NBC’s Community recreating the iconic movie poster for the John Hughes 1985 classic, The Breakfast Club. The mash-up nails it, matching the facial expressions from the original poster. Adorning the top of the poster is the story line for the film with a slight twist to make it appropriate for the show."

The classic:

The mash-up:

Hmmm... that's cool and all, but I wonder if the creators of this new poster know that Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 beat them to the punch 26 years ago?

I'm Just Saying

If you're ever sitting in a department meeting for four hours, and to keep yourself from spraying your co-workers with cough phlegm you're eating handfuls of Halls mentholated drops like popcorn, then don't expect a pep talk from a wrapper to cheer you up.

There's No Tool Like an Old Tool

Here's my garage's mascot, Speedy.

Found in an odd box my dad left behind, this bent, "Speed Master" ratchet wrench wormed his way into my heart. I think it was his smile and his inebriated, Phillips head screw eyes that won me over.

Not that my garage needs a name, it only services one vehicle, but if I had to give my space a title, then I'd call it "The Bent Wrench Garage" in honor of Speedy and my lack mechanical talent.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about tools. 

While I've been learning to wrench on my Bug, I've also found my garage to be lacking in basic necessities. So far I've had to obtain various styles of metric wrenches, metric taps, a breaker bar, cheater pipes, a line wrench, jack stands, a three ton hydraulic jack, screwdrivers in different lengths, a gas torch, a test light sensor, a trouble light, a feeler gauge... the list goes on, but you get the idea.  My pegboard and workbench are filling up, but there are so many more instruments that I have yet to discover that I need. 

But honestly, I don't mind buying tools. Sure, they're a means to an end, but each one has the potential to solve future problems. A quality tool is an investment in what lies ahead. But as Hamlet said, "Aye, there's the rub." What make a tool a quality tool?

When I was on the hunt for a torque wrench, I first went to the Sears website. I've been using the wrenches in my dad's Craftsman collection for years, so I thought I was being prudent. Luckily, I checked the customer product reviews first. Turns out many of the new Craftsman tools are not made the US. The new torque wrenches do not have lifetime guaranties, and they're made in China. Their reviews were terrible.

If you want a quality Craftsman wrench, then you have to buy one made in the USA. If you want one made in the USA, you have to buy a used tool.

Awesome. I love old tools.

My grandparents were farmers, and my dad grew up on their farm. I grew up "in town" - if you can call a group of 500 people a town - but I spent a lot of my youth around farmers. 

Some of my favorite memories of my dad and my grandpa include accompanying them to farm auctions. You'd pull your car onto the farmer's property and squeeze your vehicle between an oak tree and a corn crib. The land would be crawling with prospective buyers sniffing through stacks of cardboard boxes lined across flatbed trailers. As you walked through the rows of machinery waiting to be sold, the cool autumn air swirled the scents of pipe smoke, anticipation, and the loose-meat sandwiches being prepared in the farmhouse's kitchen. There would be homemade pies for sale, too. And the stove would be brimming with its last pots of chili to be simmered. The stove, once cooled, would be sold along with the bowls of soup it had produced.

Although they were a place of business, those farms reeked of comfort.

My grandpa's hobby was collecting and selling old hand tools, so that was our main focus. Dad also hunted for firearms, and I always kept my eye out for anything with wheels, but tools were a constant. After the sale, we'd unpack our finds, and I would take the corroded treasure to his "grinder" for a thorough cleaning. Here's a picture I took of it during our 2013 family reunion at the farm. It's been silent since '89 when Grandpa Glen died.

His grinder was just a wire brush and a stone wheel belt-driven by a scavenged electric motor, but it could make rust cry. My dad had one, too, and now I've got a grinder of my own. I'm pretty proud of mine.

Somehow I doubt that my grandfather's grinder ever had a random mix-tape of rap music lying nearby, but I could be wrong.

After years of cleaning, oiling, and handling old wrenches, screwdrivers, drills, and the rest of the ilk, I have acquired an appreciation and love for these old twists of metal. An older tool has a heft and a history that can't be found in a department store. It also has style. Look at the grinder in the above photo. See those elegant curves and the Art Deco influence? Do you think you're going to find that at Walmart?

Here's another example. I found this Craftsman 1/4-drive ratchet, with a "V"-shaped shifter, at a south-side flea market.

Its patent was assigned in 1959, and I'm pretty sure you can't find a sweeter looking wrench on any store shelf today. Plus, I own it. What do I mean by that? When tightening a nut, the ratchet's gear would slip. My suspicion was that it was only gunked-up, not broken. I used a needle nosed pliers to pinch the clip rings, and I opened the wrench to investigate.

Seriously, how many products can you buy today that provide an easy access to their internals? To quote MAKE magazine, "If you can't open it, then you don't own it." After soaking for a few minutes in a solvent, the ratchet's parts were reassembled. I added some fresh lubricant, and now the wrench's action is smooth and tight. See, this wrench is no longer a mystery. I know what's inside, and I can repair the tool if it's possible. I own my wrench.

Let's not forget this tool's style. Chrome plated with brass accents, this is one sexy wrench.

And that's not a look everybody can pull off.

"Speedy! What are you trying to do? Stop arching your back like that and get back on the pegboard! You're embarrassing yourself!"