Eastern Screech Owl

There's an owl in the woods that border my house. Its screech is quite loud and I've been hearing it for years. It sounds nothing like a bird, but more like a horse whinnying. Here's a recording (which I snatched from OwlPages.com):

Imagine hearing that moving above you at night and not knowing it's a bird - creepy!
With the days shortening, it's still dark when I leave for work. My neighbor, the owl, has been greeting me every morning. I wish I could see it!
When I was a kid, Sarge and I, along with our two neighbor girls, caught an owl and brought it home to our parents! It was sitting still on a log and my sister "snuck up behind it" (how could we be so dense?!?), put an old metal washtub over it, and slid the owl off the log into the washtub. I took off my jacket, put it over the top, and the four of us carried it home.
My mom about fell off her chair when we got home; we called people to come and see it, but nobody believed us. Lord, that thing could have clawed our eyes out of their sockets! But, it seemed to go into a trance when it was on its back.
Great memory of being a dumb kid . . .

A Perfect Autumn Meal

This weather just makes me want to cook!
Yeseterday, I roasted a pork shoulder with potatoes, made a Carrot/Horseradish casserole and used an old German recipe to make an apple cake.
It was a nice, cool weather treat.

Funiculars

Have you ever taken a funicular (aka incline)? I love these things! It’s a cross between an elevator and a train, designed to take people up and down a big hill quickly. Most of them were built in the late 1800’s to early 1900’s and there aren’t many still in operation in the US.
Logically, they were built in hilly cities, like Cincinnati, where there were five at one time, now all closed. Pittsburg still has two and there are loads of them still being used in Europe. I swear that I’ve seen a private one in the yard of an exclusive estate perched atop a cliff overlooking Lake Erie between Toledo and Cleveland. Private ones have also been built at golf courses, hotels, ski resorts, etc.
I've recently learned about a couple inclines that I’ve been near, but never took – in Puerto Rico and Niagara Falls. Oh, shucks, I’ll have to go back . . .
Here are shots of some funiculars I’ve ridden.



A fun look at a few more.

Cleveland's Little Italy

I love ethnic enclaves, the little pockets of culture that are fervently preserved within a larger culture. Metro Detroit has huge Arabic population in Dearborn and a smaller Polish section in Hamtramck. My only Chinatown visit was in Honolulu, which was as dangerous as all the stereotyping would lead you to expect. I’ve been to plenty of Little Italy sections – in NYC, Windsor (Ontario) and in Chicago.
Last week, my cousin and I discovered a Little Italy that I didn’t know existed – in Cleveland. Of course, it’s usually all about the food, and this trip was no exception. We had dinner at Mia Bella; here’s a shot of the veggies and chorizo. YUM!


Then, we were off to Presti’s Bakery & Café. A picture truly IS worth a thousand words . . .

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Pine Haven

*******Have you ever had an inconsequential experience that you just know you will remember for the rest of your life? There’s one that I can’t seem to get out of my mind lately.
Years ago, I set out for one of my first solo vacations; I was driving to Maine. I love the northeast, from the Adirondacks to the Atlantic, so I was just putzing through at my own pace. I enjoyed the winding drive along Route 9 through southern New Hampshire and suddenly saw a cabin painted a sunny yellow with a sign reading “Tea House.” It was breakfast-time, so I turned around. The parking lot was empty.
I was immediately enchanted by the place. There was a large, screened porch filled with tables that were already set for guests. The lights were on and I could hear a radio. I yelled, “Hello,” a couple times, but didn’t get a response. Inside, there were just a couple rooms, one of which was a huge kitchen, which smelled wonderful. Still no answer, though.
I went back out to the porch and saw a lady coming down the hill behind the cabin, yelling in a sing-song voice, “I’m coming!” In a moment, I met Martha Brown, a lady I’ll never forget. I remember her energy, her health and how likeable she was. Her hair was gray, so I knew that she was older, but, in that way of New Englanders, her vibrancy made it impossible to guess her age. She poured me coffee, gave me a menu, and went back up the hill to finish whatever she had been doing, completely unconcerned about a stranger having free roam of her entire establishment.
I wandered around, taking in the hand-embroidered linens, vintage mismatched china, and homemade preserves on the tables. Everything was spanking clean. Every door and window was open, so the cabin smelled fresh. Although nobody was there, the kitchen looked like a hive of domestic activity.
After Martha took my order and brought my food, she joined me at one of the tables. We chatted about her preserves, and she brought me a jar of crabapple jelly, which I had never seen. Oh, crabapples make the most beautiful, softly-hued pink jelly you can imagine! She shared her day’s baking agenda with me. She was quite a busy lady, yet she took the time to sit with me while I ate.
I inquired about the sign that read “Cabins” outside. Yes, she had cabins for rent, too. Years ago, her dad had built this travellers’ stop, called Pine Haven. She now took care of the cabins as well as the tea house.



******I stopped on the way back home, too, renting a tiny cabin for the night. Martha knocked on my door to inform me that she had started a campfire for us. It was just the two of us, chatting beside the flames. She introduced me to the crabby guy who was living in one of the cabins while going through a divorce; he didn’t stay by the fire. Martha and I talked the evening away; she was making sure that I didn't feel lonely, I think.
The next morning, we said goodbye after breakfast. I don’t know why, but I loved everything about Pine Haven and its owner. I’m such a sentimentalist, I know, but I think having tourist cabins or a B&B would be such a fun experience. Martha was the perfect personality to do it.
A couple years ago, I googled Pine Haven, with the intention of returning someday. I found that it was closed and for sale. I realized that Martha was probably gone and wished I could tell her survivors about the impression she had left on me. I found some information about her; she was active in her community, serving as an officer of the women’s club, and having a hand in the local historical society. She was as much a character as she seemed.
I still think about Martha and Pine Haven occasionally. Pine Haven is still for sale. Yesterday, a google search brought up the following poem, written by another Antrim resident for a local newspaper. Apparently, Martha left an impression on a lot of people.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell Repealed

To the US Military - It's about time! I'd think that a willingness to fight for your country would trump any other characteristic . . .

To people coming out to their family - Please don't tape it and put it on YouTube.

Employee Appreciation

I work for a major medical center; today was our annual Employee Appreciation Ice Cream Social. It was held in the beautiful courtyard area between our numerous hospital buildings.
****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************There were lots of games and activities. In particular, the money blowing machine interested a group of young Mennonite girls who volunteer with us. Volunteering must be a part of Mennonite culture, because we have a lot of them; I love seeing their simple clothing and behavior in the midst of all the cutting-edge medical technology.



****************************************************************On the way out, I passed through the main lobby, which houses a baby grand piano. This is how one of our nurses, Steve, likes to spend his lunch hours:

You never know what you'll see here.