Stormy Weather

A couple of months ago, in anticipation of the severe weather season, I purchased a small hand-held weather radio. Like all things electronic, it requires reading a small manual written by a professional engineer prior to using it.

While this manual is much easier to read than the coffee-table sized book that came with my TiVo, I still couldn’t figure out how to program the radio so that the only weather alerts I would receive would be for the actual county where I reside, not the entire south central Kansas region.

I blame this on the fact that it was late and the print was tiny, not on the engineer who wrote the manual.

After fiddling around with the different settings, I finally figured out that “FR” on the screen meant Friday, not French. I went to sleep, secure in the knowledge that I would be appropriately alerted in my native language should a weather emergency arise.

And one did. I was awakened several times by the shrill buzz of the early warning alert system as a thunderstorm moved through several different counties adjacent to mine. While I have an odd fascination with severe weather, which is mostly a fascination with how not to be harmed by it, around midnight I also have a fascination with sleep. Which was being disturbed by my deceivingly small, yet loud, radio.

All the weather alert system has to do to get my attention is say either ‘golf ball-sized hail’ or ‘tornado warning’ and I go into ultra-readiness mode. My adrenalin kicks in as though I’ve just consumed a couple of Red Bull energy drinks. A few years ago, prior to moving to the suburbs, ultra-readiness mode meant driving to the nearest parking garage to protect my Blazer from hail damage. (The boat took up all the space in the garage. Now I have a bigger garage where both the boat and the Blazer safely reside).

I’ve seen how hail can reduce an awning into tattered strips of cloth, or make a car look like it’s been used for target practice. In 1991 I was in Andover about ¼ mile west of the tornado that struck. I was never in harm’s way, but I will always remember the black wall of destruction that reduced homes to piles of broken lumber and mud, sometimes leaving only a bathtub intact.

But last night there was no tornado in my area, just a powerful thunderstorm that moved into my neighborhood around 1:45 am. It wasn’t destructive, just windy and wet. As much water as it dumped I thought I might even be off the hook for mowing today.

I could have, I should have. But instead of mowing I found other things to do. Meanwhile, the weather radio is buzzing again. Severe thunderstorms in Sumner County. Sigh. I really need to get that thing figured out.

A Most Righteous Recipe

On this, the eve of a much anticipated three-day weekend, we at Suburban Blurbs would like to recognize the fact that while many people will be traveling, many more from the suburbs, like me, will be enjoying a “staycation”.

A “staycation” is where you don’t go anywhere but the movies, mall, or market, staying at home to enjoy the harmless decadence of having time to drink coffee on the deck, read that stack of unread Bon Appetit and Cooking Light magazines (we like to explore both ends of the caloric spectrum), test new recipes, finally get around to view DVDs received as gifts at Christmas, put away the last of the Easter decorations, etc.

Some may have agreed to host a Memorial Day gathering for family and friends during their staycation. In an effort to help you make this a most pleasant event, I am sharing the following recipe that should wow your guests, if they like salmon. I found it in a recent issue of Southern Living on a full-page ad for McCormick Seasonings. Three times now I have prepared it, and it’s always tasty. The key is to use smoked, not regular, paprika. Yes, I know gasoline is expensive, but go to the store anyway. The smoked paprika is worth it. And whatever you do, DO NOT buy salmon with bones in it. You don't want to spend your holiday picking tiny white bones out of your dinner. Or your throat.

Smoked Paprika Roasted Salmon with Roasted Spinach

(Makes 8 servings. Yeah, right. More like 4 – 5).

Ingredients:
¼ cup orange juice
2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon olive oil, divided
2 teaspoons McCormick Gourmet Collection Thyme Leaves, divided
2 pounds salmon filets
1 tablespoon brown sugar
1 tablespoon McCormick Gourmet Collection Smoked Paprika
1 teaspoon McCormick Gourmet Collection Saigon Cinnamon
1 teaspoon grated orange peel
½ teaspoon McCormick Gourmet Collection Sicilian Sea Salt
1 bag (10 ounces) spinach leaves

Directions:
MIX orange juice, 2 tablespoons of the oil and 1 teaspoon of the thyme in small bowl. Place salmon in large baking dish, skin side up. Add marinade. Cover. Refrigerate 30 minutes or longer for extra flavor.

MIX sugar, smoked paprika, cinnamon, orange peel, remaining 1 teaspoon thyme and sea salt in small bowl. Remove salmon from marinade. Place skin side down in greased foil-lined baking pan. Discard any remaining marinade. Rub top of salmon evenly with smoked paprika mixture.

ROAST salmon in preheated 400 degree Fahrenheit oven 15 – 20 minutes or until fish flakes easily with a fork. Meanwhile, heat remaining 1 teaspoon oil in large skillet on medium heat. Add spinach, cook and stir 2 minutes or until wilted. Serve salmon over spinach.

The Roasted Bean Routine

Our work site in Pascagoula was about a 40-minute shuttle bus ride from the Beau Rivage hotel. Right away I learned that one way to cope with waking up early for a day of manual labor was to stop by the Roasted Bean coffee shop at the Beau, purchase a large coffee, and enjoy the ride.

This one little thing dramatically altered the trajectory of my day. I know, because on the first day of the work week, Monday, I did not purchase coffee. Thinking vats of it would be available when we arrived at the large gathering tent for breakfast, I walked right past the Roasted Bean.

That first morning I missed out on one of life's little pleasantries: sipping coffee, heavily laced with skim milk and artificial sugar (I know, I'm weaning myself of it) early in the morning before reaching my destination. But I learned. Every morning after that I stopped in at the Roasted Bean.

While I can't say I was 20% smarter for the rest of the day, I am certain that I was 20% more enjoyable to be around. As I looked around and saw other Habitat workers cradling their cups of coffee they seemed to be experiencing the same gentle effect.

Therein lies one of the keys to a more civilized society: a warm breakfast beverage to get your blood circulating and help you wake up, a long ride with someone else at the wheel, and perhaps a friend or two to talk with. (Or a cocoon of tunes.) I believe if more of us began our days that way we could be well on our way to achieving what treaties and peace talks haven't: a world of friendly people who help each other get important things done.

If you don't believe me, look at what we achieved last week: we were part of an effort to build 250 homes along the Gulf Coast. The coffee and conversation were part of the success. Because you sure can't create something wonderful if you're not alert and grumpy.

A Cocoon of Tunes

No doubt it's out of politeness that people have yet to ask what music is on the 'cocoon of tunes' I enjoyed while waiting at the Gulfport-Biloxi Airport for 10 hours last Saturday (disclaimer: due to my error, not anyone else's).

I take music with me whenever I travel, as well as a large set of noise cancelling headphones. They come in very handy not just on the plane but during long layovers. I used to try to find "CNN-Free" zones at airports, locations where either the tv was turned off (good luck) or there was no tv to be found.

Then I decided to fight back and purchase an iPod. I don't have to tell you what that is. If you are savvy enough to read a blog you know how the iPod has revolutionized the music industry and the ability to discreetly ignore people all around you. A little electronic box the size of a deck of cards, or smaller, means that you never, ever have to listen to a used car commercial again if you don't want to.

iPods were banned on the Habitat construction sites for good reason - you have to be able to hear your team leader and co-workers. But at the airport they're a great way to shut out the loud cell phone talker next to you, the unhappy child, and of course, CNN. (I don't know how that deal slid through - being able to install tvs at every airport tuned permanently to CNN - but someone needs to go to jail.)

Why all news all the time? Why not the Food Channel? Bad news makes people grumpy. Food makes people happy. Simply changing the channel at all the airports in the US could really help the airlines these days.

For example: your flight has been delayed and now you are going to miss your connecting flight home. With CNN broadcasting the latest flood, fire, mass murder, earthquake, corrupt person, or hardened criminal in a continuous loop you start walking around like a lab rat helplessly trapped in a maze, seeking a way out.

But if the Food Network were on (or for some people, NASCAR) you'd be a much happier lab rat. "Well, okay, I guess I'll be delayed 10 hours, but wow, they're having a Paula Deen marathon all afternoon so I'd better get some Moon Pies, a Coke, and settle in."

At any rate, having a cocoon of tunes is such a civilized way to spend time, as long as you keep the volume down so that the people next to you can't hum along with you.

And what's on mine? So far, 2,500 of my favorite songs, but I still have several hundred CDs to download. Last Saturday I listened to:

*Marvin Gaye - Midnight Love

*Barry White - Greatest Hits

*Herb Alpert - Herb Alpert's Ninth

*Acoustic Alchemy - Red Dust and Spanish Lace

*The Rippingtons - Kilimanjaro

*Big Maybelle - Candy

*Walter Wanderley - On My Mind

What I did NOT listen to: Just about anything, other than Jazz, produced in this century.

I am decidedly unhip. But that's the great thing about creating your own playlist. You can groove to your favorite tunes and no one has to know that Tom Jones is singing "It's Not Unusual." Which, by the way, I'm thinking of downloading. For 99 cents it's a steal.

A Tale of Two Blackberries....

....and the wonderful people behind them.

Blackberry #1: Belongs to me. Faithfully I brought it each day to the work site, reading emails on the 40-minute bus ride to and from Pascagoula. Like the responsible adult that I am, I took along my charger and plugged it in every other day.

Sometime on Friday morning I noticed it wasn't in my tool apron, where I'd kept it all week. I had an unsettling thought that I'd dropped it somewhere, but hoped I had left it in the hotel room.

Not so. I officially proclaimed it lost when the Knight Foundation staff and friends met for dinner on Friday evening following our final work day at our Habitat sites. My colleague Paul notified T Mobile immediately and I assumed that Mr. Blackberry was gone for good.

Blackberry #2: Saturday morning I was exhausted and rattled about losing my friend. At least that's my explanation for leaving my bag behind on the shuttle bus from the Beau Rivage to the airport. Not only did I not have my wallet and ID at that point, but I realized I was without a communications device in case anyone called to tell me they had found my bag.

I mourned appropriately, and then fantasized about how neat it would be to own a RED version of the Blackberry Curve. Sweet! No more looking for a black PDA in the bowels of a black purse! No, the beautiful cherry red of my new Blackberry would stand out, and make me look hip as well!

Polly Talen, my colleague from St. Paul, MN, graciously offered the use of her Blackberry. For her, this was a TREMENDOUS sacrifice. I think she uses her Blackberry more than her laptop to communicate with people. Yet she could tell what a spot I was in and she responded with kindness. Since it was a Saturday, it meant she wouldn't get it back until Tuesday at the earliest.

As it turned out, I only needed to make a couple of calls. But Polly had left on the same flight I was supposed to take. Her Blackberry was mine until sometime Monday.

Blackberry #1: With all the rain that fell on Friday there was no way my Blackberry could have survived the deluge. I was certain it had drowned in a puddle somewhere near our job site. Or been crushed by the trample of feet, wheelbarrows, golf carts, trash trucks, semis hauling sod, etc. And I was certain I could request a beautiful, swell new RED Blackberry as a replacement. All I had to do was figure out how to position my request, which, let's face it, came from a position of weakness ("I screwed up and lost my Blackberry.") as opposed to a position of strength ("I was rescuing people who were lost at sea and my Blackberry fell out of my pocket as I plucked the last one who was clinging to life on a small rubber dinghy.")

You can imagine how my fantasy was interrupted by the jarring reality of receiving an email on Monday of this week from a man named Bracky Cooper, who said he saw my blog, the name was familiar, and he had my Blackberry (thanks, Bracky, for reading my blog! :) He offered to return it.

Blackberry #2: On Monday I overnighted it to my colleague Polly, making a mental note regarding the typeface she had selected, the layout, and the action photo of her daughter that she used as wallpaper. I had Blackberry layout envy and vowed to unlock the mysteries of how she had set up her screen so I could do the same. Polly received her Blackberry on Tuesday, a little more than 72 hours after she had lent it to me. I'm sure they were among the longest 72 hours of her life.

Blackberry #1: Arrived today. I didn't have high hopes about the state it would be in. I was certain it would be a shorted-out, waterlogged piece of junk. Figuring it was ruined, my colleague Philip Francis wanted me to send it to him so he could take it apart.

IT WORKS PERFECTLY. Not a scratch on it. There's the whole SIM card and registration issue to deal with, but somehow my Blackberry was preserved from being drowned and run over. It's charged up, the phone works, and I've gotten over my Blackberry envy because I've reconfigured it to look like Polly's. What a journey it's been on! If only it could talk!

I'll talk for it instead. Thank you, thank you, good and honest people for a) lending me a Blackberry to use for a couple of days and b) for returning it ASAP and, a bonus thank you for c) reading my blog! :)

Photos of Rosalynn and Jimmy at Work

I snapped a few photos of Rosalynn and Jimmy Carter while they were working next door. I believe it was at the closing ceremonies when Rosalynn said in that lovely honey and molasses accent of hers that she has become a 'pretty fair carpenter' over the years. I was pretty young when she was the first lady and I didn't pay much attention to politics, but my recollection is that she was just as kind and gracious then as she is now.

The Kindness of Strangers

After a week of hammering, insulating, and painting, I was weary. As much as I enjoyed meeting the good people of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, I had reached a place where I was ready to resume my routine of sleeping in on Saturdays, planting herbs in my new flower bed, creating container gardens, reading cookbooks as though they were romance novels, etc.

My flight was scheduled to leave on Saturday at 6:30 am, necessitating a wakeup call at 4:15. This could partially explain the coma-like and forgetful state I was apparently in. But the upside of taking Northwest's first flight of the day was that I would be back in Wichita just before 11 am. I'd still have most of a day to wash the sand and dirt from my clothes and re-enter the atmosphere that is my life.

Which I did, only about ten hours later than scheduled.

I cannot blame this one on weather, airline overbooking, mechanical delays, or any of the other standard reasons for arriving home late.

No, this one was on me.

I left my "Habitat for Humanity" messenger bag on the shuttle bus. It had my wallet and camera in it. When the ticket agent asked to see my ID I looked in the place where I usually keep my wallet when I travel - my backpack.

I wanted to crumple to the floor when I realized what had happened. By then the bus driver was gone, returning no doubt to the Beau to pick up the next batch of weary Habitat volunteers and deliver them to the airport.

It's a horrible moment of realization when you're at the ticket counter and you know you've left your ID at home or somewhere other than your wallet. It's even worse when you know it's riding around somewhere, and you're not sure how to get to it. I considered renting a car but you can't do that without ID and a credit card.

Luckily, the kind man who dropped off the folks on the 6 am shuttle helped me out. Tyrone Reed with Calco Travel made a few phone calls and assured me that my bag would be in my hands by 7:30. He was right.

Equally kind was the Northwest ticket agent, who didn't penalize me at all for my error. I missed my flight, of course, but after getting my bag back I decided to wipe away the tears and make the best of the day. I talked with other Habitat volunteers at the airport, shut out the world in a "cocoon of tunes" with my iPod, chatted with my colleague Vivian Celeste and her husband Vernon, and read, something I hadn't done much of all week.

By the time I got home I was very nearly babbling, exhausted as I was. I don't remember much except for feeling overwhelmed with gratitude - both for the kindness of caring people who were willing to take time to help me out, and for my very large, and soft, pillows.