As a child, I wanted the game of Monopoly more than anything. As Christmas approached I took every opportunity to make my wish known.

On Christmas morning, sure enough, there was a package with my name on it under the tree. It had that rectangular shape of a board game and I was sure that I would be maneuvering the thimble around the board very soon.

Instead, I was the recipient of a game called “Go For Broke.” It was the exact opposite of Monopoly… the Anti-Monopoly. The point of this game was to LOSE money! First one to lose their money wins!

I thought my parents had gone mad, but I conscripted my siblings into service and we played “Go For Broke.” Against all common sense, we competed to lose money.

Why Mom and Dad pulled this bewildering switch on me I never knew, but more than 40 years have passed and I still remember the lesson learned. You don’t always get what you want. And that’s okay. It’s making the most out of what we do get that counts.

Since then, I’ve received Go For Broke-like surprises countless times. When that happens, there is nothing left to do but play the game.

When I was sixteen years old, I applied for an assembly line job at a local factory. It was literally just a few steps from my own front door, so the location was ideal. My older brother and sister had already done time on the line, so I had some idea what to expect.

The factory manufactured Christmas ornaments and my job title was “clipper.” So what exactly does a Christmas ornament clipper do?

I’m sure you’re familiar with the little hook that you use to hang ornaments from a Christmas tree. Well, you know that little circular “thingy” (that would be the clip) on the top of the ornament that you put the hook on? We clippers attached those and placed the ornaments into the boxes as they rolled past us on the assembly line. I’m not kidding. Bet you thought machines did that; I suppose they do now. Strike that. These jobs have probably been outsourced to other countries.

Work wasn’t easy to come by in the late 70’s, and every high school kid in our small city lined up for the minimum wage work. The first day on the job was the toughest. They brought most of us right in and put us on the line. They explained that you had do so many clips per minute… or else. Out came the stopwatch. Shortly after that, the dismissals began. I’m proud to say that I was a pretty fast clipper.

Think Lucy in the chocolate factory. If the clippers don’t clip fast enough, when the boxes get to the end of the line, they have empty slots. Empty slots means that the”boxers” can’t cover them and load them into cartons. That creates a backup, which creates angry supervisors and the need to turn off the moving belt, which creates general unhappiness all around.

It was an afternoon shift, four hours on your feet at the line. In summer things really ratcheted up and I got to work eight hour days.

If you stuck around long enough, you were rotated into other jobs. Boxing, placing decorative decals on ornaments just before they went through a heat machine, etc. There was no air conditioning, but there were several huge fans blowing the stale air around, and a radio or two playing through the humming of machinery. It was noisy, but you could manage to chat with those closest to you.

There were lots of people who did this full time, mostly women. They knew all the secrets to staying out of trouble. Some wore gloves to protect their hands from the heat and to prevent the nasty little glass cuts. Open shoes were a safety hazard, as was long, untied hair.

After all these years, I still have trouble explaining what a Christmas ornament clipper is. It was an odd job, but all in all a great learning experience. I developed an appreciation for hard but honest work, an education in teamwork, and a good idea of how I didn’t want to spend my life.

As one of my first stabs at employment, it was an excellent teacher. There are things I learned on the line that have stayed with me through the years, plus the added benefit of having a great odd job story. Seriously. I once sat around a dinner table where the topic of discussion was weird jobs. I was unanimously voted the winner.

Each and every job gives us an education in something, if we’re open to it. Whatever job you doing at the moment, make it a point to find that something.

More than 30 years have passed and I have another job that’s hard to explain. But that’s for another day.

Photo: http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1106758

I like to spend my afternoons out on the deck, writing on my laptop. The little deck gets just the right amount of sun and shade, and we have a cozy little bistro table for two. We’ve got a lot of birds, and the sound of their singing sets a peaceful tone.

That wasn’t the case today, however. A couple of very tiny birds made no attempt to hide their displeasure with my presence. The sounds they made could hardly be called singing anymore, it was more like screeching. I tried to appear non-threatening and continued with my work, but they were rather insistent that I vacate the premises or be subjected to the high pitched racket all afternoon. Stubborn little things.

They’ve got a nest in that tree, and I’m too close for comfort. I hated to give up my own perch on this beautiful afternoon, but remembering the flack that President Obama took for killing a fly, decided to relinquish the area to proud little parents. The animal rights people should be pretty pleased with my sacrifice for the animal kingdom.

Sigh.

It’s the little things, the mundane things, that you take for granted. I don’t give laundry much thought on a day-to-day basis, but when natural disaster strikes, taking electrical power with it, clean clothes can quickly become a luxury.

From Tide Loads of Hope:

Tide Loads of Hope helps in the aftermath of a natural disaster by providing clean clothes and a sense of comfort to families in need. Partnering with Feeding America, we travel to disaster affected neighborhoods with the Tide Loads of Hope truck or vans, our free mobile laundry service.

Tide Loads of Hope truck:

• 32 high-effiency washers and dryers stationed on the truck
• Can do 300 wash and dry cycles a day – equal to one year’s worth of laundry for a single family
• Will wash about 9,000 loads of laundry over a four-week period
• Leveraged during massive disasters where electricity is unavailable in the region

Tide Loads of Hope vans:

• In partnership with a local laundromat, the Tide Loads of Hope vans provide free laundry service at the same load rate as the trucks
• Leveraged during disasters where neighboring communities still have a source of electricity

To date, Tide Loads of Hope has washed more than 35,000 loads of laundry for over 20,000 families. Most importantly, the Tide Loads of Hope program means we’re equipped to take action whenever and wherever there is a need in our country.

Where it all started:

In the wake of Hurricane Katrina, the need for clean clothing became critical, and Tide found a way to help. So in November 2005, the Tide Loads of Hope truck headed to Camp Hope in the Metairie, LA area and cleaned over 10,000 loads of laundry. The spirit of this first venture informs and inspires everything Tide Loads of Hope program does.

Tide Loads of Hope Vintage Tees:

Tide Loads of Hope can also be supported through the purchase of a Tide Vintage Tee. All profits go to support families affected by disaster.

View the Tide Loads of Hope Scrapbook

Help by Purchasing a Tide Vintage Tee

Some places have a feel. It’s an intangible that can’t be found in a chain restaurant or big box store. There are places we’ve been and foods we’ve eaten that we remember so fondly, so vividly, that they cannot be duplicated anywhere else and we’re left to wonder if they truly exist the way we remember them.

Back in my home town in northern Rhode Island, there’s a hole-in-the wall restaurant by the name of Ye Olde English Fish ‘n Chips.  It’s the kind of place that, if you were filming a movie about new england, would capture the feel and sense of place you would need to tell your story.

It’s common knowledge in my family that when I’m in town, a visit to Ye Olde English is on the agenda. It’s not a particularly impressive looking place. Show up on a Friday night and you may find yourself standing in line outside, taking in the aroma and listening to your stomach growl. Patrons order at the counter for take out or dining in the casual booths. The air is saturated with the smell of fish and diners are animated.

The fish is deep fried in plenty of batter and the fries are big and meaty. Throw in one of their giant dill pickles, and your taste buds never had it so good. After you’ve eaten the last fry with vinegar, you’ll swear that you’ll never eat again, but you know you’ll be back.

Little has changed since I was a kid. It’s still the same place with the same charm I remember. My family thinks I’m a little over the top about it, but then again, they live there. They can’t fully appreciate the unique character because they are surrounded by it. The slight accents, the sense of community, the things that can’t be forced, but must come naturally.

Every now and then, you can go home again.

Every section of the country has a unique look and feel. The accent, the foods, and the celebrations can appear strange to the casual observer. My home town is no different.

Woonsocket is a small city in northern Rhode Island. When I was growing up there in the 60’s and 70’s, a great majority of the residents were of french-canadian descent. Traditions brought down from Quebec mingled with new england traditions of long ago, and created a small enclave of unique local customs. In addition to the very unusual syntax of the english language, the kitchen tables of Woonsocket displayed an interesting assortment of items, including:

cabinet: just another word for a milkshake (really)

coffee syrup: rarely seen outside the confines of southern new england, coffee syrup is added to milk and on top of ice cream, just as you would chocolate syrup

dynamites: think sloppy joe — ground beef, peppers, onions, tomatoes, etc. served on torpedo rolls

grinder: would you believe it’s just a submarine sandwich?

stuffed quahog: a large clam-like creature stuffed with bread crumbs and various spices

Shepherd’s pie, american chop suey, and meat pie were also included in the dinner rotation. That french-canadian stamp could also be noted by the abundance of maple syrup. On occasion, we could be seen dipping white bread into maple syrup and pronouncing it dessert.

When I’m able to visit Woonsocket these days, I can’t help but smile when reminded of its quirkiness. Where else in the world could you tell the waitress, “I’ll have a grinder and a coffee cabinet”… and end up with a meal?

Mmmm… who doesn’t love over-cooked, dried-out pork roast? Well I don’t either, but that’s what I served up a couple of nights ago.

You see, I usually time dinner to be on the table around 6:30 pm. I’m not sure why, but it just always seems to work out to be 6:30. Last night, I put the oven temperature on a little too low and when 6:15 rolled around, I realized that dinner was going to be very late.

In a moment of obvious insanity, I decided to pump up the oven to an unreasonably high temperature, figuring that I’d catch up. What was I thinking?

Knowing that a watched pot never boils, I wandered over to my computer, finished up a post, and got lost in Twitter. Lost until almost 7:00 pm! That’s how I ended up with dry, crunchy roast pork.

And there sat hubby, doing his best to chew without offending. I apologized about the pork and pointed out that the brussels sprouts and salad were magnificent… He never missed a beat. “I’d be upset,” he said, “but how can I be, when every night you prepare such a nice meal for us?”

Lucky me.

Our braided money tree controls the economy.

Last spring we brought home a braided money tree to fill an empty corner of our dining room. We chose it because it was attractive, healthy looking, and just the right size for our needs.

Not knowing anything about this plant except that it was beautiful, we researched the name and found that it is a bonsai commonly used in the art of feng shui. Most stems have five or six leaves on them, but a stem with seven leaves is considered to bring good fortune and financial blessings.

Our little tree soon sprouted a stem with seven leaves… then another… and another. We’re not particularly superstitious, but found ourselves delighted with the financial success this tree would bring us. Our joy was short lived.

By summer, one of those seven-leaf stems perished. Other branches began looking sick. Before we knew it, all the seven-leaf stems were gone and the tree was losing leaves every day. One glance at our financial portfolio showed that it had taken a sharp nosedive as well. So did the rest of the country. Coincidence? Hmmm… you tell me.

So now our sick money tree is almost bare, a sad little financial statement sitting in the corner, reminding us on a daily basis of the

floundering economy. But wait… what’s that? Could it be new growth? There on the main trunk is a tiny green sprout. It only has six leaves, but it is definitely the beginning of a new branch!

What does it all mean? Can we expect a sliver of good news on the economy? Does it have anything to do with the change of administration or the new year?

Should I water it more or water it less? Does it need fertilizer? The burden of it all is almost too much to bear. The country is depending on us to nurture this plant and ensure that this new branch grows strong and steady. We’re doing our best, people. We’re doing our best. The pressure is on.

Our conversations over breakfast generally involve birds and squirrels. That’s because we have a bird feeder just outside our kitchen window.

We were doing quite the booming business with birds all summer long. Then we decided it was time to replace the dingy old one with a brand spanking new bird feeder made of cedar. Wow… where did all the birds go? Were they boycotting us? We didn’t know what to make of it, but before long some crafty little squirrels decided to frequent our feeder. Boy, can they eat! Once they get going, they don’t stop until everything is gone.

I guess the birds got to wondering what they were missing out on and came back. Now every morning it’s just a question of which little visitors will get there first. It seemed the squirrels were getting more than their share due to easy access from a branch just below the feeder, so we raised it in the hope of slowing down the squirrel business.

Squirrels are crafty little things, though, and we caught this little guy swinging over the bird feeder and gorging himself to his heart’s content. Never a dull moment at our breakfast table.

From our “strange but true” files…

This mint condition Hamilton Beach milk shake machine, circa 1950, resides in a place of honor in my sister’s home. I like to think of it as a family heirloom. So much so that on my last visit there, I requested that it be removed from its perch so I could photograph it.

Sis thought I’d come unglued, but she humored me anyway. It’s something big sisters instinctively do.

A little online sleuthing leaves me wondering whether it is vintage 40’s or 50’s, but I did discover that they’re quite the little collector’s item. It’s more than that to me, though. The very sight of it — the funky jadeite color, the smooth lines, the gleaming metal, instantly transports me to another era.

When we were kids, the good old Hamilton Beach was stashed away in a kitchen cupboard until called into duty. It rarely made an appearance outside of Christmas when Dad — who wasn’t exactly known for his kitchen abilities — would offer up a strange concoction of eggs, sugar, and… I’m not sure I want to know what else… and called it egg nog. We had a ball watching him work what we thought was magic, highlighted by the whirrrrrrr of the Hamilton Beach mixer. It was a comforting sound. Actually drinking the stuff was secondary.

The only other “recipe” of Dad’s was a weird salad dressing that he called “slop,” something that made Mom wince. It’s funny, the memories that coming flooding back at the sight of a kitchen appliance. I suppose it’s because the kitchen truly is the heart of the home, and the memories made there are the most comforting.

Thanks for the memories, Hamilton Beach.

From our “strange but true” files...

Last month, we posted about an amazing product in the freezer section — Plats du Chef French Onion Soup.

It’s an odd item, and I felt ridiculous buying it, but I can’t argue with the taste! I thought you’d enjoy seeing the before and after photos of the soup, because you’ve got to see it to believe it.

Forty minutes in the oven or 9 minutes in the microwave and you’ve got restaurant quality french onion soup. And… no… this is not a sponsored ad.

You are looking at what is, in all likelihood, the ugliest pan in America. It is about thirty years old, has a chipped handle, and is stained black.

We refer to it as the “popcorn pan” because that is its single  purpose.

Nothing quite hits the spot like fresh, hot-buttered popcorn and a movie. Microwave popcorn just won’t do! Besides tasting better, buying popcorn seeds by the bag is a lot more economical.

We use olive oil for all our cooking but find it a bit overpowering for popcorn, so we substitute canola oil, which is also a healthy choice.

A word of caution when making stove top popcorn… put only a single layer of seeds on the bottom of the pan, and pay very close attention.

Would you believe it? We found another lunch time gem on our latest Costco run. Plats du Chef French Onion Soup is frozen, but can be ready to eat in just 40 minutes in the oven, or just 9 minutes in the microwave.

I recommend the oven because it allows the delicious aroma to fill the house. What a delight on a cold day!