A Visit to Mort's Northern Bar

  On Sunday, the 10th of this month, my oldest son, Derick, a good friend, Roger Perkins and I, played in a euchre tournament at Mort's Northern Bar, on State Park Drive, across from Country Drugs. It was a lively time. There were 4 tables of players; a total of 16. After playing a total of 7 games, the person with the highest point total wins. It is always a good time, win, or lose. I happened to be in the latter group. They also have euchre tournaments on Tuesdays. Both of my sons and I have been involved in the euchre games for several years now. It's great fun, with a really friendly bunch of folks.

   Mort's is the kind of place that caters to a wide variety of people, from all walks of life. On Friday and Saturday nights, Dougie Dore is the featured DJ for karaoke. Dougie has an incredible voice range and can sing practically anything and sound just great. He is without doubt the best singing DJ that I have seen. He could be just as much at home on a Las Vegas stage. He's that good.
   Karen, the owner, says that they also have pool leagues, and dart leagues. Karen also plays euchre, and pool herself. She is no slouch when it comes to keen competition.
  Karen is an avid supporter of our Rail Trail.

 A Truly Great Book

  Every now and then, you come across a book that really impresses you. I have always been interested in the pioneering days of our country. Last month, I found The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters, by Robert Lewis Taylor in the fiction section of our Sage Library. The book had all of the earmarks of books that I have enjoyed in the past, so I brought it home. This is truly a remarkable book. It is so well written, you would swear that it was written by someone who actually experienced the gold rush of 1849. The language, the detailing of the characters and the situations is remarkable.
  When I brought the book home, Betty said that she had read the book before she met me in 1968. I had never heard of it, or the author. The book was vastly ahead of it's time, when it was released in 1958. The experiences of Jaimie McPheeters seem much too graphic for the '50s, when Father Knows Best and The Lone Ranger were so popular on TV. The book was much more than a “good read.” It was an experience. It does not surprise me that the book won a Pulitzer Prize for literature.

Medical Charting Bloopers

My wife Betty, was a practicing registered nurse for close to 30 years. She brought this piece home from a nursing magazine. These bloopers were collected from medical records across the country.

Patient has chest pains if she lies on her left side for over a year.

By the time she was admitted to the hospital, her rapid heart rate had stopped and she was feeling better.

On the second day, the knee was better and on the third day it had completely disappeared.

While in the emergency department, she was examined, x-rated and sent home.

Patient was alert and unresponsive.

Healthy appearing, decrepit 69-year-old female, mentally alert, but forgetful.

She is numb from her toes down.

When she fainted, her eyes rolled around the room.

Rectal examination revealed a normal-sized thyroid.

The patient had waffles for breakfast and anorexia for lunch.

She stated that she had been constipated for most of her life until 1989, when she got a divorce.

Bleeding started in the rectal area and continued all the way to Los Angeles.

Fleets enema given with stool hard as pine knots.

She complained of indigestion since last night, when she ate a stake.

Patient was seen in consultation by the physician, who felt that we should sit tight on the abdomen and I agreed.

Examination of genitalia was completely negative except for the right foot.

Pelvic examination to be done later on the floor.

Indwelling urinary catheter drainage large amount of urine the color of American beer.

The Adventures of Norman and BJ
Stories from the lives of two “Baby Boomers,” as they cope with life in the “Information Age.”

Snowed In
Fiction by D.A. Boggdweller

   November was unseasonably warm. It rained for several days during deer season. On the last day of whitetail firearm season; Norman and his oldest son; Martin, found that they had overdressed for the expected cold. They both ended up taking much of their insulated gear off, then putting on rain gear. They walked through a field of wet, brown fern and matted, brown grasses to Norman's truck, where they stowed the gear for the last time that season. Norman's youngest son, Sam came hunting on the first day of the season. But, more than one day of hunting without results, would not hold his interest. He returned to Bay City on the second day.
  Though both Martin and Norman were optimists; it had been a less than spectacular hunting season. There had been very few hunters in the woods to move the deer. Subsequently, they had seen few deer. The weather had been uncomfortable. Damp and just a few degrees above freezing would describe just about every day that they hunted.
  Norman began one of his stories about how things used to be during the firearm season, during his teen years. Martin had heard most of the stories before, but he listened anyway.
  Norman was convinced that the globe really was warming and that human activity was the culprit.
  “I remember clearly that the snow was near a foot deep and very cold on my first deer season. We hunted state land out Cody-Esty Road. My dad shot a 4-point buck. He was pleased as punch. I can still see Dad's buck, his head leaning on my brother-in-laws '59 Chevy. It was cold.
  The Saginaw River was only a little over a block from our house. It was common thing to walk across the ice on the river to the middle grounds. Once the river froze over in December, it would pretty much stay frozen until the spring thaw. The river seldom freezes over now.”
  Marty agreed with his dad, but wasn't as adamant about voicing his opinion. He was much more laid back: didn't care to make waves.
  “My dad would drive his '55 Chevy right out onto the ice when we went ice fishing. The winters were predictable, they were always cold, and they stayed that way, all winter long. I hope we get a real winter this year...with plenty of snow, and enough ice to fish on the bay.”
  Norman had heard the expression many times: Be careful what you wish for, you may get your wish! The wisdom of that old saying would hit Norman with new gravity before spring arrived.
  They had a white Christmas. Two inches of beautiful, fluffy-white snow greeted Norman, BJ, their extended family of 3 kids, spouses, 6 grandkids, their Pomeranian; Rufus, and their ancient, white cat, Hobbes.
  The grandkids had a wonderful time. Sam and Marty showed the kids how to make snow angels. There were efforts at making a snowman, but the snow was too powdery to pack. So, they found 2 sleds in the barn and took the kids to the hill on the side of Veteran's Bridge in Bay City and let them expend their pent-up energy climbing the steep hill.
  The kids were tired and cold when they returned. BJ fixed the grandkids some of her home-made hot chocolate with miniature marshmallows and chocolate-chip cookies. The kids were hyperactive for awhile from all of the sugar and chocolate, but they eventually settled in their sleeping bags on the floor near the wood stove and were soon down for the count. The adults played several games of Pictionary; a supposedly passive game that is always entertaining.
  All too soon, it was time for the family to return to the respective homes, in Georgia, Illinois, and Northern Michigan. There was an enormous storm front moving towards Michigan from the west. Des Moines had 13 inches of powdered snow, and very low temperatures. The wind chills had hit 12 below zero. BJ told them all that she would fix a good breakfast early the next morning. She wanted all of them to leave before they could get caught in the heavy snows.
  Since mid-Michigan had not seen any real accumulation of snow for the past 6 years, Norman was not in the least concerned over the weather forecast. The storms always seemed to pass to the north, or to the south of Bay City.
  After an early breakfast of blueberry pancakes and sausage, the components of the family left for home, trying to get there before the big storm hit. It had been a Christmas to remember. They had put less emphasis on gift-giving; more on interaction between loved ones who were too-seldom seen. They played games, made cookies, and talked about things that the young children were not normally privileged to hear in their full-of-activity lives.
  Norman watched out the bay window that evening, before going to bed to see a sight that was always soothing, and reassuring to him. A thin white blanket of fresh snow covered his driveway; making all things new and pure-white. Their daughter, Mary had called earlier from Chicago to let them know that she and her family had arrived home safely. They had encountered heavy, blowing snow the last 50 miles of the trip. Marty and Sam also called to report their safe arrival home.
  Norman closed the blinds and snuggled with the snoring BJ, under the warmth of several layers of heavy quilts.
  BJ was up early. Norman was awakened to the smell of fresh coffee. He joined BJ in the kitchen, as she dropped sausages onto the a hot cast-iron pan making a loud sizzle . He pulled the blind up over the kitchen sink to find that it was  snowing heavily. There was already a half-foot of snow on level ground, with drifts that were piled high on the back deck. The wind howled. Norman could not help being a little excited over the storm.
  They both took their breakfast of eggs and sausage into the living room to watch the morning weather on TV5. The weather forecast was uncertain. Darin Bradley had made a prediction of up to 2 feet of snow. While BJ filled all available containers with water, and checked the candle and battery supply, Norman brought enough fire wood in from the lean-to, next to the garage to last for several days. He came in with an armload, the wind whipping the storm door open and snow blowing into the breezeway. “We're having a real blizzard,” he said, unable to hide his excitement.
  He checked his nine-transistor radio that was given to him by his mother in 1963, when he was yet in high school, to see if it still played. and brought in a Coleman lantern filled with white gas from the barn. BJ had already filled all of the available containers with filtered water.
  The snow continued to pile up all through the day. Norman had to shovel a narrow pathway to allow Rufus, their Pomeranian to relieve himself. The snow was just too deep for him to do his business. “You can't even see the garage it's blowing so hard.” he said as he came through the rear entrance; his glasses frosted over.
  “I'll get the snow-thrower out in the morning. It doesn't make any sense to do the walks and drive while it's still snowing so hard.” He was still excited about the blizzard, but was getting a little concerned about the severity.
  That night, as they slept, the power went out. Norman stoked the fire in the wood stove and assured BJ that they were well prepared for anything that might happen.
  He opened the blinds on the bay window in the living room. The blizzard continued. The snow had completely covered the rails on the front porch and had drifted half way up the bay window. He tried the front door and found that he could not open it without filling the entrance with piled-up snow.
  He checked the rear entrance. Luckily, the wind had whipped the snow clear of the door. Much of the decking was exposed, with a huge drift that touched the roof on the north side of the house.
  While BJ rolled up in a blanket near the wood stove, Norman dressed in his insulated cover-alls and down parka and ventured out into the icy wind, to clear a path to the garage. He shoveled his way to the edge of the deck and found the buried steps. Shoveling off the steps, he found that the snow was almost 3 feet deep on the sidewalk. BJ let Rufus out. He scooted out onto the shoveled area of the walkway just long enough to sniff the snow, make a deposit, then scoot back inside.
  Norman was realizing that this was a serious situation. He had to shovel the snow in layers. It was very slow going. It was a good 50 yards to the garage. When he had shoveled halfway to the garage door, his arms and back began to stiffen, telling him that he hadn't done this type of work for some time. He was sweating beneath the heavy clothing. The garage was now vaguely visible behind the curtain of snow powered by 40-mile-an-hour, howling wind. There was a drift completely covering the side entrance to the garage. Looking back where he had shoveled, the wind had already filled in much of what he had shoveled. His efforts seemed futile. He returned to the house, where BJ fixed him a hot cup of herbal tea.
  Norman took off his heavy winter gear and sat down heavily in his leather recliner. “It's ridiculous to try to shovel snow with the winds like they are. I can hardly see the end of my nose out there.
  “You're getting too old to be working that hard, Norman. Your fairly healthy for a 71-year-old, but you're not 21 anymore.”
  “I'll just take a little rest and I'll be just fine,” he said.
  He pulled the lever on the recliner and was soon snoring loudly. BJ covered him with an old, heavy quilt.
  BJ had been listening to the radio. All of the roads in the area were impassable. I-75 was closed. The meteorologist reporting the weather conditions, was stranded at the studio. “Do not leave whatever shelter you have. The weather is extremely dangerous. As many as 100,000 mid-Michigan homes are without power. Please stay inside,” he said, sounding quite stressed. He had been transmitting under emergency power.
  Norman slept for several hours. He was stiff and sore when he finally got up from the recliner.
  “We don't need to get into the garage. We have everything we need in the house...at least for a couple of days. Lay down on the carpet and let me see if I can massage some of the knots out of your back muscles.”
  BJ straddled her husbands back, putting her weight on his spine. His backbone crackled like popcorn. Norman made a few feeble complaints about her being too aggressive, but after some kneading of the sore muscles, he was again fast asleep. BJ placed a small pillow under his head and covered him with the heavy quilt.
  She wrapped up in a blanket and settled back in her easy chair with her tea and listened to the radio, and the mantle clock as it ticked and chimed every fifteen minutes. She watched the steam from the tea kettle rise on the top of the wood stove. The kettle served two purposes; the hot water put moisture in the air, and also kept the tea water hot. The house was cozy in the midst of the harsh, blowing blizzard outside. She felt contentment in the simplicity of her life with Norman.
  Though the power was out, the gas range still worked, but the electronic ignition did not. Norman had put the perishables in a large cooler filled with plastic bags full of snow. BJ busied herself making lunch, while Norman took his nap.
  It was mid-afternoon when Norman returned to his shoveling. The snow had finally stopped and the sun was bright in a deep-blue sky. It took an hour to dig out the drift in front of the garage entrance. Once inside the garage, he opened the double garage door and fired up the 7-horse Toro snow thrower. The snow was a fine powder that blew back into his face when he turned the corner of the driveway and headed toward the road. The snow was not as deep on the straight portion of the drive. It was still bitter cold, but Norman felt invigorated. He had been experiencing some health problems in the last few years and it felt good to be capable of maintaining his home and caring for his wife.
  It was two days before the electricity was restored. It was a very curious thing, Norman had spoken very little to his neighbors on State Street Road. The fact that the power was out and the snows were so very deep, made it a shared experience with Norman and his neighbors. They, for once, shared a hardship that gave them something in common. There were no electronic distractions for 3 days. While they all waited for power and for the road that they all lived on to be plowed, they actually stood out in the unplowed road and had conversation with one another. It reminded Norman of when he was a young man, living in Bay City. A tornado had cut off the power and had damaged many homes in Bay City. It was a memorable occasion because all of the neighbors got together and had a sort or pot luck in the yard of one of the homes that had been heavily damaged.
  A week later, after everything was back to “normal,” Norman and BJ were sitting on the sofa, watching one of their favorite programs, NCIS, that BJ spoke of the blizzard experience: “I thought it was quite romantic, not having electricity, playing Scrabble by candlelight and having your undivided attention.”
  “Well, I'll go flip the main switch on the circuit breaker. I could use a little romance,” said Norman.
  “There is certainly nothing wrong with your libido, Norman,” BJ giggled. 

The following recipe is not for the calorie-conscious. I tried this one after returning from a long bike ride. It was a cold day and I needed to replenish some of the calories that I had burned. Betty and I both loved it. I served this on Super Bowl Sunday using chorizo, or Mexican sausage. I'm not normally a braggart, but it was delicious.

Sausage and Black Bean Soup

Ingredients:

3 cups (21 ounces/655g) dried black beans
1 ¾ lb. (875g) chorizo, andouille or other spicy sausage
1 tablespoon olive oil
4 cloves garlic
2 yellow onions
2 celery stalks, finely chopped
2 ½ quarts chicken stock or meat stock
4 tablespoons finely chopped fresh parsley
1 teaspoon dried oregano
2 bay leaves
½ teaspoon salt ( I didn't add extra salt myself, there was enough in the sausage)
½ cup sour cream
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh chives
2 tablespoons finely chopped cilantro (fresh coriander)

Method:

Sort the beans, discarding any impurities or discolored beans. Set aside. To save cooking time, soak the beans in a pan of water overnight.

Remove the casings from 1lb. of the sausage. In a large saucepan, warm the oil over medium heat. Add the sausage meat and saute' until browned, about 5 minutes.

Pour off all but 3 tablespoons of the fat. Return the pan to the heat, add the garlic, onions and celery and saute' until the onions are translucent, 2 to 3 minutes.

Add the beans, stock, parsley, oregano, cumin and bay leaves, bring to a boil. Reduce heat, cover, simmer gently until the beans are very tender, 2 to 2 ½ hours, add a little water if necessary to keep the beans moist.

Discard the bay leaves. Pour a few ladles of beans  into a processor fitted with a metal blade; puree', taking care to avoid spattering. Stir back into the pan. Season to taste.

Cut the remaining sausage into slices ½ inch thick. Saute' in nonstick frying pan over medium heat until browned, about 3 minutes per side.

Ladle soup into warmed bowls; garnish with the sour cream, sausage slices, and cilantro.

Serves 6 to 8

Source: Soups,  Williams-Sanoma Kitchen Library

Thank you for stopping by. See you next month.

If you have any comments, or ideas for Life Along the Trail, please contact me at: boggdweller@yahoo.com.