February has all the makings of one clusterf@*k of a month!
To support my contention I need only say two words: Groundhog Day. This is the day that we come together as a nation to receive the weather benediction from the likes of Punxsutawney Phil (who we know is more accurate at predicting the weather than any meteorologist, a person highly trained in the science of the atmosphere and its phenomena, including weather and climate, with real-time, geostationary and polar-orbiting satellite imagery, and sophisticated computer programs modeling large amounts of data to determine how changing variables will affect the weather at their fingertips.)
In fact, a relatively new tradition features Bill Murray as a weatherman trapped in a recurring day-mare, in the eponymously titled movie, Groundhog Day. Watching the 1993 romantic comedy after a ground groundhog meatloaf dinner* would make a perfect date night. *(Ground beef and ground pork may be substituted.)
February also hosts the Super Bowl, our nation's secular High Holy Day, complete with traditions of food, football, and cute animal commercials. You either love the game or go shopping.
[Public Service Announcement: Do NOT shower during halftime even if the game is not on in your house. It has something to do with water pressure on a continental scale.]
Every four years we are presented with the spectacle of the Winter Olympics, that two week amalgamation of sports, international politics, and something called curling, a Scottish form of mass hypnosis.
Then there's Valentine's Day. Some consider it to be a holiday solely contrived by a Big Eastern Syndicate of card printers, candy makers, jewelers, and florists. If you have a sweetheart, it can be a day of fun and romance. If you do not have that someone special, the day can be a painful reminder of what you think you may be missing.
People come together for different reasons. My wife and I both missed out on the "special moments" other kids seemed to take for granted - school dances, senior prom, making out in cars, a first kiss.
My wife expressed how deeply it hurt when she was the only girl in class to not receive a single one of the stupid, little, pain in the ass, kiddie, Valentine's Day cards. She also held a strong dislike for those hard, heart-shaped candies with insipid sayings on them, that hurt your teeth when you bit down on them.
We have more than made up for it by acting like teenagers going steady ever since we met. This includes making out in cars. My beloved sister constantly admonishes us to "Get a room, you two."
Things were complicated at the time my wife and I got married. We purchased a pair of simple gold bands for the wedding ceremony, but money for an engagement ring always seemed to be needed elsewhere.
Several years into our marriage, I dropped into a local drugstore, and picked up a package of the stupid, little, pain in the ass, kiddie, Valentine's Day cards, and a bag of those hard, heart-shaped candies with insipid sayings on them, that hurt your teeth when you bit down on them.
When I got home I removed one card and one candy and set them aside. I had enough cards left over to take into work the next day and hand one out to all of my fellow coworkers, the guys as well as the gals. I placed the bag of candy in the break room. A couple of bucks bought a million dollars worth of warmth and laughter.
You see where I'm going with the card and piece of candy I set aside, but previously to this, I had secretly gone to the mall. After scouring every one of the numerous jewelry stores, I found it - “it” being an aquamarine solitaire set in a simple gold ring that matched our wedding bands.
The pale blue stone was well-proportioned, beautifully cut, and flawless as I gazed at its facets through a loupe. Aquamarine is my wife's birthstone, and her favorite gem.
Valentine's Day fell on a Sunday, and we availed ourselves of the opportunity to sleep in. When my wife awoke, I wished her a happy Valentine's Day, and told her I had a small token of my esteem. I handed her the stupid, little, pain in the ass, kiddie, Valentine's Day card, and the hard, heart-shaped candy with an insipid saying on it, that hurt your teeth when you bit down on it.
She thought it was a very sweet gesture, and said it meant a lot to her. I could see she was deeply touched. We snuggled for a bit, then I said, "You know the old saying, 'good things come in threes?'"
She looked at me quizzically.
"The stupid, little, pain in the ass, kiddie, Valentine's Day card was one, and the hard, heart-shaped candy with an insipid saying on it, that hurts your teeth when you bite down on it was two. Well, this is the third.” I reached behind me and brought out the small, black, velvet box, and held it out to her.
She took it in her trembling hand, and said, "Oh my. This is real."
The look on her face when she opened the box is what being married is all about.
For people my age, Valentine's Day and heart-shaped meatloaf go together like black and white TVs and fizzy indigestion relievers. I thought back to the meatloaves I grew up with. I pictured our old 1960s kitchen, my family gathered around the stained Formica table, steam rising from a tomato paste glazed meatloaf.
I make a mean meatloaf. I am always experimenting with combinations of meats, spices, and additions. I even did a venison meatloaf with cranberries one year for Thanksgiving. (It was fabulous). But for this recipe, I wanted to get back to basics, so I included all the products we had in the house when we were kids.
A Boy's Best Friend Is His Meatloaf
Serves 6
Ingredients for meatloaf
1 lb ground chuck
1 lb ground pork*
2 whole eggs, beaten
1/3 cup Heinz ketchup
1 teaspoon Plochman's yellow mustard
3/4 cup Swanson beef stock
1 tablespoon Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce
1 and 1/2 cups Gonnella seasoned breadcrumbs
1 package Lipton onion soup mix
1/2 teaspoon Morton iodized table salt
1/2 teaspoon McCormick ground black pepper
*(We didn't have pork in our house. I prefer the combination of meats, but feel free to omit the pork and use 2 pounds ground chuck.)
Ingredients for glaze
1 6-ounce can Hunt's tomato paste
2 tablespoons Domino brown sugar
1 teaspoon Plochman's yellow mustard
Directions
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line a 9 x 13 baking pan with parchment paper.
In a small bowl, whip together, with a half-spatula, all ingredients for glaze. Set aside.
Place all ingredients for meatloaf in large mixing bowl. Mix with hands just until all ingredients are combined. Place mixture into baking pan and shape into loaf. Spread glaze over top of meatloaf with the half-spatula. Place in oven. Bake for 1 and 1/2 hours. Let rest for 15 minutes.
Serve with Hungry Jack mashed potatoes, Franco-American canned gravy, and Birdseye frozen green beans.
February contains that enigma of a holiday called Presidents' Day. But what about the Father of our Country? What happened to Honest Abe's birthday? Does Presidents' Day conveniently roll the two into one? Is the day supposed to include Millard Fillmore, our 13th president? All forty-four men who have held the office?
Washington's birthday, February 22nd, was officially established as a national holiday in 1885. Under the Uniform Monday Holiday Act of 1971, the holiday was moved to the third Monday of February, but is still recognized by the Federal government as "Washington's Birthday."
Some conspiracy theorists at the time saw this as an attempt to federalize Lincoln's birthday, which many states resented - and still resent. As if to emphasize the divisiveness and racism that continue to run rampant in our society, many states specifically exclude Lincoln's Birthday from the February holiday.
However, advertisers and retail stores jumped on the Presidents' Day bandwagon, and Honest Abe's image is right there along Washington's to sell mattresses, sheets, appliances, power tools, and more more more.
"To the memory of the Man, first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen. He was second to none in the humble and endearing scenes of private life; pious, just, humane, temperate, and sincere; uniform, dignified, and commanding, his example was as edifying to all around him as were the effects of that example lasting." ~ Major General Henry “Light Horse Harry” Lee in a eulogy honoring George Washington
Perhaps the most apocryphal story of any president is that told in "George & the Cherry Tree."
"George," said his father, "do you know who killed that beautiful young cherry tree yonder in the garden?"
George staggered under the question for a moment, then looked at his father. "I can't tell a lie, Pa," he bravely cried out. "You know I can't tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet."
"Run to my arms, you dearest boy," cried his father in return, "run to my arms. Glad am I, George, that you killed my tree, for you have paid me for it a thousandfold by telling the truth."
Scholars agree that by all accounts this legend is not true, but there is evidence that Washington may have been the last politician of which not being able to tell a lie may be said.
In any event, with these simple words administered by the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, is the mantle and weight of the office bestowed:
“I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.”
It's no wonder that our presidents age four years for every one year they spend in office. The Commander in Chief is handed the Daily Brief detailing wars around the world, threat assessments, and current military ops. His secretary hands him his full slate of never ending meetings and appointments. He hears reports from his top directors on national security, congressional politics, media relations, public opinion polls, party elections, and fundraising. Then he sits down for a long session with his economic advisers to discuss the global financial collapse and how to ease the United States into a post-imperial, third-world society.
He learns to secretly dread the knock on the door, when a senior aide whispers in his ear and hands him a slim folder. Another shooting - children dead. A killer tornado - children dead. Although there is really nothing he can do about it, the buck stops here. He must once again embody a grieving nation, express condolences to a grieving community, lend sympathy to a grieving parent.
My heart, thoughts, and prayers go out to these men who willingly imprison themselves in an oval cage.
By George! Cherry Pie
We love cherry pie. For years I wanted a classic tasting, sweet but not too sweet, tart but not too tart, and above all, quick and easy-to-make tribute to the General. My wife came up with this fabulous recipe for canned cherry pie.
Ingredients
2/3 cup sugar
4 tablespoons (1/4 cup) cornstarch
3 15-ounce cans Oregon Fruit Red Tart Cherries*
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
1 tablespoon butter
2 crusts for a 9-inch pie, store-bought or homemade
*Oregon Fruit sells several varieties of canned cherries. Be sure to use the Red Tart Cherries in this recipe.
Directions
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.
Drain the cherries, but reserve the juice from one can. In a saucepan whisk together the sugar and cornstarch. Stir the cherry juice into the combined mixture of cornstarch and sugar over medium heat, stirring constantly until thickened. Remove from heat. Gently stir in cherries and almond extract.
Pour filling into pastry lined pie plate. Dot with butter. Cover with top crust, seal edges, and vent crust.
Bake 45 minutes or until crust browns and filling begins to bubble. If necessary, cover edges with aluminum foil during last 15 minutes to prevent over-browning. Cool pie several hours on wire rack to allow filling to thicken before slicing.
Serve the pie warm, with a scoop of French vanilla ice cream, introduced to the colonies by George's good friend and fellow Virginian, Tom Jefferson.
Thirty days has September,
April, June and November,
All the rest have thirty-one,
Except February,
Which has but four and twenty-four,
Till leap year gives it one day more.
I still recite this poem, we all learned in grade school, in my head to remember how many days each month has.
For those few, called leaplings, who were born on this special day (the chances of having a birthday on a leap day are about one in 1,461), this strange phenomenon presents a unique mathematical anomaly, wherein a sixteen-year-old can say they are celebrating their fourth birthday.
But I was doing some arithmetic in my own head, and it occurred to me leap day actually robs you of a day of life. Say for example, that if, God forbid, you should die on a leap day, the date of your death would be recorded as February 29th. If it were not leap year, the date of your death would be recorded as March 1st, clearly depriving you of an extra day of life.
But don't worry, you get an hour of that back when we switch to Daylight Saving Time.
I also find it ironic that the month designated as Black History Month has the fewest days of any month in the calendar.
But I see conspiracies everywhere.
