Tracking the Elusive Michigan

It was mid-morning and time to begin thinking about lunch. Mariam mentioned the term MICHIGAN and my mouth began to salivate like I was one of Pavlov’s dogs. I love Michigans.

If you’ve heard of Michigans but always wondered what they are, I’m your go to guy.

A Michigan is a regional sandwich from the Adirondacks. It’s range more than likely extends beyond the Blue Line of the Park. In a word…it’s a hot dog topped with a sauce that I could eat by the spoonful. It’s messy so eating while driving is definitely not a good idea. Not that sitting at a picnic table makes it any less messy but it helps with the cleanup.

Not every hot dog stand or diner carries Michigans. One has to search around a bit. We’re lucky having two sources within a few miles of our house.

If you’re a sandwich lover and you travel around the Northeast you’ll find a wide variety of regional eats. If you’re in parts of New Jersey or Philadelphia, you have the Hoagie and the Grinder. In New York City it’s a Hero or Torpedo. Also in New Jersey is the famous Blimpie. Down in Louisiana one orders a Po’ Boy. In Boston you can feast on one of my favorites, the Spuckie. Eastern Pennsylvania puts out a great Zeppelin. But another favorite of mine is the famous Spiedie, native to Binghamton, NY.

There are so many more so check out Wikipedia for other regional sandwiches.

A Michigan Recipe:

Grandma Slattery’s Michigan SauceThis is a Meat Sauce from Upstate New York that is used on top of Hot Dogs. When I grew up it was used on steamed hot dogs and steamed rolls, sometimes with raw onions (for those who like them) on top! Very good… thanks Grandma Slattery for getting the recipe!Prep:10 mins. Cook:30 minsTotal:40 minsServings:6Yield:6 servings

Ingredients

  • 1 tablespoon butter 
  • 1 onion, chopped 
  • 2 tablespoons white vinegar 
  • 2 tablespoons brown sugar 
  • 3 tablespoons lemon juice 
  • ½ tablespoon prepared mustard 
  • 3 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce 
  • 1 pound lean ground beef 
  • 1 cup ketchup 
  • 1 (8 ounce) can tomato sauce 
  • 1 (6 ounce) can tomato paste 
  • salt and pepper to taste 

Directions

  • Step 1Melt butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Saute the onion in butter until soft. Stir in the vinegar, brown sugar, lemon juice, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, ketchup, tomato sauce, and tomato paste. Stir to blend.
  • Step 2When the mixture begins to simmer, add the raw ground beef breaking it into pieces with a wooden spoon. Simmer for 20 to 30 minutes. Serve over steamed hot dogs. Of course you can add some raw onions if you want.

Nutrition Facts 

Per Serving: 322 calories; protein 16.1g; carbohydrates 25.9g; fat 18g; cholesterol 61.8mg; sodium 1127.8mg.

[Our favorite gentleman. The Michigan Man at Paul Smiths, NY. Source: My photo.]

Note: Keep plenty of napkins handy.]

My Way Home

This morning, about an hour after dawn (6:45 am locally), I was lying in bed, propped up by my three pillows, checking on the responses from my last blog. Beside me, Mariam dozed, probably dreaming of new mask designs. More than likely, she was exhausted from walking me around the living room to help alleviate cramps and the horrid agony of restless leg syndrome, both of which I suffer from. We stopped when the cramps began to ease. I took advantage to rest and get several small carrots. An hour ago the snowplow came by, making noise that reminded me of a Delta airliner landing without the wheels down. Beyond that, all was quiet like the deep woods after a snowfall, which would be just about every night for the last month and a half.

Falling to sleep last night was problematic. I had written an outline for my next novel a week ago. The outline took me hours to get my thoughts and plans into the computer. We printed it out so I could use it as a guide to continue working. I needed to flesh out the story line, enhance the drama and tension and make the narrative clearer. The print out came to 23 pages. Fair enough I thought, that’s a great start. So I took the pages back to the computer and began to add, subtract and fill in gaps. I wrote for about a week. With satisfaction we printed it out. The number of pages came to 23!

What happened? Where was all that writing?

I guess that anger and agitation led to the cramps.

But, I digress.

There I was, thinking odd thoughts when a movement caught my eye. I put down my iPhone and listened. Again there a movement. This time I noted that it was coming from outside…

I quietly slipped off my side of the bed and crept to the window which was only a foot or two from Mariam’s soft breathing. I edged myself close enough to the glass I could almost see my own breath’s fog. I saw nothing at first except a small mountain of snow. But, there, right before my eyes was where the sound came from. It was a drop. A drop of water from one of hundreds of icicles. It was a small sign of melting. Soon there would be more I hoped.

As soon as Mariam was awake and sipping her coffee, I excitedly told her about the drop of water and what it could mean for us. She looked at me like I was speaking about something crazy, like a cloned black-footed ferret.

“Have some camomile,” she said. “You’ve had a hard night.”

I told her I was going to drive to the post office and get our catalogues.

“Take the recycles out to the bins,” she said as she made a successful move on Words with Friends. As I walked across the front deck I took care to not cause a mini avalanche. I walked with pride to the garage, nudged the door open and reached in to push the button to open the large front door. I closed it immediately and covered my ears. The noise from the automatic door opener is loud and screechy enough to make ones ears bleed. I emptied a can of WD-40 on the track, but it only made the door louder. Perhaps I had picked up a can of WD-39 instead.

As I walked back from the garage, with the door noise still vibrating in my middle ear, I paused and looked at the canyon-like path the led to our front door. I looked down at where the ‘salt’ had melted some ice. That was enough to settle a long-standing disagreement between Mariam and myself as to what our deck was made of. As usual, she won. It was wood.

I noted the deck shovel, the plastic sled that we move our groceries from the car.

I also noted the metal sunburst house decoration. That, in a way, helped me find my way home.

[Note from author: All photos are mine, but more importantly, if anyone out there has a method to relieve restless leg syndrome, please email me at: pegan7@roadrunner.com]

Living The High Life In Manhattan

Buildings

[I’ll take Manhattan. Source: Google search.]

There was a time, back in the day, when most people would cherish, desire and even pay a small fortune to have even a few hours of free time to roam and marvel the world of Manhattan. Well, we are nearing the end of our stay. Tomorrow morning we head north to Albany, with a full tank of gas and a brand new tire on our Honda Fit. We’re leaving our nest at the Marriott Residence on E. 48th St. Living high? We’re in Room 1017 and that’s high enough for me, thank you.

Doctor visits and MRI’s completed, I got the word yesterday that I have no life threatening disorders. For this, I am forever thankful. I’m stressed about traveling anywhere in the middle of winter, but the stress of my medical state is gone for the time being. Mariam was emotionally stressed but she can breathe now. At ease knowing I’m more or less okay. There is the matter of my two hernias which have not been attended to. But that’s alright. I’ve grown to like my little abdominal friends. I’m thinking of naming them.

So you must be wondering what it’s like living for a modest cost in the Greatest City in the World. I have not left the room since the snow storm this past monday. Mariam has ventured out to the drug store and small market. Me, I listen to WQKR (classical music), read (just finished Woman in the Window…can’t say I loved it), think about my novel, and mull over my next blog. What you’re reading is the result of a great deal of mulling. I have no breathtaking view to show you.

[Stunning view of the Chrysler Building from our window.]

Here is my little world:

Mariam prepares dinner in our spacious kitchen.

My own personal workspace.

So as you can plainly see, we have it all. Who needs a spa? An in-house restaurant? And, an added bonus, we can get two free plastic bottles of water just for the asking.

What more can one ask for? Now all we have to do is keep an eye on our weather apps for our long drive back to the Cabin in the Woods where one can find real quiet and maybe a little exercise with the snow shovel.

A Winter’s Drive

[Source: Google Search]

The elderly couple had the kind neighbor woman to help in loading their car. It was late morning and the temperature bounced around the zero level. When they first pulled the car down the drive, it was -0 F. Then it climbed to +0 F. What a difference.

Their car was a Honda Fit, dazzling blue on a dazzling day, but now it was white with dried road salt, reflecting the overcast black and white world of snow and more snow. Every time the elderly man brushed against the car, a part of his down coat or new L.L.Bean cargo pants would turn white. The last bag went in and the couple drove off. Their destination was Albany, about 150 miles away when you consider driving through Saranac Lake and Lake Placid. Time was the last concern on their minds. It was just one of several drives to New York City for doctors. This time it was important, no, essential that they were at Mount Sinai on Monday afternoon for tests.

He had a Starbucks thermos of cold brew so the first real stop was the High Peaks Visitors Center at the beginning of the 100 mile stretch to Albany.

“I’ll drop you close to the door”, the wife said. Near the curb was a crunch and a scrape. The man got out, checked the car (everything seemed well) and went inside to relieve himself.

Twenty miles further south, the wife asked if he heard anything coming from the right rear tire. She pulled over at the shuttered gate of the old Schroon Lake rest stop. He got out and to add to his mountain of other worries saw that the tire was flat. That’s when he smelled the burnt rubber.

Out came the AAA roadside assistance card. A call was made. The wife was put on hold and the call was cut off.

The elderly man looked around. Only a few cars and a semi or two roared passed (probably from Canada). All else…nothing.

They were very luck to have the flat in a zone that had cell phone service. Some stretches along I-87 were dead zones. Being a worrisome sort, the man began to imagine the worst case scenarios. Just then he felt the need to urinate (he’s on a diuretic). The minutes passed in silence. The couple discussed the situation. The man suggested calling AAA back when the wife said:

“Call 911.”

The man checked the south bound lane. Empty. Just as he was approaching the snow bank to empty his bladder, he saw the State Police cruiser about a mile away and the lights were flashing, The trooper had located us. The old man stood next to the once-blue Honda as the couple explained the situation. He knew there was a spare (a donut) in a pit under 300 pounds of luggage. He realized he hadn’t changed a tire since the late 1970’s. Despite the pain of two hernias, the trooper talked the man into the proper jack position and began to change the tire. The man had to ask for help in getting the spare up and out of the car.

“This is one of those baby spares, right?” he asked the officer.

“Yes.”

“The kind you’re not supposed to drive very far?”

“Yup.”

“So how far is recommended?”

“About fifty miles.”

“How far is it to Albany?”

“Ninety miles, but you’ll be okay if you don’t speed. Keep it at 65 mph.”

The trooper drove off. The old man felt like he had just earned a Merit Badge. Should they head to the Honda dealer in Albany or find a tire store? Minutes passed in silence. Honda closed at five. Firestone at six. So many decisions. They went to the Firestone store, they had the tire we needed and they checked to make sure the rim wasn’t damaged, then we had it aligned. While listening to power tools and phone calls, the old fellow realized he hadn’t urniated. That was ninety miles ago. He wandered off to the mens room. After he was done he settled back in the waiting room to watch a few more minutes of Saving Private Ryan. Watching it rain heavily on Tom Hanks, he realized he hadn’t taken his medicine for the day. You know, the box of pills which contained a serious diuretic. He swallowed his dosage and awaited the first urges in his bladder.

Soon the stressed-out and exhausted elderly couple were in their hotel room.

They had all day sunday to get to New York for the old guys monday afternoon tests. Except for the final challenge. The parking lot closed at four.

They turned on the giant hotel TV and watched an NCIS rerun. Then, thinking all was well with the world, the elderly man checked his weather app on his iPhone. Monday was to be the height of a major weather warning. The accumulation was expected to be 23″.

The old man put a bottle of leg cramp lotion at his bedside and looked forward to a night of pain, as exhausted as he was. The diuretic kicked in.

He was not disappointed.

Winter

Old Nan: Oh my sweet summer child, what do you know about fear? Fear is for winter, when the snows fall one hundred feet deep. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides for years and children are born and live and die, all in darkness. That is the time for fear, my little lord, when the white walkers move through the woods. Thousands of years ago there came a night that lasted a generation. Kings froze to death in their castles, same as the shepherds in their huts. And women smothered their babies rather than see them starve, and wept and felt the tears freeze on their cheeks. So is this the sort of story you like?

—Old Nan referring to the Adirondacks

—Game of Thrones [George R. R. Martin]

Mistakes

Sometimes a mistake can turn into a good thing…a lucky break. Sure odd things happen often like the 1969 and 1986 Mets. And why would anyone create mosquitos, gnats or Texas? These are called outliers. Such stuff happens out of the norm.

Then there exists such things as COVID. I can”t explain except to say that the wrong person was leading the country at the time. I’m not going there. It’s too far-fetched to even the most thoughtful people.

But, I digress.

Here in the North Country one sits and waits for The Big One, the storm of the century. But in these days of global warming, nothing is predictable. So older men, like me, wanting to be prepared, go to Lowe’s and buy the first snowblower this man has even known.

Meanwhile, through unseen fate and more odd circumstances he finds that because of restrictions and border issues he discovers a small house in Fort Meyers, Florida. The owner wants out so we jump at something we never contemplated before: we bought, sight unseen.

We were lucky. We paid more for our car than the house.

Someone else can wait for The Big One. For most of the long winter here, you can find me at Sanabel Island looking for The Big Shell.

Anyone interested in an almost new red snowblower (driven twice), you’re almost too late.

So I made a mistake.

Recipes For Disaster

It’s long been known that shoveling snow can kill people. Consider the picture below:

[Recipe for disaster.]

When I was a little boy, I’d see an elder (usually a man) struggling with the foot or two of snow on his sidewalk.

I figured the guy had to be really old…in his sixties at least. That was old. It didn’t occur to me to lend a helping hand. “He’s a goner, I thought.”

Then I saw an article in HuffPost by A. Marc Gillinov, MD. He states that the culprit is cardiovascular disease. It seems that cold weather increases ones blood clotting.

He also mentioned back and neck pain. I have both. He claims he hasn’t picked up a shovel since his last back operation. That word from a doctor is good enough for me.

I thought I had it all figured out. I had a brand new (red) snowblower safely sitting in a secure spot under our screened in porch. First I had to determine which language was the correct one from the Manual. Does it really snow that much in Mexico or Spain?

Back to Dr. Gillinov again. He states that fifteen minutes of shoveling by someone who is at low risk for cardiovascular issues, can actually be a benefit from the exercise of shoveling. Fifteen minutes a day will give one a full and adequate workout.

[Nice, but not the Big One]

Coming from a doctor, that was all I needed.

I had a plan. There was a protected space beneath our covered screened in porch. This would be the snowblowers home during raw, dark and frozen winter months.

Next was to figure out how to how to fill the gas tank (have you seen the new design of gas cans?) Then finding the right place for the key (which was big and red, like a Lego.)

Plug the thing in to give it a charge and you’re good to go. I had the whole plan worked out in detail so off I went. I hit the beam holding the porch first. The green tarp, I later realized, was under one of the wheels so I dragged the green cover across the back yard, overturning the wheel barrow in the process.

Once free of all obstructions (No. 1 in the manual), I had to teach myself how to make a left turn. It’s not as easy as the grey haired guy on TV makes it look.

The first left turn had me heading toward the small group of cedar trees. Time to figure out the right turn. When finished, the path looked like a children’s snow tag trail.

At first, I planned to turn the thing around on the front deck. I’s a good thing I thought twice about it. If I had tried such a movement, most of our dining room and all of the deck railing would be scrap wood.

So, meanwhile the gentlemen in their forties are wasting their time standing in a line, ignoring the fall warmth in front of Lowe’s discussing the advantages of my red over their blue model that costs hundreds of extra dollars.

Stick to the red and inexpensive model.

And, definitely learn how to make a left turn.

{Bloggers Note: I wrote this last night. I wake up this morning and find my world has changed. This is how much snow fell while I slept the night away. That’s life in the North Country. Finally The Big One.}

[Photo credit: Mariam Voutsis.]

The Big One: Part 3

I’ve been dwelling and raving about The Big One for several days now. It finally arrived. The only problem is that we only were hit with an inch and a half.

The Big One still has left my red snowblower untouched and shiny.

The Big One fell on the area of my hometown. The real ground zero seems to have been Binghamton. This city is located about five hours away from us.

This is the railing of my back deck a few minutes ago:

[Source: my photo.]

[Source: Josephchampaign]

But this is what The Big One really looks like.

The Big One: Part 2

This is a ice crystal pattern

[Source: Mine]

Somewhere, in the wild world of the Troposphere, it all begins. That’s where The Big One originates. There’s water involved, cold temperatures, wind and a waiting winter, already mostly frozen.

Everyone in the North Country is awaiting the arrival of the first significant snowfall, To us, it’s The Big One. I have my brand new red snowblower all ready to move large amounts of the white stuff.

Instead, we got slammed with a thumb-numbing cold. It was at least -6 degrees Fahrenheit when the sun came through the woods early this morning. Now, I’ve seen it much worse ( -6 F would actually seen mild).

But, it is what it is. I felt frozen as I went about my morning.

Every adult knows that no two snowflakes are the same. No wonder about that when you consider the types of snowflakes that eventually form snow.

[Source: Wikipedia.]

[Source: Mine.]

Instead of test driving my new red snowblower, I’m on my knees on the front deck with a hand lens.

Looking for signs of The Big One.

Waiting For Some Friends

Yes, I know. We went to Lowes in Plattsburg and purchased a fire-engine red snowblower. It has all the ‘stuff’ a person would want in one of these babies. It drives itself and controls the direction the snow is blown (away from your face for example).

We waited for the Big One. After all it was getting toward mid-November and by now we would have been slammed by at least three Arctic blasts.

Instead, we got about 4″ to 5″ inches. Hardly a Canadian blitz.

So, except for some hidden bits along the plowed road, there is small patch of snow in our yard about the size of a medium waffle that would come with eggs and coffee at Friendly’s on a day that advertised BREAKFAST SPECIAL!

Knowledge is information, they say. I needed knowledge about the expected and upcoming Big One. I bought a copy of Harris Farmer’s Almanac for 2121. I have nothing against the Old Farmer’s Almanac except I couldn’t locate one and the impulse buying rack carried only copies of rip-off headlines of British scandals and the latest break-up between the Kardashians.

I dove into Harris’ Almanac looking for the Next Big Prediction of Severe Weather. Instead I got caught up in an article about President Taft who became chief justice, Miss America turning 100, President Harding’s First Dog, Laddle Boy and a History of the first drive-in pig stand. What caught most of my interest was a piece on the vanishing song birds.

Finally I found the page about January 2121. Reading this, I now know all the moon’s phases when to plant a root crop and the major holiday’s (National Maritime Day is May 22.)

But, I failed to track down the major snow events for January. It may just as well have stated: The Big One Is Coming. Well, we all know that, (those of us who live in Zone 8), The North Country. Does our little patch of snow in our front yard know that? Can it be assured that it won’t spend the winter alone? You know that loneliness makes me sad.

I must say that I rely on forecasts as we’ve seen and patience. No matter how insignificant one thinks one is, you’re partly right. A tiny bit of snow, when The Big One comes, won’t be alone.

Sometime the wait is worth it. There will be plenty of friends.

[Source: Both photos are mine.]